The Tender Days of May (The Belle House Book 1) Page 12

  They passed the shrubs at the end of the pavilion and walked back along the other side.

  “So many!” Walter exclaimed.

  “Now, these—Carnations—you should be very particular about,” Lord Dekker explained. “The white ones mean innocence, while the yellow—disappointment. Of course, I only keep the purple ones for my wife, for they stand for capriciousness.” A loud laugh shook his heavy body again. “These little darlings”—he pointed at the small, only several-inches-tall flowers that speared from a flatbed of green leaves—“are marvelous. But if you want to say good-bye to a lady, they will surely send the message across. As well as Trumpet Flowers”—he pointed to a small oval-shaped bush with colorful pendulous flowers drooping down—“Now…”

  He paused by a shrub with the pretty pink flowers.

  “It’s called Oleander,” he explained. “A very toxic plant in all its parts. I should probably not keep it around for my own safety.” Once again, his heavy body shook from a chuckle. “Baroness Ebba Ridgeway, rest her soul in peace, was know to have grown several of these in her house, and when her husband irritated her greatly, used to steep the flowers with his tea. The poor bustard was constantly sick, and the doctors were at a loss. And all along, it was his precious wife! Ah, women!” He laughed again as Walter bent over the plant, studying it carefully as if trying to figure out how so much beauty could produce the poison.

  “And this”—Lord Dekker stopped at a small shrub that had white flowers—“is Belladonna. It produces little smooth black berries that are highly poisonous. Yes,”—he looked at Walter with big eyes—“I am too fascinated with dangerous plants. Belladonna has medicinal properties. They use the extract to prepare the eye-drops that dilute the pupils. So, many ladies use them to bring more charm to their eyes. Quite ingenious, I should admit. Except, Lady Catherine Milton was rumored to have gone blind by the end of her life from the excessive use of those. Serves her right. She had more arrogance than the beauty she was famous for.”

  “Huh!” Walter answered with fascination. “What is this plant?” He pointed at a bush that grew about three feet tall and had a tray next to it with loose leaves drying on it.

  “Ah! A coca plant!” Lord Dekker said with a sly smile. “It came all the way from South America. Chewing the leaves clears one’s mind and gives energy. My wife makes tea with it. They say, the indigenous people of the Andes have been using it for hundreds of years to achieve vitality. Savages, tsk,—sometimes they know the best tricks of nature. Well,”—Lord Dekker sighed—“You are welcome to walk around, but I am exhausted already. There is much more to explore. Lord Ashbee”—the old man nodded in his direction—“is quite an expert. When you finish, you will join me for lunch, won’t you? Hopefully, my wife will be back by then.”

  Lord Ashbee nodded. “Lord Dekker has an album of sketches in his library,” he said to Walter. “They show some rare species that one can find around the world. Quite extraordinary, in fact.”

  “You sketch?” Walter looked in surprise at the old man who was walking away but turned around.

  “Ah, just a silly hobby of mine!”—he waved his hand gracefully—“I do prefer to sketch humans. I can make a sketch of you some time,” he said, gave Lord Ashbee a wink and started walking away laughing, at what—Walter didn’t understand.

  “Wouldn’t that be marvelous?” Walter looked at his cousin, excited.

  Lord Ashbee stood by a rectangular glass case, the size of a large trunk, that contained a small earth-bed with intricate flowers.

  “What would be?” he looked at Walter.

  “No one ever sketched me before!” he exclaimed. “Wouldn’t it be great if Lord Dekker did?”

  A sly smile spread on Lord Ashbee’s lips. “If you like to pose naked—sure. That’s the only way Lord Dekker does it,” he answered, and Walter’s face turned the color of cherry blossom.

  Lord Ashbee’s attention returned to the plant in the glass tank.

  An Orchid.

  One of the most rare species and the hardest to take care of.

  The light, delicate shade of purple, with an amethyst undertone, this particular flower, he knew, was bought at the auction organized by the orchid hunters that came from a long expedition to South America. Lord and Lady Dekker spent a fortune so that later they could boast of it at parties and gatherings and show it off to their friends. The rare find for one to admire was kept in a glass box.

  An Orchid was a symbol of love and beauty. So charming, yet so cold. The true belle! Its intricate design reminded Lord Ashbee of something else. He studied the flower for some time and thought of May.

  CHAPTER 3

  “It’s a camellia flower.”

  Lord Ashbee explained as May looked curiously at the light pink flower he brought for her.

  She anticipated his arrival, secretly wondering what it would be like this time.

  Perhaps, it had always been there, the curiosity for intimacy that tickled every young woman’s heart. The thirst for the unknown. The desire to experience the pleasure that so many poets wrote about. She wanted to learn more, be able to set another person into the same sweet restlessness as Lord Ashbee did to her.

  But once she saw him at the door, the nervousness gripped her again. He was intimidating even when silent, let alone when he spoke. His every word—a deeper step into her mind and soul.

  Now she held the flower in her hand—its brown stem with green leaves crowned with a beautiful light-pink flower. She’d seen the flower in books before.

  It means longing, Lord Ashbee wanted to tell her. “It is rare in these parts of the world,” he said instead.

  “Yet, you brought one.” She managed a smile.

  He knew she was nervous around him. He brought the flower and tried to distract her with the conversations, yet, they both knew and anticipated the actual purpose of this encounter.

  “Lord and Lady Dekker have one of the biggest greenhouses in London,” he said, studying her, thinking about the night before and her perfect skin under the dress. “With the largest collection, for sure. There is a trend these days for rare species.”

  “Just like there is one for women, isn’t it?” She flashed a smile, and he answered with one.

  “Women are not a trend, May. They are life necessity. Beauty, on the other hand, or the peculiarities of it, can be trends, yes. But with flowers and plants, it is about rarity.”

  “As it is with women.”

  He chuckled. “Sometimes. But one likes to collect rare specimens of flowers even if they are ugly.”

  “Is there such a thing as an ugly flower?”

  “I made it my life’s goal to find beauty in ugliness, but if you’ve ever seen Nepenthes, or Monkey Cup, as they call it, you would agree. The name says it all.” He smiled. “The Dekkers have it in their garden. A Corpse Flower is another one. I have only seen the illustrations, but it looks like a monster, and the stench, they say, keeps people away at a considerable distance.”

  May wrinkled her nose.

  “I should take you to the Dekkers’ garden sometime,” he said and saw her smile fade. “Or not,” he added quietly, remembering her situation. “Flowers are the sexual reproductive organs of a plant, did you know that, May?”

  A faint blush came to her cheeks as she glanced at him.

  “The flowering plants are like women.” He came over and lifted his hand to the camellia she was holding. His finger ran around the circular rim of it. May watched as if hypnotized. “Some plants have multiple flowers, some—just one,” he continued in a lower voice, savoring every word. “Some bear fruits. Others don’t,”—his thumb ran across the flower, gently ruffling the bud—“Some blossom continuously, others every season, or once a year. Some—like Century Plant—once in a lifetime,”—he caressed the petals, and it brought to her mind the events from the night before—“For years you will wait for it to bloom, and when it does, it’s marvelous but short-lived, and it never happens again,”—his fingers sudde
nly stopped, and she raised her eyes to look at him—“Interesting, isn’t it?”

  He stared at her intensely.

  “So you enjoy it while you can,” she said the words she had heard somewhere else.

  He raised the eyebrows in surprise.

  “Will you enjoy it, May?”

  She blushed scarlet at her boldness, which was so out of her character.

  He stepped closer, lifted his hand to her face, and stroked her chin.

  “Do you think we will enjoy it together?” he said in a soft voice. Her face was still blushing, and it delighted and aroused him even more. “Look at me, May.”

  Her grey eyes moved up to meet his. She didn’t quite know how to express her thoughts or what he expected. But she knew she wanted him, wanted to be close to him again.

  “If you teach me,” she said quietly and saw a shift in his facial features, the bright look in his eyes.

  If you teach me, his mind repeated, and the words shot from his mind, through his body, down to his groin, and he felt himself get hard. They were the most sexual words a woman could speak. When he was young, women taught him bedroom skills. Later, it was his turn to show others what he liked. But he never had a student so pure, so modest.

  He took the flower out of her hands and set it aside on the bureau, then wrapped his hand around her waist and pulled her into a kiss.

  She answered so willingly now—it surprised and delighted him. He kissed her longer this time, and it loosened her body that was ready to learn and accept. There was no hurry and no restraint, and she felt she could stay like this for hours, except her desire was heating up, and she desperately wanted to feel his skin, his naked body against hers.

  “Let’s take this off, May,” he said finally and helped her get rid of the dress, then her chemise, surprised at the fact that she didn’t have the knickers on. He took off his own clothes down to his waist as he watched her take off the stockings. When she straightened up, her eyes lowered, he walked around her, stroking her body as if she was a figurine, a statue in a museum. In the daylight, she was even more stunning.

  He slowly kissed her again, his hands on her waist and not going anywhere else, to her disappointment.

  “What do you want me to do, May?” he whispered as he planted soft kisses on her neck and shoulders.

  She didn’t answer. She knew where her body wanted his hands, but her mind wouldn’t let her say the words.

  “May?”

  He took her chin between his fingers and turned her face towards him. Their eyes locked.

  Oh, he knew what she wanted! And she burnt even more with shame seeing it in his gaze. But he wanted her to voice it. To admit it out loud. And he wasn’t going to do anything until she told him so.

  “May,” he said more insistently, still looking at her and not moving.

  “I want you to touch me,” she said quietly.

  “Tell me where.”

  She hesitated.

  “Everywhere,” she said timidly.

  His hands went up to her face, cupping it, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks.

  “Here is fine?” He gazed at her intensely, the corner of his lips curled into a half-smile.

  She hesitated, summoning her courage.

  “Down there,” she whispered, and her face turned pink form blushing.

  “Where, May?”

  She flushed.

  “Between my legs,” she said, holding her breath.

  “Yes, Miss May,” he said and could barely hold a smile.

  He led her to the bed and sat her on the edge of it, her feet on the carpet.

  “Lean back on your palms and open your legs,” he said thickly, standing in front of her.

  She did, parting her legs just a bit, the blush never leaving her face.

  Oh, how he enjoyed telling her what to do! How sweet it was to watch her oblige, timid as she was. Like she was his slave. But the one he was enslaved to please.

  He felt his swollen member throb inside the trousers.

  He wanted to fuck her.

  Right now!

  Take her quickly!

  Roughly!

  Oh, God! With any other woman, he would be already going at it like a madman!

  But no…

  Not with May.

  He will do it slowly.

  He will make her ache for him, for his touch. So that next time, and the one after that, she will be ready to take him any second.

  She will ask him.

  Plead him.

  He smiled in delight.

  “Don’t be shy, May. I want you wide open.”

  She hesitated for a second and did what he said.

  “More,” he repeated.

  She drew her legs even wider apart, burning with shame. Her buttocks were on the very edge of the bed now, her toes barely touching the floor, her thighs wide open to their utmost extent. Lord Ashbee took in her beautiful body on full display in front of him—her breasts, heaving from breathing, her ivory thighs, her brown curls framing the delicious pink clit that peaked out from the lips that were the deeper shade of the pink camellia he had brought for her.

  “Oh, May.”

  She was a flower in bloom, her petals open, revealing her center, and he wanted to dip in it like a bee. The thought of his erection between her legs made him want to come the very minute, but he restrained himself.

  Instead, he placed himself on the bed next to her, turning his body towards her. His eyes slid to her sex, his hand followed, and his middle finger gave her clit a light slow stroke.

  Her thighs spasmed, and her lips parted in a quick gasp, her eyes somewhere else, trying to avoid looking at him, or his hand, or her shameless posture.

  She was soaked, and that part delighted Lord Ashbee more than anything. The fact that this timid beauty wanted him too.

  His fingers stroked her little brown hairs, smearing her wetness.

  “I like how wet you are,” he said and repeated the movement.

  She drew a sharp breath in pleasure.

  He stroked her sex, again and again, sinking deeper into her juices, feeling her let go.

  “Do you like this, May?” he asked, gently moving his finger, carefully sliding them into her folds, watching her face, the way her eyes blinked slowly in sync with her gasps, in sync with his caresses.

  “Yes,” she exhaled.

  “I want you to watch my hand,” he said softly, and she looked at him. “Not my face”—he motioned with his eyes downward—“my hand. I want you to see what I do to you.”

  She lowered her eyes and watched his hand for just a few seconds then looked away.

  “Don’t look away, sweetheart.”

  She moved her eyes back down and looked, hypnotized, at his fingers as they played with the soft hairs between her legs, teased the swollen clit, sending her body into shivers until not realizing it, her hips started to nudge towards his fingers. First slowly, then more demanding as he used all his fingers to slide around her folds, gliding between them, around each side of her clitoris and the sensitive area above it. He touched her exactly as a woman would touch herself, with the skill that only a woman could teach. May couldn’t know that, but it felt like it did in her fantasies when she used her own hand for pleasure. He increased the rhythm, and she yanked her head upwards, exhaling loudly, unable to restrain herself, pressing her sex into his hand.

  “That’s my girl,” he whispered, “let it go,” and flung himself to the floor in front of her. His left hand framed her sex and squeezed it lightly, as his mouth wrapped around it, his velvet tongue stroking her folds.

  “Lord Ah! Ah!” she moaned, pushing her sex into his mouth.

  He mounted it, his tongue stroking the tip of her perky clitoris, sucked it, then repeated the movement as his finger gently nudged inside of her, just a tip at first, then out, then back inside, deeper this time. She strained with a moan, and he restrained himself from going deeper or faster, for he knew the key to bringing pleasure was not d
isruption but keeping the rhythm. So, he kept going, his finger stretching her to prepare his way and his tongue working its way around her sex until her thighs trembled and pushed harder against him. She moaned, her entire body arched in a wave-like motion, and her hips forcefully jerked forward several times as her body spasmed in orgasm.

  He didn’t pause this time but sprung up to his feet, ripped the trousers open with a quick jerk, and thrust his swollen erection inside of her with a smooth push. She gasped and flung her eyes open in surprise and slight pain as he picked her up by the waist and pushed into her again, deeper and deeper, but as abruptly, pulled out, and his hand grasped the erection and stroked it as the white liquid spilled on the white skin above her pelvis.

  “God, May!” He grunted and leaned over her, panting, then laughed and looked in her surprised and inquiring eyes. “It usually takes longer…” he started to explain but stopped and instead, kissed her on the lips. “You are wonderful,” he said.

  She flushed with excitement, and it made her look even prettier. She didn’t understand the quickness of it all but knew he reached his peak. She watched him clean up, eyeing his strong forms, then did the same as he took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it up.

  “Are you leaving?” She stood in front of him, braver now, not as ashamed for her nakedness, and Lord Ashbee appraised her with pleasure.

  “Do you want me to?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  He walked up to her, carrying the cigarette smoke with him, and wrapped his arm around her waist.

  “Then, I won’t.” He kissed her, tobacco and her own taste on her lips.

  He didn’t let her dress. Instead, lay on the bed in his trousers, perched on the pillows, and patted the spot next to him for her to join. She did and used a sheet to cover herself.

  “Did it hurt this time?” he asked.

  “Not that much.” She shook her head. “Not that I had time to…” she couldn’t find the right words to finish.

  “Right.” Lord Ashbee chuckled. Somehow, she had this effect on him—he got aroused in seconds and climaxed just as fast. He watched her face that was puzzled by something for a minute. “What is it, May?”