An Officer but No Gentleman by Bronwyn Scott Page A

let Elowyn strip away his towel. He let the scent of lavender fill his nostrils when she opened her vial. He let her pour the oil on his skin, warmed by her breath. He let her put her hands on his back, his shoulders, his buttocks. He let her . The words played in his head like a mantra.
    When had a woman last pleasured him? When had a woman ever captivated him so entirely in bed and out? She had risen admirably to the occasion yesterday, taking the need for a premature departure from Dover in stride. The princess who had needed two trunks for a single night had met the challenge of packing a single valise for interminable days on the road, proving her versatility and her fortitude. She’d given up clean sheets and gowns because he’d asked it. He’d been selfish to ask it of her. He knew full well his personal agenda to reach Vienna had driven his decisions. Nonetheless, she’d not questioned his motives and she’d been brave. She’d been terrified on the boat, but hadn’t given voice to it; that’s how he knew she’d been brave. Facing terror without complaint was the ultimate test of bravery, and she’d passed admirably.
    He was about to be selfish again, taking the pleasure she offered with no real hope of anything coming from it. A woman like her would never want a man like him, not if she knew who he really was. But that didn’t stop Grahame from giving himself over to her ministrations, his body finding its own relaxation in her touch, his muscles casting off their strain. Her hand slipped between his buttocks and cupped his sac. He gave a groan. Even relaxed and tired, his body roused to her willingly.
    “Roll over,” she whispered. Any number of fantasies raced through his head. Would she?
    She straddled him, massaging his chest as she had his back, her hands moving ever downward until she gripped the very root of him, her hand slick with oil. She stroked him hard and firm, her thumb rubbing the tender tip of him. Her other hand squeezed his sac. “You like that?”
    “Yes, dammit, I like that,” Grahame managed. What man wouldn’t? She was looking up at him from her place at his thighs, her hair spilling over her shoulders. He thought he might spend right there in her hand.
    “Shall I put my mouth on you, Grahame?” Her voice was all sultry persuasion.
    “Would you like to?” The power of speech was rapidly leaving him. He would be reduced to caveman—like grunts any moment if she kept stroking his head like that.
    She gave him a wicked smile. “I would like to very much.” She parted his thighs, and bent to him, taking his manhead in her mouth, her tongue licking and swirling him into boneless compliance until his body could stand the exquisite torture no longer. He watched her sit up just in time to take him in her hand and catch him as he spent, coating her fingers in his seed. He’d never done, never seen, anything as intimate as what she did next.
    Elowyn held his gaze, a courtesan’s smile on her lips as she lifted her fingers and licked them one by one, sucking on the tips in mimicry of how she’d sucked on him. She ran her tongue along the last finger. “You’re right. You do taste better after a bath.”
    “I don’t deserve you,” Grahame sighed, settling her against his side. He wanted nothing more now than to sleep. The sleepless night and the exhausting exhilaration of his climax had taken the last of his strength. Even the insatiable Elowyn was drowsy. They would sleep, then they would eat and then make their plans. But sleep had not quite subdued Elowyn yet.
    “How many women have you had, Grahame?” She idly traced the areola of his breast with a finger, both of them too spent to do more.
    “That’s hardly a ladylike question.” Grahame tried to demur with a playful scold. It was the question he least wanted to answer at a time he least wanted to answer it. He’d arguably had the most personal sexual experience of his life, a moment of intimacy that had been solely