Glass Slipper by Abigail Barnette Page A

have to curl it to find that secret place. He rubbed the whole length of his finger against it, sawing back and forth inside of her until she thought she would scream. He sucked at her pearl, teasing it with his tongue at the same time, rubbing his stubbled chin across her petals until she did scream, her entire body bursting into pure pleasure. He did not withdraw from her, but eased his assault only until her shaking stopped. Then, with skilled fingers and tongue, he drove her back into the frenzy, until she sobbed with desire and shrieked his name as she climaxed.
    He pushed back from her, then, his face tight with something akin to pain. Joséphine sat up, frowning. What had she done wrong? Then, through the vestiges of her own pleasure, she remembered Marie. The seamstress half-lay on the floor before Julien’s kneeling form, her head bobbing as her lips slid up and down Julien’s shaft. With a strangled noise, he pulled himself free from her mouth, silvery-white liquid spurting from the head of his member. Marie laughed and opened her mouth, catching some of his seed on her tongue.
    Joséphine watched, captivated. She had never seen something so interesting as a man succumbing to his pleasure. An intense envy burned her. She wished it had be her, and not Marie, to have inspired such a reaction. She resolved at once that she should one day do the same to Julien.
    And to the prince, of course.

 
     
     
     
    Chapter Eight
     
     
    The rest of the day was not nearly as exciting as the morning had been. After Julien had excused himself, she and Marie had dressed and the seamstress had chattered on happily about how lucky Joséphine was to have such an excellent tutor as Julien. Her exaltation of Julien’s prowess in the bedroom left Joséphine with little doubt that the two had once been intimately involved. She had hardly been able to wait until the woman left.
    After the seamstress departed, there as a much, much more boring lesson to attend: Madame Brujon’s etiquette lessons. The old woman had seemed the last person one should learn any kind of manners from, but she proved to be a strict instructor. By late afternoon, Joséphine’s head swam with all the new rules she had learned. Rules on how to curtsey, how to greet nobles, how to great royalty, how to order about anyone else. Rules on how to eat and drink, rules on how to accept things that one might be handed.
    Then there were other rules, ones that frightened her. Rules about how to spot poison in your glass or smell it on your food. Rules about what could be said and shouldn’t be said, and what could land you in the dungeons. Joséphine prayed she would never have occasion to use any of that newfound knowledge.
    A few times during the lesson with Madame Brujon, Julien had stepped into the great hall. He had watched Joséphine curtsey without comment, had not corrected her when she picked up the wrong fork. Still, his very presence had made her feel like a failure.
    Why did she feel such a disturbing need to please him? Gratitude, certainly, for helping her and taking her away from her stepmother and stepsisters. Even if it were only a temporary reprieve, even if she ended up sent away to the north, Joséphine could not deny that it was a respite worth being thankful for.
    She wanted Julien to like her. She had seen the way he had looked around her shabby home, how he’d pitied her father and loathed her stepsisters. She couldn’t bear that he might think of her in the same way. If she could impress him, give him a reason to admire her…
    But what would it matter? He had made a promise to her father to help her marry well, and he would see it done. She had heard rumors of his conduct with women, but never rumors that he was not a man of his word. To the contrary, her father had often spoken of him as though he were a bastion of honor.
    So, why did it matter to her what he thought? It should not, and yet it did.
    Dinner came, and she took extra care to