Her fingers reached up. They trailed the side of his face from his cheekbone down to the line of his jaw, then further, tracing the edge of his mouth with one fingertip.
Richard went very still.
"I know you wonder," she continued softly, her eyes following her own fingers with interest, "what the most sensitive part of my body is. Where to start. Where to linger."
"I'm sure I could locate it," he said, voice admirably level, "in approximately a minute. If you'd let me."
"Shhhh." She pressed one finger to his lips.
He stopped talking.
"You wonder how I like it. Slow or fast. Soft or hard. You wonder how you'll fit inside me." A pause, perfectly timed. "You're thinking about it right now. Are you hard yet, your grace?"
Every single functioning brain cell Richard possessed told him he was absolutely, comprehensively, done.
"Not even close," he said instead.
