His fingers moved inward. He pressed against her through the fabric — slow, firm strokes along her pussy lips, feeling the warmth of her even through the cotton, watching her face with an unbearable attention.
"Your grace—"
Perfect, he thought. Absolutely perfect. He stepped back. Livia made a sound of protest that he filed away with considerable satisfaction as he went through the process of removing his clothes.
He stood before her. Her eyes moved over him with wonder and mild alarm that he found extraordinarily flattering. He reached for her hand, wrapped her fingers around him and began to move them in a slow, firm stroke, his hand over hers, teaching her the rhythm. His exhale was ragged.
"A great many nights," he said, jaw tight with the effort of remaining articulate, "I have imagined your fingers around me." His eyes found hers. "Exactly like this."
