Free An Introduction to Pleasure by Jess Michaels

the pleasure of it.
    “God, you are like heaven,” he moaned against her neck. “Hold tight to me, Lysandra.”
    She did as he asked, clutching her hands around his back as he rotated his hips a second time. He flexed and drove, fighting to remain steady, calm, gentle, but his long-neglected cock wanted more. More of her weeping slit. He hadn’t lost himself for so long.
    “It feels…” she gasped from beneath him and he tensed.
    If she said painful, he would stop, though he had no idea how he would do such a thing now. Not when he was on the edge.
    “…good,” she moaned. “So good.”
    Those words shot him over the edge he’d been balanced on, and Andrew lost control. He drove into her, taking, claiming, stroking until he felt nothing but the oblivion of pleasure.
    And just as he thought he could no longer control himself, Lysandra tensed beneath him, her face contorting in a mask of wonder and pleasure and she shuddered with release, crying out his name as she held him tighter.
    He exploded, barely able to withdraw from her hot body to milk his seed against the sheets instead of deep inside her. Then he collapsed back onto the pillows and dragged her against his chest.
    It was done. She was his in a way she would never be another man’s. And though the idea had originally given him pause, now he felt triumphant in the thought that he would be the only one to first take her, first give her pleasure.
    Whatever else happened, that fact would always belong to him. And she would always remember it. As would he.

Chapter Eight
    Lysandra hadn’t bathed in front of another person in years. And she’d never bathed in front of a man. But now she was seated in a big tub in the middle of her new bedroom and Andrew sat beside it, watching her soak. The only protection for her naked flesh was the soapy water, and that was small coverage, indeed.
    A fact Andrew seemed to be enjoying. He had positioned himself so that he could look down at her, watch her. She wasn’t certain whether to squirm with embarrassment or blush with the surprising and intense desire he inspired. She couldn’t help but think of the passion they had shared just an hour before and she dropped her gaze.
    “Don’t look away from me,” he said softly.
    She gave him a questioning glance. “I beg your pardon?”
    “This is your training.”
    She wrinkled her brow. “Was our…our…”
    “Fucking?” he finished for her.
    She had never heard that term before, but she knew instinctively that it wasn’t a proper or appropriate term to use in mixed company.
    When she flinched, he said, “Or you could call it making love if the other term is too vulgar.”
    She bit her lip. Making love seemed too intimate a label for what they had done. Love was not part of this equation in any sense. In truth, she hardly knew this man, let alone had any feelings for him. But when she had to choose between the two terms…
    “Was our making love not part of my training?” she asked.
    He nodded slowly. “Oh yes. A most pleasurable part that will be a cornerstone of everything we share from this moment until we part. But now that you are no longer a virgin, we must move on to more strenuous lessons about expectations, desires and the future you insist you must have.”
    Lysandra’s eyes narrowed. Was he trying to frighten her in order to force her to alter her course? He had so passionately argued against her decision to be a mistress before he finished… making love to her that she couldn’t be mistaken about his feelings on the subject.
    But she wouldn’t be deterred. So she lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye. “Why shouldn’t I look away?”
    He held her gaze evenly. “As a mistress, you mustn’t simper or play coy. A gentleman encounters enough of that in ballrooms and parlors as he pursues women to be his wife. A mistress must offer something different. Something exciting and new to brighten a gentleman’s drab life.”
    Lysandra