CHAPTER 113: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN

The fire in the grate popped, a sharp sound in the heavy, heated silence of the study.

But the shame was a cold splash of water.

"But..." Ines stammered, her voice small and tight. She looked at Carcel, her eyes wide with distress. "This is... this is embarrassing."

To have him touch her was one thing. It was passion. It was romance. It was being swept away.

To touch herself, while he watched with those dark, intense, unblinking eyes? It felt... strange.

She tried to pull back. She retracted her hand, her muscles tensing to flee from the intimacy of the moment.

Carcel didn’t let her.

He held her hand there. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was absolute. He covered her hand with his own, pressing it back against her center.

"No, Ines," he said. His voice was low, a rough command that vibrated in the quiet room. "Don’t pull your hand away."

Ines bit her lip. "But..."

"Shh," he soothed.

He moved his hand, adjusting his grip so that he was guiding her fingers. He brought her hand back to her center. He pressed down, urging her middle finger to slip past the slick entrance.

He put her finger into her center.

Ines gasped. The sensation the second time was shocking. It was different from when he did it. It felt... sharper. More direct. She could feel the texture of her own skin, the tightness of her own muscles.

Carcel watched her face. He saw the shock, and then, slowly, the dawning realization of sensation.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear.

"You won’t need to touch yourself anymore," he promised, his voice thick with possessive heat. "Because I will take care of you. I will be the one to do this, every night, until you are screaming my name."

He kissed her jaw.

"However," he murmured. "I cannot always be there. There will be trips. There will be business. There will be nights when I am late."

He moved her hand, guiding her in a slow, rhythmic motion.

"You only need to do this when I’m not around to give you that satisfaction," he explained. "You can give it to yourself while you wait for my availability. You do not have to be lonely. You do not have to be frustrated."

Ines listened. His words made sense. It was practical. But it was also incredibly erotic. The idea of him thinking about her pleasure even when he wasn’t there...

"When you are alone," Carcel whispered, "you can touch yourself. You have my permission. You have my... encouragement."

He moved his other hand. The one that wasn’t guiding her fingers.

He reached up. He took her free hand—the one that had been gripping the edge of the desk for support.

He lifted it.

"Anywhere on your body..." he said.

He guided her other hand to her breast. The bodice of the gray dress was open, her skin pale and exposed in the firelight. He placed her palm over the soft swell of her flesh.

Ines hesitated for a second. Then, her fingers curled. She caressed herself. She cupped her own breast, feeling the weight of it, feeling the hard peak of her nipple against her palm.

It was electrifying. She was touching herself, everywhere, and he was watching.

He continued, his voice a hypnotic rhythm in her ear.

"...anywhere that gives you pleasure," he said. "Your neck. Your thighs. Your breasts."

He looked down at her hand between her legs.

"But especially," he growled, "between your legs."

He increased the pace with her fingers. He pressed down on her hand, making her move faster, deeper.

Ines’s head fell back. Her breathing hitched. The embarrassment was fading, replaced by a rising tide of sensation.

"And when you find a feeling you particularly enjoy," Carcel instructed, "you can carry on with that. You don’t stop. You chase it."

Ines moved her hand on her breast in circles. She pumped her fingers into her center, matching the rhythm he set.

"Until the feeling grows," Carcel whispered, his breath hot on her neck. "And eventually... eventually, you reach a breaking point. A release. A glorious explosion."

He kissed her shoulder.

"And that," he said, "should help you. It will calm you. It will remind you that you are mine."

Ines was panting. She was enjoying how she was giving herself pleasure. It was empowering. She felt in control of her own body, yet completely surrendered to his gaze.

But then, a thought struck her through the haze.

She stopped moving her hand on her breast. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

He was fully dressed. His shirt was open, yes, and his hair was wild, but he was still... contained. He was just watching.

"Then..." Ines asked, her voice breathless and shaky. "What about you?"

Carcel frowned slightly, confused. "Me?"

"It would be unfair," Ines said. She gestured to herself, displayed on the desk, touching herself for his entertainment. "I am... I am getting all the pleasure. I am the one being touched. You are just... standing there."

It seemed wrong. In her books, the lovers shared everything.

Carcel stared at her. Then, he chuckled.

It was a dark, dry sound. He shook his head, looking at her with a mix of amusement and hunger.

"Me?" he asked.

He looked down at his trousers. They were painful. He was hard. He was aching. He was desperate.

But the sight of her... the sight of Ines, in a maid’s dress, touching her own body because he told her to... it was a pleasure so sharp it almost hurt.

"Just looking at you," he said, his voice rough with honesty, "is enough. It is more than enough. Seeing you unravel... seeing you learn your own body... it drives me mad."

He brought her hand up to her face.

"Look," he said.

Ines looked at her fingers. They were glistening in the firelight.

"That," Carcel whispered, "is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. So tell me Ines, why wouldn’t I be content just looking at you?"

He kissed her fingers, tasting her on her own skin.

He paused.

His eyes darkened. A new thought crossed his mind. A wicked thought.

He was, after all, a man. And she had offered fairness.

"But..." he said slowly.

He leaned in closer. He placed his hands on the desk, on either side of her hips, trapping her.

"Then," he whispered, "should I ask for something else? If you are worried about fairness?"

Ines looked at him. Her eyes locked onto his.

"Yes," she breathed.

She nodded. She trusted him. She wanted him to feel what she felt.

"Anything," she promised. "Ask for anything."