My Lady's Pleasure Read Free Page B

quality.
    For her, there was always something about being on a horse. She’d discovered this unexpected pleasure of having a moving saddle between her legs the very first time she took Senator around the grounds at Eastley. She’d been too uncertain of herself then to relax and let it overcome her, but it didn’t take many outings before she understood how to stay on the horse while letting the smooth leather of the saddle pitch up and down against her, raising her temperature, quickening her heartbeat, and moistening her core.
    Now all she could think about was the rhythm of the ride and the gradually increasing waves of pleasure working their way through her body, almost of their own accord. Alone on the trail, shrouded by darkness, Georgiana abandoned herself to the steady climb toward the explosion she knew would come. She focused on letting it happen, and not making it happen. She kept her sensations under control by tilting her hips a tiny bit backward to minimize contact, and then forward again to bring her right to the brink. She’d been in the saddle for two hours already, and had the luxury—which she never had, or perhaps just never exercised, with Jeremy—of building up and then pulling back, and then doing it again, at whatever pace pleased her, for as long as she wanted.
    And she wanted. The freedom to move as she liked, to have to focus on no one else, to abandon herself to the rhythm, meant that some of her most intense pleasure, her most body-enveloping orgasms, had come on horseback.
    The horse continued his steady walk, the saddle moving up and down, with each lift having a slight forward motion that pulsed against her. The pulsing went on and on, out of her control because the animal she was riding made it happen, but within her control because the slightest motion determined the intensity of her feeling.
    As she neared the point at which control ceased, she tried to relax every muscle that wasn’t needed to keep her in the saddle. She resisted the deep-seated impulse to grasp, to clench, to hold. When she was with Jeremy, she loved that sensation—of taking him in, of keeping him in, of trying to bury him deeper and deeper inside her. His hardness and his urgency were part of her pleasure. Without that, her pleasure was different. It was soft and slow, almost slack. Even as she knew she was approaching her climax, she was relaxed and passive.
    Then came the tingling she recognized as the first note of fulfillment. It started in the backs of her calves, the sensation of being overcome by a gentle warmth; it traveled up her legs and into her chest before it transformed itself from a lapping wave to a perfect storm, involving every muscle and every nerve. Her deliberate relaxation succumbed to the force of her ecstasy. Now she contracted everything to lengthen, to intensify. She felt as if her very body were transformed to some other material. She didn’t just feel pleasure; she was pleasure, a pleasure that was both suffusing and acute. She made no noise, but exhaled sharply.
    Her orgasm left as it had come, subsiding back to the lapping wave and then ebbing altogether, leaving her profoundly satisfied. It took several minutes for her breathing to return to normal, and another few for Georgiana to be fully aware of her surroundings. As she became attuned again to the darkness, and the breeze, and her horse’s steady footfall, she saw a line of lights, dim in the distance. It was Penfield.
    Penfield was undoubtedly the finest house in Hampshire. Not the biggest, not the oldest, but the most pleasing and complete. It wasn’t just a box on a hill, like so many of the country houses she’d visited. It had long, lean lines, and nestled comfortably in the rolling terrain of its grounds. The house had been built a hundred years ago as the country home of the Earl of Tewksbury, and had seen that family through three generations. The fourth, though, did them in. With family finances brought low by the