Wallflowers Don't Wilt Read Free

Serry, for he was certain it was they, visiting at such an hour? They were lucky he did not choose to see them in his robe, or less.
    His irritation subsided somewhat as he opened the door to the Blue Salon and contemplated its occupants.
    Entwined. There was no other word for it. The sofa on which they were ensconced was furnished in a soft blue velvet to follow the hues of the room. Surely it had never before experienced such enchanting occupants? His semihard cock was immediately transformed into a lusty spear, ready to be thrown in their direction.
    He coughed delicately.
    Neither stirred. With her head on Serry’s breast and her hand around her waist, Bella slept on, her lips parted as if ready to claim one nearby nipple. Serena, cushioned hard against the high back of the sofa with her head tipped forward to rest against Arabella’s, was equally inanimate.
    The sleep of the innocent, or so it seemed. The delicate flush on their cheeks, the slight dishevelment of their clothing, and the almost-catatonic state they seemed in, gave lie to his observation. He coughed again. Louder.
    Bella stirred and looked at him owlishly. She nudged Serena.
    “Look who has finally decided to return home.”
    “Ladies. Why are you here at this time?”
    “Waiting for you. Where have you been? Oh, your pardon, Your Grace.” She obviously realized whom she was addressing.
    “Granted. Perhaps. Let me rephrase my question: Why have you found it necessary to visit me, at this hour, in my home? Do you not comprehend what being here, unchaperoned, could do to your reputations?”
    As he watched, each shook herself slightly. Serena stretched, slowly, seductively, and regarded him, her eyes still slumberous.
    “Your Grace,” she uttered. “After tomorrow, we will probably have no reputations other than irredeemable ones.” She peered at Arabella, who smiled and gave her a reassuring hug.
    “Ivo, we need to speak with you,” Bella continued firmly. “It is important, not only to us, but to you also. Will you listen?”
    He nodded, stirred the embers of the fire, waited until they glowed into life, and added more kindling. Sitting down in a large, leather wingback chair placed at a right angle to the sofa, he regarded them.
    “Go ahead,” he invited, his legs spread wide and his semihard erection beginning to show itself in an overt manner guaranteed to intimidate many people. Not so Arabella and Serena, he understood with good humor. After a brief, downward scrutiny, Arabella ignored his pose and began to talk.
    “Firstly, I will say, yes, we have heard about your reputation, your predilection for less-than-usual practices. We are hypothetically intrigued by what you wish to discuss, if it involves this; however, we feel you should be made aware of a few things regarding our future lives. Ours as in myself and Serena.” She stopped, undecided perhaps how to continue.
    “Go on,” he replied levelly. “Elucidate.”
    “We noticed your interest in our pinkie linking. You asked us if we knew what that signified in certain circles, and we said we did. Do you know, Your Grace?”
    “Of course.” There was a pause as all assessed each other. Eventually, with a lift of his shoulders, he spoke. “My dears, it signifies you are followers of Sappho.” Still neither girl replied. So be it. He decided to risk all, as if on a throw of the dice.
    “I do believe”—his tone was sensual, enticing, his intention to seduce evident in every nuance—”that those who pinkie link are more inclined to experiment. You are obviously of that persuasion, else why be here? Although I must confess, I had cause to wonder why two such young, beautiful, vivacious ladies as you have chosen that route through life. For it will be neither easy, nor I fear, pleasant at times.”
    He saw their exchanged glances. Not disinterested, he thought. So it was up to him to turn that to his advantage, and furthermore, give his cock the workout it sorely