The Master and The Muses. Amanda McIntyre

would you have the desire to be alone with the likes of me?” His grin was tempting, as he intended it to be, I am certain.

      “Do not think I am like Annie, Thomas,” I warned, pointing my finger at him.

      He caught my hand, turning it so that the peach dropped to the ground. Then one by one, he drew my fingertips into his mouth, sucking off the juice.

      “Believe me, Helen. You and Annie are nothing alike.”

      “Do not mock, me, Thomas. True, I am not as free and easy as Annie is. I have not perfected the art of flirting with a man.” I pushed to my feet, humiliated…no, insulted that he did not know me well enough to understand. I pressed my hands against the tree, shielding my face from his view. He touched my shoulder.

      “Helen, I wasn’t mocking you,” he said. “Turn around and talk to me.”

      I faced him, my heart pounding with my wounded pride, determined that I would speak my mind. “I admit that in many ways I am innocent. Surely by comparison to your other muses, you must think me but a country nitwit.”

      “Helen, of course not.” He smoothed his hand over my cheek. “You misunderstood what I said.” He smiled down at me. “No, my sweet Helen. You—”

      He kissed my forehead.

      “—are so much more—”

      His mouth drifted to my eyelid, to my cheek, and hovered over my mouth.

      “—fascinating.” He brushed my lips, teasing, until I leaned forward to meet his mouth. I tasted the wine on his lips, his tongue, as they melded with mine.

      I was glad for the firm support of the tree against my spine. My fingers dug into the bark as he left a trail of warm, wet kisses down my throat.

      “On the contrary, Helen—” his hot breath seared my flesh “—I find you utterly beguiling.”

      My eyes floated shut and William briefly crossed my mind. But Thomas’s kisses, deep and thorough, left me breathless, dissolving what was left of his brother in my heart.

      “William was right in choosing you,” he whispered. “He knew I would be infatuated.”

      He held my face, his thumbs stroking the tender spot beneath my jaw.

      “Is it wrong for me to feel this wicked, Thomas?” I reveled in how it felt to have someone desire me, to know that I was capable of giving back pleasure.

      “Do you wish to feel wicked, Helen?” he asked.

      “Yes, Thomas. Teach me.” I surrendered to his arduous attention, tired of carrying around my burdensome concerns. He reached around me, working at the buttons of my gown. I smoothed my hands along his strong forearms, my fingers sliding through his as I drew his hands between us. I looked up at him. “Teach me how to please you.”

      He searched my eyes. “Very well, muse. As you wish.”

      He held my curious, hungry gaze, as he peeled off his cravat and proceeded to unbutton his shirt.

      My heart thrummed unsteadily as piece by piece he took off his clothing until he stood fully naked before me. He took my hands and pressed them against his muscled torso.

      “Touch me, Helen. Satisfy your curiosity.”

      He remained statuesque as I walked around him, stopping to rake my fingers over the sinewy muscle of his shoulders. His firm buttocks clenched as my fingers lightly trailed over his hips. I leaned my cheek to his sturdy back, bringing my arms around him. He was a beautiful man, if men can be described in such terms.

      I smoothed my hands over his hard stomach, smiling as he stiffened to my curious touch, then wrapped my fingers lightly around his rigid cock.

      He drew in a sharp breath.

      “Does this please you?” I asked, skimming my palms over his body, taking luxurious time with my exploration.

      He whirled to face me, pushing his hands under my breasts, sliding his mouth roughly over mine. Then he covered my hand with his and guided me back to his erection, capturing my mouth again in a heated kiss.

      I moved my fingers over the hard ridges of his phallus, my thumb delicately skimming across the velvety tip.

      “Do you wish to please me even more?” he asked, lifting my chin to meet his heated gaze.

      I licked my lips and nodded.

      He held my shoulders, easing me down to my knees in front of him. His erect cock jutted proudly from a soft patch of dark hair.

      I looked up and received his nod. I eased my hand along his warm length, watching as his eyes drifted shut. Empowered, I leaned forward to kiss the glistening tip.

      “That’s it, my muse.”

      He stroked my neck, his fingers deftly skipping over my chin. “You are good to me.” His guttural moans spurned me on. Something inside me yearned to harness the power of this man, his authority, his leadership in the brotherhood, and to watch him unravel before my eyes.

      His hand covered mine, guiding my stroke, showing me the secret spot at the base of his cock that made him cry out with pleasure.

      A sharp, bitter taste appeared on my tongue and I drew back, standing as I wiped my mouth. Thomas turned away, his hand working rapidly, his breath catching as he cast his face heavenward and emptied his seed on the grass. The firm muscles of his buttocks clenched and unclenched with the fierceness of his release.

      I stared at his backside, mesmerized by the hard, angled plane of his body. He looked over his shoulder and I averted my eyes, ashamed to intrude on his privacy.

      He came to me and took my hand, bringing it to his lips.

      “You should see your face, blushed with color, with yearning.”

      “Yearning?” Of course, I knew what he meant. I took a deep breath and moistened my lips. My body teetered on the precipice, ready to fall apart.

      “Oh, yes,” he whispered, bending down to grab my skirts, lifting them higher as he backed me against a tree. His eyes sparked with arousal. “Your turn.”

      Without pretense he slipped his hand down the front of my thin cotton drawers, his long fingers parting my drenched folds.

      My breath caught as he parted me, dipping into my warm crevice, stroking long and slow as I held his sinful gaze. I grasped his shoulders as my body tightened, his smiling face hovering over mine.

      “There now, let go, my muse,” he whispered against my mouth.

      I shut my eyes to the exquisite pleasure that coursed through my veins, awakening every nerve ending. Thomas kissed me, his masterful fingers summoning each delicious spasm from me.

      “Live with me,” he said, releasing my skirts. He raised his hand to his mouth, tasting my juices. “I do not want to be away from you ever.”

      I was smitten with his request, but I knew to say yes to him would mean banishment from my family.

      “As lovers?” I did not expect anything more from Thomas.

      “As my muse,” he responded, kissing me passionately.

      “What will people say?” I asked.

      He shrugged. “If they must pry, then I shall simply tell them that you are my new pupil.”

      He dropped to his knees and drew me into his embrace.

      “Do not make me wait another moment for your answer, Helen. It is sheer torture!”

      I laughed, something I hadn’t done in weeks, it seemed. “Very well, but I warn you, my skills in the kitchen are limited.”

      He looked up at me and grinned. “My sweet muse, it is not your skill in the kitchen that interests me.”

      I held his face and smiled.