"We're going to focus on communication. And for that we need to have our mouths free to talk to each other. I'll only be using my hands, alright?"
A coiling tension grew deep in Jean's stomach as Lucien's soft, seductive voice explained his plan to her. She nodded in agreement. That was probably for the best. This was a lesson. She was here to learn. And if he kissed her, she knew she would be utterly lost.
"Let's start slow. Where would you like me to touch you? Your hand?" he asked, placing a gentle touch to her fidgeting fingers. "Your arm?" A feather-light touch on her bare forearm. "Your cheek?" Lucien was barely whispering now, matching the soft whisper of his fingers trailing across her cheek.
Jean's eyes fluttered closed and the smallest whimpering moan escaped her lips.
"You have to tell me, Jean," he prompted.
She opened her eyes again and could feel the flush of embarrassment and arousal color her cheeks. "My…my face. That felt nice."
He gave an encouraging little smile. Lucien lifted both his large, strong hands to cup her face. His thumbs traced her cheekbones and her smile lines. His touch was gentle and loving. "Shall I stay like this? Would you like me to move elsewhere? Perhaps stroke your hair or trace the lines of your neck?"
God, his voice would be the end of her. All she wanted to do was hear him speak in that tone as he touched her. Anywhere, wherever he liked. But she knew how this was to work. She had to respond. She had to choose, direct him in his ministrations. "Down my neck," she breathed, tilting her head back to give him more access to the pale column of her throat.
As Lucien moved his touch slowly and softly, he asked her, "Do you like that? Should I move slower or faster?"
"Just like that. Lower," she instructed, finally beginning to feel at ease with the way of things, losing herself in the quiet, delicate moment. He was taking his time with her. He was listening to exactly what she said, asking her all the things that she'd never been asked, never been forced to examine before. And she liked it.
Lucien's fingers made their way down her neck and lower, as she'd directed, over the cotton of her blouse, tracing the curve of her breasts. He felt himself begin to tremble. He swallowed hard to try to keep control of himself. This exercise was rapidly becoming more and more intimate, and Lucien really wasn't sure he could persevere in the way he knew Jean needed.
"Undo the buttons," she commanded.
Lucien froze.
Jean's eyes flew open and she gasped in horror at what she'd said. "Oh…"
"Tell me what you want, Jean," he coaxed. "Anything you want. There's no wrong choice. There's absolutely nothing you're supposed to do except whatever it is you feel you want. You just have to tell me."
Her gray gaze was steely with determination. She looked right in his eyes. "Undo the buttons," she repeated. Her voice cracked slightly, but she'd said it anyway.
Later, when he wasn't singularly focused on the task in front of him, Lucien would think about how wonderfully proud he was of his Jean. So brave, so self-assured, even when she herself didn't think she was capable of such things.
And Lucien began to unbutton her blouse. Each time his finger brushed against the slip she wore beneath her clothes, she would shiver. The fabric hung open, revealing that first linen undergarment. The last few buttons were tucked into the tight skirt she wore, so Lucien paused, waiting for further instruction.
"The buttons are undone," he informed her.
A trembling whisper came from her lips, "Take it off."
He was about to ask her to clarify her meaning when she turned and faced way from him. The zipper to the skirt was now within his grasp. "Jean, are you sure? We can stop. You don't have to continue if you don't want to."
"I want to," came her nervous yet determined reply.
Lucien's breathing was growing a bit heavy and he tugged the zipper of her skirt down slowly. His knuckles brushed against the swell of her bum, following the line of her body with the zip. The garment was loose enough to fall off her hips and pool at her feet.
Jean stepped out of the skirt and toed off her shoes as she did so, standing more than a full head shorter than him now and facing him once again.
Her slip was barely longer than the blouse, hitting at just above the middle of her thighs. Her legs were still covered by her stockings as always but with no shoes or skirt, the eroticism of seeing anything above her knees was quite overwhelming. "Shall I undo the rest of the buttons now?" He tried to give a light-hearted grin but couldn't quite manage it. His hands were flexing with the need to touch her again. But Jean was the one in charge. He needed to wait for her instruction.
"Yes," she replied simply.
Lucien's whole body was practically vibrating with want of her. The unbuttoned blouse fell to the floor. He'd never seen her in just her underthings before. "What would you like me to do, Jean?" he asked, desperate for her response.
"Touch me," she told him.
"Where?"
"My arms first. My back. My…my bare skin."
He did as he was asked. First he felt the goosebumps all over her arms and smoothed them away. His hands then traveled to her bare back, above the line of her slip. Her skin was so soft, and he could swear she smelled of tea and peach flower. He longed to taste her. But not now. Not today. Another time.
"Take off the rest."
Lucien thought he may have blacked out for a moment. "Jean…"
But Jean knew what she was asking. Every part of her skin that he touched ignited the flame of her desire. She felt a yearning tension unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Only Lucien and his touch could quell the desire burning within her now. Here in this room, behind the closed blinds and the locked door amidst an empty house. Here with this man, who loved her so well and vowed to protect and please her in equal measure. And she wanted him. She wanted him for this and for all things. And the very idea that he was so patient and so earnest and so willing to allow her the freedom to explore everything she felt and everything she wanted only served to secure in her mind that she wanted him. "Please. I want to feel you touch me."
"Where?" he asked once more.
"Everywhere."
Lucien's hands moved on their own accord, grasping the hem of the slip and pulling it over her head. He unclipped her stockings and kneeled to roll each one down. The scent of her arousal caught him off-guard, as his face was now only inches from her, and he had to bite his lip to keep from groaning. He pulled the garter belt off her before standing up again. Jean turned away from him again so he could unhook her bra. She shrugged out of it while he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her knickers and pushed them down her legs. Her bare bum was now gloriously revealed to him. But before Lucien could properly revel in the sight of it and rake his gaze over the pale silk of the skin on her back, Jean turned back to face him.
He blinked, desperate to keep control. His own arousal was now quite insistent in his trousers, but Lucien had to ignore it. But the perfect fullness of her pert breasts and the dark pink of her nipples already puckered from the cold of the room and the eroticism of their new intimacy, threatened to overpower him. Below her breasts, her trim waist and slightly rounded stomach and flared hips led to the dark curls between her legs where Lucien longed to bury himself. But not now. Soon, but not now.
"You are so beautiful, Jean," he told her, still in utter awe.
She watched the way he watched her, feeling that delicious tension increase with every passing moment. She felt so exposed beneath his focused gaze. But he seemed to like what he saw. "Thank you," she replied, not sure what else to say.
Lucien looked back up at her lovely face, seeing that her violent blush was actually fading. He asked, "Where do you want me to touch you first?"