Claiming Her Innocence Read Online Free PDF Page A

pussy—longs for a touch just as your eyes long for a sunset and your mouth longs for a summer berry. It is natural, my sweet little love. It is natural and good, and to deny it is a sin.”
    She grew still and looked at him, tears glistening on her lashes.
    “You don’t understand. It’s not what I was taught,” she said. “I was taught that to even think on it is a sin. And to act on it is worse!”
    “The girl you saw punished at the convent, you said she did something horrible, Penelope. What did she do?”
    He felt her tremble. “She… oh… must I answer?”
    “You must. And you must look at me when you answer.”
    He could tell it took all her resolve to obey. When her response came, it was barely audible. “She was caught… touching herself.”
    “Go on…”
    “In the night. By Sister Agnes.”
    “And punished?” he asked.
    She nodded.
    He caught her face in his hands. “Oh, Penelope. Don’t you see how cruel this is? To punish girls for feelings that God gave them? To make them deny the body’s cry for the most natural pairing in the world?”
    Her breasts were heaving now, her eyes dilated. He thought she was the most beautiful thing in the world. “I will free you from the bondage of these false teachings,” he said, and with that promise, Lord Alton Westcott pulled Penelope to him to taste her virgin lips for the first time. She resisted at first, but more from surprise than any real aversion. Had she genuinely fought him, he’d have stopped, but he could already feel her softening, feel her moan against his mouth as his tongue met hers, feel her body mold to his as her resistance melted away.
    She was right; she was weak. She was a font of pent-up need and the walls holding back her desire were crumbling from within even as he pressed against them. He kissed her deeply, enjoying the unskilled reciprocation, the feel of her slim hand pressed against his jacket. He thought back to earlier in the evening when he’d held her damp undergarment to his nose, breathing in her arousal, and he longed for it again, hungered for it.
    But not yet. He would take this slowly. He would wait until their wedding night. She would come to his bed a curious innocent. But she would leave a knowing wanton.
    Breaking the kiss, he held her to him.
    “The torte!” he said suddenly, as if in afterthought. Lifting her as if she weighed no more than a child, Lord Westcott rose and placed Penelope in the chair where they’d been sitting. Then he went to the table, cut a piece of the dessert, and brought it back. After placing her back in his lap, he lifted a spoonful of the decadent sweet to her lips. They parted, as they had done for the kiss.
    “The chocolate is sweet and smooth, the cherries tart,” he said. “See how the bite of the fruit heightens the taste of the chocolate?”
    She nodded. “Remember that,” he said. “For your education has begun tonight, and the lesson of this moment will be revisited in my touch.”
    He could see her flush and smiled.
    “Tell me, Penelope,” he said as he spooned another piece of torte into her mouth. “Did you ever risk punishment at the convent? Did you ever touch yourself?”
    “No. Never.”
    He believed her this time.
    “Did you want to?”
    Her downcast eyes gave him his answer.
    “I can imagine you in the dark, your hands by your sides, your fists balled tightly to keep your fingers from straying to the ache between your thighs. You wanted to relieve it, but you feared punishment.” He trailed a finger down her face. “You have nothing to fear here,” he said. “There are punishable offenses, but touching yourself is not one of them. In fact, as your future husband, guardian, and ultimate authority in your life, I give you permission to touch yourself.”
    “Oh, do not,” she said. “I do not want to be given such leave…”
    “You are given it nonetheless,” he said, and tipped her to standing. He looked down on her, his expression kind but