“Do you know how much I want you, Dorian?” she breathed. “You must know.”
In reply, his hand dipped and his fingers ran the full length of the slippery folds between Rose’s thighs. Of course he knew. He could feel her desire as she felt his. But if so, why had he kept from her for so long, for no cause? The organ in her hand throbbed eagerly, far simpler to understand than the man to whom it belonged.
Rose dropped down to her knees and kissed the head of Dorian’s shaft before engulfing as much of him as she could in her mouth, licking and suckling as he had taught gave him pleasure. She heard her name cried aloud and felt his fingers catching in her hair. It gave Rose a strange sense of power to please her husband like this, although she knew it was only transitory.
Dorian’s appreciation was vocal and his fingers massaged her head in encouragement as she worked. Would he let that stream of salty seed spurt into her mouth tonight, as he had done occasionally before? Rose was torn between driving him over the edge with her present oral caresses and the ache of own slit, longing to be filled.
“You turn,” he said gruffly before the crisis point was reached, drawing Rose back up from his now-glistening shaft and pushing her back onto the bed.
Strong hands pushed open Rose’s thighs and Dorian’s mouth began teasing the skin above her stocking tops and the golden fur of her mount of Venus. Only when Rose was whimpering and writhing did his tongue renew its acquaintance with her inner folds and then seek the firm little button at the top of her slit.
Several times then, Dorian drove Rose almost to her peak before drawing briefly back. The tension of it was almost unbearable.
“Please, Dorian, please! I need…”
This time, Dorian did not stop as the climax of pleasure approached and Rose heard herself scream wildly as the spasms of it passed through her. Her sensations were excited to an even higher pitch by the hard, hot organ that Dorian now pushed deep into her womanhood.
“My Rose,” he growled, hands sliding under her buttocks to pull her closer and penetrate as deeply as physically possible. “My Rose…”
One more thrust was enough to undo him in his present state of excitement and Rose felt the rhythmic pulsing of his rod against the background of her own internal quivering.
“We should get into bed,” Dorian said after some minutes had passed in their present position, their eyes locked on one another and bodies still conjoined.
Rose squeezed him with the thighs wrapped tightly around his waist to hold him inside her.
“I don’t want to let you go,” she admitted ruefully.
Dorian stroked her face, tender and honest again in painful contrast to the cold distance he had shown all too recently.
“Well, if I promise to do that again, can we get under the covers?” he suggested with good humor.
Laughing at herself a little, Rose nodded and unwound her legs, allowing Dorian to disengage and then roll both of them under the covers. She nestled there against his broad chest, listening to his heartbeat but wondering whether he would still be there when she awoke the next day.
“You did believe me about Lord Gillingham, didn’t you?” Rose asked Dorian. “You know it was nothing really, only a childish dream, like all the books I used to read.”
Dorian smiled and shook his head, holding her more tightly for a few seconds.
“It was ridiculous for me to be jealous of Lord Gillingham, even for a single moment,” he told Rose. “That man wouldn’t even know what to do with a woman. Admiral Turnbull however…”
“I don’t want him either,” Rose stated immediately, turning her face up towards him. “I only want you, Dorian.”
“I know,” Dorian admitted, his lips stealing kisses from hers with that strange mix of desire and reluctance she had sensed in his touches in the ballroom earlier, as though he was trying very hard, and failing, not to want her.
“How strange everything is!” Rose sighed. “I used to think marriage would be so simple, like the end of a story, with everyone living happily ever after. We all thought that once, Josephine, Madeline and I, although Madeline was never so romantic as Josephine and I. We all made a vow once to find our ideal husbands and presumably live happily ever after.”
“Romance,” remarked Dorian dismissively but not unkindly. “It is indeed a fairy-tale for the half-grown. I can live only in the adult world, the real world.”
“Yes, I know that. But this is something real, isn't it?” asked Rose, her hand resting over his groin and feeling his shaft twitch again under her palm as her mouth sought his. “Everything feels so real when you are beside me, or inside me.”
Dorian rolled above her and entwined his fingers in hers.
“You cannot know what you do to me, Rose,” he told her and kissed her into breathlessness once more. “You cannot possibly know.”
The second time he took her that night was so long and slow and sensuous that Rose felt she had fallen into an erotic dream that would never end. Her pleasure peaked like slowly rising water, engulfing and flowing over her so gradually that she didn’t realize it was coming and feared it would drown her.
When Rose awoke in the morning, Dorian was indeed gone, and the side of the bed where he had lain was as cold and empty as her freshly breaking heart.
Chapter Nineteen
