John. Trem swore internally. He had to block out any thoughts of John. He couldn’t think of what his best friend would do or say if he knew how Trem had touched his sister yesterday—and how he wanted to touch her right now.
He shook his head. He had already crossed the line. And he wanted her too badly. He knew the guilt should be overwhelming him and, yet, with Henrietta standing in front of him, so timid and pure and yet too saucy, he couldn’t feel any remorse. He knew it was wrong, a betrayal of every oath of his oldest and dearest friendship, and yet he couldn’t care at the moment. He knew he would later, but right now his cock had outpaced his brain as never before. He was always like this—and yet each time he couldn’t stop it. He knew the remorse would come later, his better judgment arriving too late, after he had already done the deed.
He had come here to propose marriage and yet this heat between them seemed so much more pressing. Once he could have her, just a bit more of her, they could talk about the practicalities. He somehow knew if he spoke those words now, if he brought in such talk to this little room, it would break the spell of the moment.
“How long do I have to make good on my threats?”
“A half an hour at least. If Catherine and Lady Trilling don’t come looking for me. But they will be preoccupied with Griffon for longer than that, I suspect.”
“Then I will use every minute that we have. I plan to give you pleasure that far surpasses what you experienced yesterday.”
“You can’t,” she said, and the words sent terror—actual terror—down to the soles of his feet. She was saying no, he realized. She hadn’t enjoyed what they had experienced together.
“Did I hurt you?”
She looked at him and he saw a new, deep blush suffuse her cheeks. “No, no,” she said, shaking her head, “it’s not that. It’s just that I don’t think I could experience anything better than yesterday.”
Relief flooded him. She wasn’t saying no or taking back what they had shared.
“Will you let me try?”
Their eyes locked and then she gave him a quick nod.
He drew her into him and then reached down to kiss her, teasing her mouth open as he had before, until she was sighing into him. God, she was sweet. Why did everything about her feel so good? Her mouth was plump and firm, perfect for teasing and debauching.
He pulled her down onto him on the sofa. The way her body fell into his own was worth whatever consequence came later. She was that exquisite.
She broke the kiss and looked at him—and he could tell she wanted to do something but was stopping herself.
“You can do with me anything you want,” he said to her, his fingers on her jaw, where he could feel her pulse hammering. “Don’t hesitate.”
It was, apparently, all the encouragement Henrietta needed. She pushed herself on top of him, straddling him between her skirts. Her warm core teased his cock and he could feel that she wore no undergarments.
He shook his head.
“If you are going to do that, I need this dress off.”
She smiled at him and then stood, obliging. She turned and he undid the buttons of her dress. The fabric fell to the floor, she shrugged off her petticoat, and undid her stays quickly. She stood again only in her chemise and stockings.
He could see her breasts and sex through the thin fabric. Her skin shone like an expensive French satin beneath the simple garment. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. But he needed to see all of her.
“The chemise, too.”
It was all he needed to say. In a moment, it was gone.
She stood before him once more, just as she had yesterday, clad only in her stockings. Her pale pink nipples were hardened and he knew this time how impossibly sweet they would be on his tongue. The curling hair at her sex made his mouth water.
He couldn’t wait any longer.
“Come back,” he said, gesturing but not reaching out to her, needing her to fully choose this of her own accord.
She stepped towards him, taking her time, and then climbed back onto the sofa, straddling him once more.
He once more found breathing difficult. She kissed him and he realized that she smelled like citrus and apple, tart and fresh—she smelled clean and innocent. Like someone that he, of all people, shouldn’t be touching.
She plundered his mouth, exploring the planes of his chest with her hands. Her untutored touch inflamed his senses and he yearned to touch her but wanted to let her explore. He wanted to see what she wanted. So he let her slow, torturing investigation go forward.
When she pulled away, her own mouth was inflamed, looking bee-stung, and his cock was actually pulsing against his trousers.
