“Perhaps I missed my calling. Raise your arms.”
Quickly, I have his white lawn shirt off and he stands half bare before me.
I move my hands over the planes of his chest. He is powerfully built, much more so than necessary for a vicar. His chest and shoulders are wider than fashion, surely.
“I know I am brutish,” he says, clearly uncomfortable under my gaze.
“There is nothing wrong with you.”
“I can’t believe it isyousaying such things to me.”
“Believe it,” I answer brusquely, not liking the feelings that threaten at his sweetness. I turn round so that my back faces him. “You must undo me.”
He unlaces me with trembling fingers.
I shirk off my dress, happy that I neglected to wear a crinoline. I slide my petticoats over my hips, leaving only my corset and drawers. I wore no shift between my corset and my skin—I like the way I look without the extra fabric.
He swallows at the sight of me. I hoped he would look as he does just now. His cheeks are flushed and his lips parted.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
A hot mixture of shame and anger and pleasure runs through me. I don’t deserve such praise. But I’ll enjoy it anyway.
“You can touch me—if you would like.”
He brings his hands to my waist, touching the stiff material of my corset.
“It’s pretty. But I’d enjoy it better off you.”
“Then take it off.”
He turns me with his hands and undoes the laces of the corset. It falls to my feet.
I have been bare to him before. I was completely naked on that dining chair. But somehowthismoment feels so much more intimate.
“Can I—can I touch you now?”
“Yes,” I say, annoyed and aroused in equal measure.
With surprising firmness, he cups oneof my breasts, which like its twin is large and heavy. I don’t like my breasts. I have always wished they were smaller.
“God, you’re too perfect,” he says. “I could spend just from touching you like this, Annabelle.”
“Sit down on the bed,” I say, again brusquer than I feel.
He obeys and I kneel, removing his boots. Then with his trousers still on, I straddle him.
He palms my breasts again and I rock against him, savoring the sweet press of his hard cock through my drawers. He squeezes my breasts tightly, sending pleasure and a little pain radiating through me. I grow very wet between my legs.
I rock back and forth on him and he moans, reaching his hands around to my arse and steadying me.
God, he is a natural. A man meant for pleasure. For coupling.
“If you rock against me any more, I will spend,” he whispers.
“Then spend,” I say. “We have all night. And you are beholden to nothing but my wishes.”
We don’t exactly have all night of course. He cannot stay at the Abbey until morning. Even though I dismissed all the servants, someone would notice. But he can stay for a few hours at least. And I don’t doubt his ability to spend multiple times. He has years of orgasms to make up for.
