Catherine moans, low and deep, and Rosalie smiles against her. She watches her face, memorizes her reactions. She holds Catherine’s hip with her free hand, her other sinking down to tease against Catherine’s entrance. Catherine’s head jerks up as Rosalie gently sucks, her eyes meeting Rosalie’s.
She wishes she had bothered with the dress now, so she could see Catherine fully bare. But still, the way her eyes, wide and searching and blissful, watch Rosalie—the way her hand comes down to cover Rosalie’s on her hip, her other hand rising to squeeze at her breast—the way she moans quietly, breathily, beautifully—she is utterly glorious.
Rosalie could stay like this forever, her fingers sinking into Catherine, lips and tongue moving delicately, Catherine grinding softly into her face. To watch as the pleasure rises, feel theway Catherine’s muscles tighten, delight in the way she’s babbling nonsense, her other hand falling to hold Rosalie’s head, to urge her forward—
Catherine tenses, clenching around Rosalie’s fingers, a soft, keening whine escaping her lips as her hips press up against Rosalie’s mouth. Rosalie keeps going, drawing as much pleasure as she can, relishing in Catherine’s moans and squeaks and sighs, until the hand previously clenched into her hair gently shoves her face to the side.
She withdraws her fingers, laughing as she reaches up to wipe them on Catherine’s chemise. Watching Catherine slowly blink her eyes open, she feels powerful, and vulnerable, and so close and connected to her all at once.
“My God,” Catherine whispers, her voice a little hoarse.
“Yeah?” Rosalie asks.
“Yeah,” Catherine says, reaching down to cup Rosalie’s shoulder. “Get up here.”
Rosalie smiles and rises on her lightly aching knees, leaning forward so Catherine can pull her into a deep, searching kiss. Rosalie relishes the feeling, squirming there between Catherine’s legs, suddenly aware of her own aching want, and the fact that there’s a bed not feet away.
“Shall we move somewhere more comfortable?” Rosalie suggests as Catherine breaks from her mouth, dragging kisses up Rosalie’s jaw.
“Only once you’re naked,” she whispers, her hands gliding up Rosalie’s back to undo the laces of her dress. “Arms up.”
Rosalie laughs and raises her arms, allowing Catherine to pull her dress and petticoat up and over her head. It’s a little awkward with Rosalie still kneeling on the floor, but the humof triumph Catherine lets out when they finally make it over Rosalie’s hair is so damn endearing.
“Fair’s fair,” she says, pulling Catherine forward so she can undo the laces of her dress and gather the bunched fabric.
Catherine raises her hips and together they make quick work of her dress and petticoat, leaving them both in stays and chemises, tangled together on the settee. Catherine giggles, leaning in for another kiss. It’s a breathless few minutes of tugging at laces, exchanging rough, open-mouthed kisses, before Rosalie manages to get Catherine’s stays off. She doesn’t even notice Catherine’s beaten her to it until Catherine’s deft fingers are tripping up her stomach and coming to settle firm and lovely on her breasts.
“Stand up,” Catherine says, a finger swiping over Rosalie’s nipple.
She groans. She doesn’t want to move anymore, just wants to stay here with Catherine’s hands on her all night.
“Now,” Catherine says firmly.
Rosalie’s not sure why she finds her clear, commanding tone so attractive, but it does something to her—warmth pooling in her belly, between her thighs, tingling down to her toes.
She stands, looking down at Catherine, until Catherine follows suit. Rosalie watches her rise, tipping her head back to meet her gaze as Catherine brushes her whole body against Rosalie’s on the way up.
Her fingers gather Rosalie’s shift as she goes, and Rosalie finds herself raising her arms until Catherine tugs off her chemise. And then she’s completely naked there in the firelight. She feels herself flush, but she’s unashamed, watching Catherine take her in, her lip between her teeth, a smile tugging at her mouth.
“Youare beautiful,” she says, her hands skating down Rosalie’s back, bare fingers on bare skin. Rosalie shivers, and then groans as Catherine’s hands come to cup her arse. “Jump,” she whispers.
Rosalie does as she’s told, gasping against Catherine’s mouth as she hops, wrapping her legs around Catherine’s hips. Catherine holds on to her thighs and walks them confidently across the room until her knees hit the bed.
Rosalie kisses her messily, her core grinding into Catherine’s lower belly, body alight with her touch and taste and scent and humming voice.
And then she’s falling softly to the mattress, staring up at the dark canopy.
“Scooch.”
Rosalie rises on her elbows just in time to watch Catherine peel off her own chemise. She’s a goddess. Ethereal and lithe and staring at Rosalie rather incredulously.
“Move.”
Rosalie turns on the bed, scooting up until her head hits the down pillows. The comforter is soft against her back, the pillow a cloud beneath her head, and Catherine is crawling toward her.
Rosalie could die happy right now.
Instead, Catherine stretches out over her, coming in for a consuming kiss as their naked bodies press together in delicious, tortuous friction. Rosalie goes to wrap herself around Catherine, but she doesn’t stay still, sinking down Rosalie’s body with a trail of kisses to her throat, and then her clavicles, and then her lips close over Rosalie’s nipple.
