He rolled his hips slowly as his cock pulsed steadily inside. “I thought you were worried about ruining the dress?”
I shook my head, swallowing, the twist in the pit of my stomach settling.
But God, it was worth it.
He pulled out slowly as he kissed the bruises along my shoulder. My body wanted to collapse, refusing to accept the emptiness he left behind.
Then, he wiped between my legs with the skirt of the dress before using it to dry his cock.
“Arkady!” I scolded.
“It will raise the value, if anything.” He slipped the dress off my shoulders and discarded the petticoat. “Turn. Let me help you dress.”
I covered my chest, turning to him so I could step out. I straightened my shoulders, letting him take the clothing.
He undid the front clasps of my corset, leaving me in my combinations.
It was intimate, more now than what we did before. The way he was careful, detail oriented. Making sure to undress me carefully, like he was taking stock of what was underneath. He gathered the dress and placed it over my father’s chair. The soiled fabric would probably dry before they suspected it was ruined.
My mother will kill me.
He reapproached with the plain cream tea gown my mother had handed him. With the dress draped over his arm, he stopped in front ofme. Only when I recovered from my internal mumblings did I notice he was staring.
I didn’t know if my expression was projecting my anxiety, but I knew my lip was trembling. Something about the scrutiny of his gaze, being nearly naked in front of a fully clothed man. Though disheveled, he was still more dressed than I.
“Well?” I snapped my fingers before holding my palm out for the dress. The burning in my cheeks went from arousal to embarrassment. I thought I’d evaporate if he let me steam any longer.
“What kind of man do you think I am?” He laughed, undoing the back of the dress.
He knelt down, opening the garment.
I sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder as my shaky legs stepped into the dress. He pulled it up over my waist, then moved my hands into the sleeves. It was light, clean, and freshly softened.
He circled me, clasping up the back all the way to my neck; conveniently, the collar was high enough to hide the fresh markings.
I spun around, slapping his lingering hand away. “You’re being too nice.”
“A gentleman doesn’t allow his lady to dress herself.” He cupped my face. “Here I thought youlikedattention.”
I huffed, too tired to argue any further. “I want to go home.”
“I’m glad I’ve worn you out enough to make a retreat.”
“More like I’m tired ofyou,” I hissed.
He chuckled, leaning down to kiss my head and wrapping his arms around me. The pressure easing some tension in my shoulders.
I felt the prickle of tears in my eyes.
He rested his chin on my head. “Do you want me to cut you some peaches when we get home?”
I nodded, balling my fists in his shirt.
There were other things to say, other insults I wanted to unwrap from my tongue. I don’t know why, I didn’t understand my anger. Perhaps it was just too many emotions at once.
I’d gotten what I wanted, but it only made me realize I had something to lose. Giving him my heart meant it was possible to break it. To make oneself vulnerable was to give them the blade with the tip to your chest.
But for now, he was a guilty comfort.
