“You are stunning,” he murmured, voice thick with awe.
She could only whimper in response as he stroked her, building a delicious tension low in her belly. Her hips rocked against his hand, chasing the pleasure he offered. When he added a second finger, she cried out softly.
Johnathan captured her lips in a deep kiss as he continued to stroke her sensitive flesh. “You like that, my love.”
The endearment sent a thrill through her. Frances clung to his shoulders as he continued his ministrations, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Just when she thought she could not take anymore, his thumb found the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of her sex and pressed down.
Frances shattered, her cry muffled against his skin, pleasure crashing over her like a wave too long held at bay. Johnathan held her through it, murmuring words of praise and adoration.
As she came down from her high, Frances became aware of his arousal pressing insistently against her. She reached between them, wrapping her hand around his length. Johnathan hissed, hips jerking involuntarily.
“Frances,” he groaned. “Are you certain?”
In answer, she guided him to her entrance. “Yes,” she breathed, arching up to meet him. “I want you, Johnathan. All of you.”
With a low groan, he slowly pushed inside her. Frances gasped at the stretch and fullness, her fingers digging into his shoulders at the pinch of pain. Johnathan stilled.
“Are you alright?” he murmured, brushing a tender kiss to her temple.
She nodded, shifting her hips experimentally. The slight movement sent sparks of pleasure through her body. “Yes,” she whispered.
He pushed fully inside of her, then began to rock against her, setting a gentle rhythm. She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. Their gasps and sighs mingled in the quiet room as they moved together, finding their way to a shared ecstasy.
As the tension built once more, Frances felt herself climbing toward another peak. Johnathan’s movements grew more urgent, his breathing ragged against her neck.
“Frances,” he groaned. “Let go, darling. Come apart for me.”
The rhythm of his body inside hers, the press of his fingers between her legs, sent Frances over the edge once more. She clung to him as waves of pleasure washed over her. Johnathan thrust a few more times, then found his release, shuddering above her.
They lay tangled together in the aftermath, hearts racing and skin flushed. Johnathan pressed gentle kisses to her face, her neck, and in that sliver of quiet between desire and satisfaction, Frances felt something deeper take root. Something stronger than passion. More enduring than fear.
Love.
Morning came slowly.
Frances awoke to a pale shaft of sunlight sliding across the floorboards, the smell of ash and linen in the air. The fire had died to a low glow. The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of breathing beside her.
Johnathan lay still, one arm folded beneath his head, the other resting lightly between them, fingers curled as if reaching for her in his sleep but never daring to touch.
Frances watched him.
He looked different in sleep. Not unguarded—Johnathan was never that—but softer. The lines of responsibility and shame had eased from his brow. In their place: stillness. A rare and beautiful thing.
She remembered every word from the night before.
“If I let myself touch you now, Frances, I will never stop.”
That confession had curled around her heart. She had never known such restraint could feel like intimacy. Never realized that desire held in check could be its own kind of reverence.
He had not turned away because he did not want her.
He had turned away because he did.
Deeply.
Utterly.
The weight of that trust was heavier than a kiss. And when he had given in. When he had claimed her. She had never felt so complete. So Cherished.
