“My dowry—”
He slammed his mouth over hers. He invaded her mouth with a swoop of his tongue, thrusting inside and out until she was dizzy with the feel of it. And when he pulled back, he kept whispering.
“Your dowry is not enough. I would have taken it if it were. I would have wed and bed you when you were sixteen and first growing breasts.”
To her shock, his hand cupped her left breast. No soul had ever touched her like this, not even herself in the bath. His hand was large as it held her, his thumb heavy where he stroked across her nipple.
“You have the most glorious breasts,” he said against her neck. “I have wanted to suck them since I first understood what they were.”
Behind her back, her gown loosened. He’d pulled apart the ribbons without her being aware. She still wore a shift beneath,but it was old and soft, and his fingers were very clever. He scooped out her breast and squeezed her bare nipple. And while lightning fired through her blood, he did the same on the other side.
Two breasts lifted free, and his hands molding her flesh until she shook from the feel of it.
“I’m going to teach you, Emma.”
“What?” she gaped.
He dropped onto his knees before her and pressed his mouth to her breast. She cried out in shock as his tongue lathed her nipple.
“Press your arm against your mouth, sweetheart. Do it now or I won’t continue.”
She could stop him. He was on his knees before her, and she could refuse him. She could step away and never feel his glorious touch again. She could, but she didn’t.
So while she looked at him there before her, she slowly pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. It would stifle any sounds she could not.
He grinned.
“This is what you want, Emma,” he said. He went back to teasing her nipples. He nipped at them, he rolled his tongue over them, and he suckled until her knees were weak and the door was the only thing keeping her upright.
And then, while he gave attention to her other breast, she felt his free hand beneath her skirts. His clever fingers, his large palm, skidded up her calf, behind her knee, and then to the top of her stocking. And then his fingers swept into her most private place.
“So wet. I knew you would be.”
Oh! His fingers were so large, so…everywhere. He pushed into her, and she pressed up onto her toes. He leaned in and forced her knees apart. She squeezed them together but met hisshoulders and arms instead. No way to close and no desire to as he stroked her. In and out. Up and down. She had no knowledge of what he was doing, only that she was breathless. Her body was on fire. And she wanted more.
“Have you ever felt this?” he asked against her belly. And when she didn’t answer, he stopped what he was doing to look up. His brows were drawn together. “Emma! Have you?”
“No,” she said, dropping her hand from her mouth. “Never!”
“Good,” he said, satisfaction in his tone. Then he took her hand and guided it to where he still teased her. Except she resisted.
“What are you doing?”
He grinned at her. “I’m teaching you about love.” He pulled her hand to her own body and shaped his to cover hers.
“This isn’t…love,” she gasped. She had enough awareness to say that, but it was fast departing.
“You’ll see,” he said as he pushed her middle finger inside herself. He was right. She was wet and slick, but with his hand guiding her, she felt not only the slip of her finger but the thickness of his thumb. Both together, deep inside her.
“That’s where I want to be,” he said. “But you’ll prefer it here.”
He moved her hand. With one hand, he held her open and with the other, he showed her where to touch.
She gasped at the explosion of sensation. She would have cried out, but she was holding her breath. Such feelings. Such wonderful feelings!
He taught her how to stroke herself. He showed her how to press and swirl. He knew the tempo she wanted. He pressed her fingers down in steady pulses. So much variety. So much delight. Her belly tightened, her knees squeezed.
“Cover your mouth,” he said. And when she didn’t move, he used one of his hands to push at her free arm.
