“So impatient… Want to savor this. Savor you.”
“But…”
“Celine, love, I want to do this properly.”
“And slowly is properly?”
“Hush and turn back around.” She did with a raised brow as the only comment. My hands shook slightly as I studied the hooks.
I had faced a damn army and I was intimidated by some dress hooks. A little curl at the base of her neck swished back and forth in time with my harsh breath. Swallowing my nerves, I started at the base of her neck.
The hooks came free with ease, one after another. The lavender silk parted to reveal a fine petticoat underneath. It was decorated with enticing bits of lace. She raised her hands andtugged the straps off her shoulders. It loosened suddenly in time with the gown. Both fell off her in waves to pool between us.
She was still wrapped in a chemise and stays, and I still wore my waistcoat and shirtsleeves. I traced the laces with my fingers, a perfect row of straight lines down her back ending in a delicate bow. Without giving myself time to think, I tugged one of the strands and the knot slipped loose. I was not entirely unfamiliar with women’s undergarments; my past interactions with them had been substantially less erotic.
Celine was so vivacious it was easy to forget just how tiny she truly was. Not now, not when my hands fit over her waist with room to spare. She was so damn small. So damn fragile. And so damn brave. I could have lost her that night, before I knew her.
And I never would have knownthis.
Shaking away the intrusive thoughts, I loosened one row of cording, then the next. It only took a few before that layer joined the others on the floor. That left only her chemise. A whisper-thin scrap of delicate muslin, entirely transparent in the firelight, silhouetting her, was all that stood between me and her bare form.
“’Lo, love.”
She smiled, turning to face me as she tucked her fingers into the top of my waistcoat and tugged. “My turn?”
“I’d rather continue my turn, but I suppose.” She gave me a whisper soft kiss to my chin, playful and pleased when she pulled back.
Turning her gaze to my waistcoat she slipped the buttons free with ease. She pushed in close, shoving it off my shoulders to join her frippery. Before I could make for the delicate bow mocking me between her breasts, she slid her hands to my loose cravat. She tugged one end free, looping it around my neck. Just when I thought she would pull the other end free, she insteadfisted one end in each hand and tugged me down to her. My lips tasted her self-satisfied grin.
Celine took control of the kiss, holding me where she wanted, directing me. It was as comforting as it was arousing. With her instruction, perhaps my showing would not be as poor as I feared. Hands knotting in my hair and my shirt, pulling me ever closer. I understood the desire, the need, the absolute loathing of the space and fabric between us.
She broke free for a gasping breath, yanking my shirt over my head with no ceremony whatsoever.
Rather than returning her lips to mine, which was my preference, she dragged her hands across my chest and stomach. Her expression was entirely unreadable. Unease began to fill me, was I not what she expected?
“Love?”
She blinked back to me, her eyes finding mine. “Apologies, I just… Solicitors don’t look likethat.”
“Like what?” I asked, making a rather poor show of hiding my distress.
“Will— I’ve never… You’re a damn statue.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
She shook her head, at last smiling slightly. “It’s good. Don’t worry about it.”
When I had no response to that she decided there should be more kissing. That was good—more kissing was always good.
Somehow, she managed to maneuver us to the bed. I only noticed when my knees hit the edge and buckled. Celine, beautiful, clever Celine set first one knee, then the other on the bed outside of my hips, straddling me with ease. She pulled back against the fist I had tangled in her curls, keeping her lips pressed to mine.
“Relax. There’s no one here but us,” she whispered. Her lips brushed across mine with assurance.
“Love…”
“We’ve talked about this. Anything you wish to know, I am more than happy to teach you.” There was no guile in her expression, and when I cupped her cheek, she leaned into the touch.
“It’s… overwhelming. In the best possible way. And I want you to feel as I do. But everything I know about pleasing women comes from conversations with an unwell adventuress or braggarts in the army. It seems safe to say that neither is a reliable source.”
