She was trembling, but it wasn’t fear.
“I...am,” she admitted softly, between breaths and her violent shaking. The words hung in the air between them, delicate and bold.
He stilled, his hand at her waist going utterly still. “But…this is your first time.”
She nodded.
A thousand things passed across his face in a second—surprise, reverence, guilt, desire.
“We can stop,” he said, voice hoarse. “I need you to know that.”
Kitty looked at him then, really looked at him. The man who drove her mad with contradictions, who frustrated and captivated her in equal measure.
“I don’t want to stop,” she whispered.
Something shattered in him then. Whatever restraint he had been clinging to, it broke like a thread pulled too tight.
He kissed her again, slower this time, as if trying to memorize the shape of her mouth. Then his hands went to the fastenings of her gown. Her breath hitched as he began to undo them, one by one, his fingers surprisingly gentle. Her bodice loosened, slipping from her shoulders. She pressed her face against his chest as he guided it down her arms, her skin tingling from the exposure.
The air in the room felt electric.
Norman cupped her cheek, brushing a stray curl back. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed, like it pained him to say it. “God, Kitty...”
Her shift was next, the fabric whispering down her body with every careful motion. She should have been shy—and she was, somewhere in the back of her mind—but the way he looked at her made the rest of the world fall away. He wasn’t staring. He was worshipping her. As though he’d been given something he had no right to and couldn’t believe his luck.
Kitty lifted trembling fingers to the buttons of his waistcoat, and he let her undress him, bit by bit.
The layers came off slowly—the coat, the waistcoat, the cravat, the shirt. She trailed her fingers over his chest, the fine lines of his collarbone, the hard line of his abs.
He was real. Tangible. Hers.
When he finally gathered her in his arms and lifted her from the floor, she let out a soft gasp of surprise. He carried her to the bed with care that made her ache. The mattress dipped beneath them as he laid her down, his hands never leaving her skin.
He kissed her again, but everywhere now—her collarbone, the slope of her breast, her stomach. She gasped as his mouth found sensitive places she’d never known to notice before. Her body arched into him as sensation bloomed like fire across her skin.
When he settled between her thighs, he looked up at her, waiting.
Kitty’s heart thundered. She nodded, barely.
“It might hurt,” he murmured, stroking her cheek. “I’ll go slowly.”
She reached for him, her hands sliding up his arms, needing to feel more of him. “I trust you.”
He kissed her deeply as he guided himself inside her, inch by inch.
She tensed at the first sting, a breath caught in her throat. He stilled immediately.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
She did. His eyes were on hers, open and raw. His hand found hers and laced their fingers together.
The pain passed, a brief and distant thing, drowned out by the overwhelming awareness of him inside her. Of the fullness.
He began to move, slowly, reverently, and something in her gave way. Pleasure replaced discomfort, spreading like honey through her limbs with each thrust of him inside her. Her breath hitched as his rhythm quickened—her hips rising to meet him, matching his urgency with her own.
Their bodies found a rhythm that felt ancient, instinctual. She had no words, no thought—only sensation.
“Norman,” his name left her lips in a broken gasp, and he buried his face against her neck.
