She still wore her slippers—black silk with small diamond paste buckles that twinkled in the firelit chamber. Quickly discarding her stays, then whipping the chemise over her head, he took in a slow breath to rebalance his ebbing patience, his gaze skimming the smooth contours of her back, small waist, and luscious hips. He spun her around to face him, enticing him with her bared breasts that would fill his palms with perfection.
He refrained lest he get distracted, and set her on the bed.
The fire gave her skin a warm glow that seeped beneath his skin. He laid a hand on her bared thigh, untied her garter, and smoothed the stocking down her leg, stopping at the ankle and tracing over a raised embroidered pattern he couldn’t make out. He slipped the stocking off along with her slipper.
Emerson lowered his lips to the top of her knee, and with an index finger, put it between her breasts and pushed her body back.
She rested on her elbows watching him, her eyes smoldering in the firelit chamber.
Without a word—his concentration absolute—he moved to divest the other leg of its covering.
“You’ve still clothes on…” Her husky rasp scraped his heart.
“’Tis necessary…for the moment.” He pushed her legs apart, bent forward, and licked his way up to her sex from her knee, with a patience that would test the bounds of sanity.
“Emerson!” she gasped. “What the devil do you—”
But he’d reached the heart of her and feasted on what he’d felt between them since the moment she caught him rifling through Shufflebottom’s office.
Her back arched from the bed. He grasped the opportunity, gripping her buttocks and taking her full on, using teeth and tongue to whatever advantage he could garner, and gauging her reactions to guide him. Her fingers sunk into his hair, pulling him in, pressing against the sensitive button, seconds later, triggering her release that pulsed against his tongue.
Patience?Fled. He lifted her to the center of bed and tore at the flap of his pantaloons then crawled over her. Rose’s chest rose and fell in rapid, harsh breaths.
He framed her face in his hands. “How lovely you are, Rose.”
Her eyes met his in the quiet, half-light of the room. The uncertainty, as if she could not quite trust his words.
“I speak the truth, my love. Don’t ever doubt your strength, your fierceness, it serves you well,” he whispered. He lowered his lips to the graceful length of her neck. Touched his lips to the sweetness of her skin.
Her body trembled beneath his. Her fingers crept behind his neck and intertwined with his hair, pulling him in.
He could stand it no longer and sheathed his cock in her to the hilt, straining for control. He hadn’t even caressed her breasts, brute that he was. “There’s so much I want to do to you, Rose. But, I’m almost…” He grasped a breath, shocked he could speak at all.
“I have much to learn of you, too,” she said against his neck. Her breath sent a shudder thrumming over his skin.
“Your time shall come,” he croaked out. Still, he managed to force himself to slow, to savor this singular, incredulous event. He lifted his chest from hers and lowered his mouth to her breast, drawing a hardened nipple into his mouth and suckling, softer this time. Her legs locked behind his thighs. There was a flash of regret that he hadn’t disrobed, because what future truly had they? Her fingers clutched his shoulders, and he raised his head then took her mouth. He rocked his body against her, inside her.
She moved with him as if they were one and the same. As if she couldn’t get enough.
Of him.
Nor he of her. With each stroke, each lift then pump, his control cracked, the pressure intensifying between them, until he yanked his mouth away, looking down at her.
Lips swollen from his kiss, dampened and glossy by his mouth, skin flushed with pleasure he gave and took.
He met her eyes, darkened with unfettered desire. “Rose,” he whispered.
She whimpered, writhing faster beneath him, until her mouth opened and emitted a scream he cut off before she brought the entire household down on them.
The shattering brilliance of blinding light raced through his blood from his still booted feet, exploding through him. Somehow he remembered to tear his body from hers and spilled himself over her flat belly. He fell to his back beside her, his chest rising and falling, the harsh beat of his heart nearly flying through his skin.
“Shouldn’t you undress now?” she asked him.
He turned his head, facing her, grinning even. “Most definitely. After I catch my breath.”
Thirty
Rose was slow to wake the next morning. Her bed seemed cold and lonely after Emerson’s quick departure in the early hours. Her head throbbed as if she’d imbibed an entire bottle of claret with no help from anyone. Scratchy eyes, throat. The whole of her body ached from the inside out. She hadn’t wanted him to leave.
