“Your lips feel wonderful,” she breathed, pressing against his body.
“Does this feel good too?” Ambrose asked, sweeping her neck and throat with light kisses and then slowly easing down the neckline of her light summer muslin dress. “And this…? ”
“Good” could not begin to encompass the thrills that shot through Frances at Ambrose’s caresses, their pleasurable nature more meaningfully communicated in the shortness of her breathand the wild little sounds she made as the dress reached her waist and his hands and mouth took fuller possession of her breasts.
“Oh God!” she moaned, eyes closed and hands tangling in Ambrose’s thick dark hair.
Then, as Frances opened her eyes she started and grasped his forearms tightly, realizing that while the curtain hid them on one side, they would be entirely exposed if anyone passed the library window from the garden.
“Ambrose!” she exclaimed. “Oh!”
Immediately perceiving the problem, he lifted Frances in his arms and carried her out from the curtain into the library, letting the thick velvet fabric drop behind them.
“No one can see us in here,” Ambrose assured her, his voice slightly roughened with desire as he laid Frances down on the sheepskin rug before the empty fireplace, and then took his place beside her.
Then one of his hands was cupping Frances’ breast again and his lips were on hers.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Frances? Do you know how much I want you?” murmured Ambrose between his kisses, his other hand now stroking one of her thighs and bringing up her silk-stockinged leg to be caressed.
“Oh, you feel too good…” Frances moaned. “Ambrose…I do not know what to do…”
“Only enjoy me,” he returned, his voice lower and more animal but still recognizably his. “Tell me what feels good, or tell me to stop. You need do nothing more. Only enjoy…”
Frances kissed him in reply, her tongue dancing shyly with his, and sensing with anticipation rather than nervousness, how much her husband was holding himself back. The speeding of Ambrose’s breath, the dampness of his skin and the eagerness of his eyes aroused her. Frances knew that he could bring her to that strange pinnacle of pleasure for a second time, although the route remained hazy.
“Oh, Ambrose!” she sighed again as his hand slid over her bare thigh above its garter and stocking, his lips skimming the sensitive tips of her breasts with teasing kisses.
Somehow Frances’ skirts had now been entirely wreathed above her waist in a swirl of white muslin and the duke’s mouth was kissing its way slowly and intentionally down her belly. Surely, he couldn’t be going to…?
She cried out in sensual amazement as Ambrose’s lips brushed their way over the triangle of dark fur at her mount of Venus, the stab of pleasure this sparked violent in its intensity. What was he doing and why did it feel so good? Then, Ambrose’s lips pressed a soft kiss actually within her slit, on the throbbing nub that ached most for his touch.
Frances’ sensations and sounds soon became incoherent as Ambrose explored her most intimate regions with his mouth, tasting, stroking and then licking, with slowly building rhythm. Strong hands slid beneath Frances’ bottom and held her in place for his tongue, despite her helpless wriggling.
As Frances’ pleasure mounted to almost impossible levels, Ambrose’s fingers found the tight entrance hidden within her slit and slid within so that she felt her womanhood spasming around him as the excitement peaked. As her muscles relaxed and her cries softened back into moans, he returned to lay beside her and stroke her face.
“I had no idea,” Frances panted, instinctively still clinging to him as her flesh echoed with pleasure. “I did not know of that, Ambrose. Oh, hold me, please, hold me.”
The duke willingly complied, embracing Frances with kisses that were gentle, hungry and salty with her arousal. Although Ambrose held her carefully, she could feel the undeniable hardness of his male organ through his clothes and began to wonder what it would actually look like. Frances had only ever seen naked statues or little boys bathing and could not quite imagine the shaft of a grown man.
“I’ve wanted to show you that for so long,” he told her. “I should like to do that with you every single day, if you wish it.”
“Does it feel good to you too?” she asked him and Ambrose laughed deep in his throat.
“To see you lost in ecstasy? Yes, I enjoy that immensely, Frances, almost as much as…”
The Duke of Westall paused, laughed huskily again and returned to bestowing light kisses and caresses to her face and throat.
Almost as much as..? Frances felt a fresh and bewildering shiver of excitement, finding that it was possible to feel simultaneously satisfied and full of physical longing. Was she brave enough to follow her instincts? Reaching for Ambrose’s head, Frances began to unfasten his disordered stock and collar, her eyes meeting and holding his, as her heart beat harder again.
Ambrose gave a sigh of enjoyment as her hand caressed his bare throat and then leaned in for another kiss. Their shared passion now made Frances’ hands tremble with desire, fumbling as she tried unsuccessfully to unbutton his waistcoat.
“Would you…undress for me?” she asked him and saw both surprise and eagerness flooding her husband’s face. “I should like to see you.”
“Yes, but first…”
Ambrose jumped to his feet and walked away even as his hands worked at his buttons and Frances sat up in confusion. As he turned the key in the library door and then turned back to her, it made more sense. While Frances’ pulse quickened further with this move, she felt even more certain of what she was doing.
This afternoon, there was only the two of them, closeted securely here in their own little private world.
