“Please,” she breathed, arching higher, and something like a growl tore from deep in his chest. He took up the front of her gown and ripped. The straining fabric resisted but was no match for his strength. The silk rent with a clean tearing sound, and Sabine laughed again. The moment was too exciting, too theatrical, too final.
Stoker ignored her, his eyes feasting on the sight of her full breasts bulging at the top of her corset. She arched again, and she felt her breasts rise, her nipples barely contained. Stoker reached out with both hands and claimed each breast, sliding a finger beneath the stiff satin to scoop. Sensation coursed through Sabine; she cried out, and arched again.
Stoker slid his fingers beneath a second time, and then he cried out and grabbed the top of the corset, pulling it down. Her breasts bounced free and he gazed down at her body like a man who had just been privy to the most spectacular view the world had ever known.
The cool air of the room hit Sabine’s nakedness, a contrast to the heat of his gaze. She drew a breath and arched again, offering her body to him. He descended, his mouth everywhere at once—breast, nipple, neck, clavicle, and breasts again. Where his lips were not, his hands roamed, pressing firmly, exploring, teasing—claiming.
Inside her, Sabine felt a low pressure flicker, pulse, and then begin to burn, rising like the simmer of water in a pot. She arched her body again, lifting from her hips this time. Her body surged up of its own accord, seeking the hardness she’d felt when they lay still.
He called her name again and she ignored him. A second call, and she whimpered, irritated that he would try to engage her in conversation now. She hated the gap between their bodies. He was on his knees, leaning over her, and she wanted all of him, now, answering her rising need.
“Down,” she cried breathlessly. Her hands left his shoulders and fell to his hips, fumbling ineffectually at the waistband of his trousers. “Come down.”
“It’s enough,” he panted.
“It’s not enough,” she replied.
She peeled his waistcoat upward, away from the waist of his trousers, and dug her fingers between the dark wool and the cotton of his shirt, seeking some leverage. When she found her grip, she pulled with all of her might, forcing his knees down the bed and the hard weight of his body to settle on top of her.
He came down with anoof,holding perfectly still for a charged moment and then grinding into her, setting off a cascade of sensation that shimmered from her belly to the tips of her fingers and toes. She answered back by surging up again, seeking the sensation through layers of silk skirts, seeking to satisfy the burn. He pressed down, and she was rewarded with another cascade. She gasped and tried it again. They found a rhythm that felt familiar but also wondrously new.
Meanwhile, the pressure continued to build, threatening to boil over, but there was more; her body told her there was more, and she wanted it all.
It occurred to her that they were fully clothed. She was wearing her shoes, for God’s sake. Her skirts were a constricting tangle around her legs.
“More,” she mumbled against his mouth, the only word she could manage.
He growled and scooped her up, gathering her beneath him. He rocked once to the left and rolled, transferring himself beneath with her on top, balancing astride him.
Sabine blinked and raised up on her hands, shaking the tangle of her falling coiffeur away from her face. She stared down at him and frowned.
No,she thought.
She used the position to yank her skirts free from her legs, hiking them up around her hips.
She shook her head,No, and slid back to the mattress, landing beside him on her back.
He snapped his head to the side, frowning into her face, and she frowned back. She reached over and grabbed a handful of his shirt. Heaving, she hauled him back on top of her. Stoker resisted for half a second and then rolled with a groan, mounting her in one swift movement. Sabine sighed in relief.
“Please,”she breathed, pressing her hips up. She raised a leg against his hip, and his hand locked down on her stockinged knee, pressing it up. That felt exactly right. It canted her center more firmly against his hardness. She raised the other knee.
“Sabine, have some mercy,” he ground out. “I’m warning you.”
“I’m warning you,” she said between kisses.
He kissed her hard, like he was trying to put the words back in her mouth. When she turned her head to breathe, he followed her, dropping his head on the pillow beside her face. She kissed the whirl of his ear, his earlobe, the place where his neck met his hair. Meanwhile, their lower bodies rocked together, building toward something, something. Sabine marveled that it was not impeded when she hitched up her skirts. How much better, she wondered, with their clothing removed? He’d ripped her dress to expose her breasts, but would he dare push her skirts entirely up? And what of his trousers? She moaned in frustration, wanting to feel him and love him and receive him and not work out the logistics of how to undress.
She opened her eyes, blinking in the dimness. His face was inches from hers, his eyes squeezed shut, his expression one of restraint and also pleasure. She loved the sight of his face in every mood. She’d watched him sleep, she’d watched him speak, she’d watched him glower. Tonight she’d watched him lose his mind, just a little. There was no expression that she didn’t adore—even this one, even holding back what they both wanted, what frightened him as much as it thrilled him. But Sabine was not frightened. Sabine was impatient.
She tipped her face down, hovering her lips directly over his ear. “Stoker,” she whispered softly. “Stoker, I love you. Stoker, I—”
In a flash Stoker’s body went tense and still, the words sinking in. With stiff, jerky movements, he shifted up from the pillow, hovering over her.
“Oh,” she said, thrilled by how forcefully he squared himself over her. She smiled up at him, squeezing his hips with her knees, pulling her legs closer to her chest. Every wiggle brought his body more intimately pressed against hers. She felt heat and sweetness and solidness all at once.
Stoker let out a moan, kissed her hard once more, and then reared back, pulling the buttons free on his trousers. The fabric fell away and he dropped forward, catching himself with one arm, and using his other hand to sweep up her skirts.
“Oh,” she said again, realizing thatnowit would happen. Finally. Now. Her accelerated heart sped even faster, threatening to pound into one long, unbroken constriction.
