“Giles,” she moaned. “Giles.”
He raised his face and put his mouth inches from hers, but did not kiss her. His lips were hanging open, his breathing heavy. He was sweating.
“I need—” he said.
“Yes, Giles.” She pushed her mound into his hand and against his thumb, her own hand around his member, rubbing him through his breeches. “Yes.”
“I need you to lie down.”
“Yes,” she said and he got off the carriage seat and she lay down, her breast exposed, the bodice of her pretty white dress torn. And then he was raising up the skirts of her dress and her petticoat and spreading her legs and his hand was in her cleft.
“Ohhhh,” he said. “Arabella, you minx. You are wet for me. So very sweetly wet.”
And as he rubbed her cleft, his fingers went over that most sensitive place, her bud, that secret spot that spread fire throughout her body. She knew in that moment, she would do anything for him. For her Giles. He of the strong, muscled arms, the square jaw, the haunted eyes.
He took his hand from her cleft and he was unbuttoning the fall of his breeches and leaning over her, supporting himself with one hand next to her head on the carriage seat, as he stroked himself with the other.
She looked now at his member in his hand. She had only seen marble ones in the museum, never one of flesh. It seemed quite large. Like him. But Mary had said it would go inside her.
“I have to have you, Arabella. Don’t be frightened.”
“Yes ... I mean, I’m not.” And shewasn’tfrightened. This was her Giles. Who thrilled her. Who caressed her. Who kissed her. He wouldn’t hurt her. She wanted him. She wanted what was next.
He leaned over and kissed her and she could feel him take his member and rub it up and down in her wet cleft, spreading her folds, brushing her bud and then sliding down toward her entrance.
And then a sharp pain. A quick inhale of her breath and then a cry out, but his mouth was on hers, his tongue pushing into her mouth even as his member pushed into her.
“Oh, Arabella,” he groaned into her mouth. He then pulled back from the kiss and looked down at his phallus going into her.
“You’re so beautiful. Ohhhh.” And then he was pumping in and out of her and she hurt and there was pain and all she wanted was to be close to him as he filled her and hurt her, but he held his body above hers, looking down at his member thrusting in and out of her, faster and faster.
And then he straightened up and was on his knees and he was out of her, stroking himself, his body jerking as he said “uhnnn,” and she felt spurts of warm wetness on her thighs.
And then she got what she wanted. He collapsed onto her and she could wrap her arms around him and hold him and feel him close. Her Giles. She kissed his shoulder, still covered by his velvet coat, and turned her head to kiss his ear. “Kiss me, Giles,” she whispered and he turned his head toward her and kissed her. Sweet kisses. Short kisses. His lips were relaxed now, devoid of the hunger and the fierceness with which he had kissed her before. His eyes were closed.
“Look at me, Giles,” she said and he opened his eyes, and the melancholy she had seen before in his dark eyes was gone. And she was happy. She had done that for him.
Despite the pain she felt down below, she also still felt a throbbing ache, an unmet need there. So she moved now, rocking her hips, trying to rub herself against him.
He smiled. “It’s too late for that, love. I have spent.”
She would have told him that she herself had not spent, she still needed something from him, except he had called her “love.”
Love.
Her heart was full and it mattered not a whit that her lower body still ached for his touch.
He had called her “love.”
The carriage stopped moving.
He pushed himself off her now and was back on his knees and buttoning his fall.
“There’s some blood, but not much,” he said.
She sat up now. The right half of her bodice hung down. She saw some stickiness on her thighs and circles of blood on the back side of her white dress that was under her cleft.
She looked at him.
