Page 36 of Prescription for Sin

She made a sound of pure frustration that tested every ounce of his restraint. His body screamed at him to take what she was so clearly offering, but this wasn’t just about pleasure anymore. It was about trust, about showing her that whatever lies had brought them together, what they shared now was real.

But as her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, Everett wondered if he was torturing himself more than her.

“The true art,” he murmured against her tight nipple, licking and sucking as he spoke, “lies in knowing exactly how much”—his hands raised her stockinged legs and folded them at the knees, pushing her deeper onto the table until her feet rested on the edge—“or how little”—he pushed up her chemise—“pressure to apply.”

Emma gasped as his fingers traversed from her inner thighs to near her heat, caressing ever so gently in a circular motion. He traced her delicate folds with his fingers, his attention then drifting to the space between her quim and her rosebud, drawing tight circles. He found her entrance and dipped his middle finger in her pool of lust but withdrew slightly when she arched toward him.

“Everett, touch me. Please.” Emma’s hips lifted off the table, following his withdrawing finger. “I understand now. I truly do.”

“Patience. I will ease your ache in due time.” His voice trembled and came out breathless from the surge of arousal as he pictured her cunny, pink and delicate.

“Please,” she said again breathlessly.

A long groan escaped his lips as she suddenly sat up and reached into his trousers, spreading her fingers over his swollen cock, rigid with hunger. Her palm brushed over his length repeatedly, up and down.

“Emma, Jesus Christ,” he rasped.

“Please, Everett. Make this ache go away.”

As her hand moved to caress the hard ridge of his cock, up and down in a steady rhythm, Everett became helpless to deny her or himself. He found her bud, already stiff and swollen with want.

“Hell…” The word escaped his throat as he began to caress her bud gently with his thumb.

“Oh, oh my… Oh my…”

To his satisfaction, Emma’s moans became more urgent with each stroke of his thumb as his climax rose beneath her hand. When he felt her hips lift off the table, he felt his own arousal spill over. He quickly buried his cock in her petticoats, spending in the fabric. Their moans and gasps mingled in the empty house as their muscles contracted to squeeze out the last ounce of pleasure from their bodies.

Everett leaned against the table once he was finished, feeling drained and weakened from the sheer force of the orgasm. He covered her legs with her skirts, and only then opened his eyes to see her lying on her back, looking just as drained as he. He mumbled an apology for soiling her petticoat. When she didn’t respond, he removed the layers of fabric and carried her to her bed.

When he laid her down gently, she stirred and reached for him, her eyes still closed.

With his heart expanding with tenderness toward her, he lay behind her, hugging her to him snuggly under the quilt. Then he fell into slumber while listening to the regular cadence of her breathing.

Emma stirred awake, awareness creeping in slowly. She reached across the bed, expecting to find Everett’s warmth, but her fingers met only cold sheets.

“Everett?” Her voice sounded small in the empty room.

The truth settled like ashes in her breast. He was indeed gone.

In an instant, suspicion replaced longing. Rising quickly, she pulled on her dressing gown and rushed to her study. The very air seemed bereft of his presence, each corner of the house echoing with remembered moments now turned bitter. Though she had commanded his departure with all the cold fury of betrayal, the crushing weight of his absence pressed against her ribcage until she could scarcely draw a breath.

The moment she opened the door, her heart stopped. Drawers hung open, papers scattered, and most importantly, her research was gone. Weeks of careful calculations, patterns mapped across London’s poorest districts, evidence that could prove the water source was spreading cholera, all vanished.

A single sheet of paper lay on her desk. Her hands trembled as she read:

My darling Emma,

I’m sorry it had to be this way. Please understand. I am doing this to protect you. Don’t look for your research or I will have no choice but to destroy it.

-E

Emma sank into her chair, the note crumpling in her fist. “Protect me?” she whispered to the empty room. “You mean, protect yourself.”

The full weight of her foolishness crashed over her. She had let him into her home, her practice, her heart, all while he systematically gathered evidence against her. Every intimate moment, every shared confidence, had been calculated to lower her guard.

“Stupid, stupid woman,” she berated herself, pacing the study.

Her medical training had taught her to observe, to question, to verify. Yet she had ignored every warning sign because he had made her feel understood in a way no one else had.