Chapter 29 #3
The stroke of her tongue against his ignited the slow burning fire in his chest. “Oh, Rose,” he breathed. “What you do to me…” His lips moved to the column of her neck. “Your bed?” he growled.
She stepped back, her eyes wide, meeting his.
The air in his lungs constricted, awaiting her reaction.
But then she took his hand and led him from the room and quietly, furtively, up the stairs to her private sanctuary.
He was struck first by the soft pink warmth of the room—so at odds with the fiercely rash woman he was coming to know. Nothing of the cool composure he expected she exhibited to the world.
The delicate scent of orange blossom lingered in the air, the private contradiction to the name she bore.
Rose damask hangings about the great bed were slightly askew, the counterpane rumpled in a way that betrayed her nights were perhaps as restless as his.
A white muslin night rail with delicate pink embroidery—that she would have no need for—hung over a screen in one corner, and a faint impression marked a pink-upholstered chaise near the window where he pictured her sitting alone with her embroidery or a book.
Not a single trace of her late husband marred the room, and the realization hit him hard: this space—warm, feminine, tender—was Rose unguarded, a part of her she kept from all others.
He tugged her to a stop just inside the closed door and took her lips with his, rubbing his hands over her arms. This was a woman who required a man’s patience, and he only hoped he could maintain his own.
Nibbling her lips led to trailing her satiny skin to the lobe of her ear with a gentle bite, then sliding along the length of her delectable neck.
The fragrant orange blossom was strongest here—he could almost taste it, licking her skin.
Emerson ran his fingertips along the bodice of the dark blue silk. “This gown is indecent,” he growled, then leaned down and used his tongue to show his exact reason for saying so, teasing a barely covered nipple.
The moan she released had his already rigid cock stiffening to painful intensity.
He tugged at the puffy sleeves, serving his purposes perfectly when her breasts popped free.
Her nipples were as hard as the studs in her dress reflecting the fire’s light.
Taking one of those hardened pebbles in his mouth, he sucked hard.
She gasped, and he pulled away, spinning her around, making quick work of the long row of buttons that took much too long.
“You could rip it,” she whispered.
“I definitely will not,” he growled. “If I’m to suffer with patience, you shall as well.” The dress parted, and he slipped it down her body, then he took her hand and helped her in stepping over her pooled skirts. He swooped up her dress and draped it over the settee without letting go of her hand.
The soft whisper of her white fine linen chemise clinging to her curves hung mid-thigh, drawn high due to the ivory stays laced snugly over it.
Teasing him further by the white silk stockings tied just above her knees.
Her corset’s whalebone channels shaped her with elegant precision, the pale fabric a striking contrast against her warm skin.
Such simple pairing of chemise and stays was somehow more intimate than full undress—unguarded, unadorned, and achingly feminine—and had his insides coiling tightly.
Emerson turned her away from him and tugged on the corset strings, then lifted it from her body and dropped it to his side. He laid his lips against her neck and breathed in the spicy essence of her before leading her to the massive mahogany bed.
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.”