Chapter 18 #5
Virginia cried out, clasping his head, wanting to tell him not to do this—in the back of her mind she knew that Madame or Sofie could walk in on them—but she couldn’t, and as he licked her nipple she began to thrash, the explosion imminent.
Then she felt his hands slide down to her waist and begin to tug her pantalettes down.
In a haze of lust, she managed to worry about what he was doing. As if reading her very thoughts, he murmured against her aching, swollen nipple, “Let me please you, darling.”
“N-not here,” she managed.
But his face was against her naval now and she felt him smile through the corset she wore. “They won’t disturb us.” He tugged on her pantalettes and they disappeared, pooling at her ankles.
And finally mindless, Virginia grasped his shoulders, clawing him, pushing him down.
“Patience is a virtue,” he reminded her, sliding his face down until he rubbed his cheek over her mons.
“Oh, Devlin,” she wept.
He kissed the delta there, not once but twice and then three times.
She fell.
He caught her and laid her down on piles of silk and satin, and as she spread wide for him he separated the heavy folds of her sex and inserted his tongue there.
Virginia arched, sobbing, exploding, shattering and flying high. “Devlin!” she wept.
He sucked it deep then teased it softly as she shattered another time, sobbing and moaning and shaking like a leaf.
When she began to float, her mind came back to life. She gasped, opening her eyes, still on her back on the floor, naked except for her stockings and corset. Devlin crouched between her thighs, which remained spread shamefully for him. She quickly began to close them but he palmed her sex. “Don’t.”
Desire surged. She lay still, panting. “What if—” she began, barely able to think of an intrusion by the couturier or her niece.
He began toying with the folds, combing through the hair. “They won’t interrupt us.”
Virginia wanted to refute him but forgot the subject, arching high against his hand. His fingers entered her, and now there was no barrier. The sensation was so powerful, of his being inside her, even if it was just his two fingers, that her stomach seemed to disappear and the room blackened.
“Can you come for me again, little one?” he asked roughly.
She somehow looked at him and was met with a blaze of silver. “Please…put more…there,” she whispered.
He shoved harder, fiercely, and she saw sweat rolling down his brow.
But it wasn’t enough. And Virginia knew what she wanted. She began to sit, reaching for him, brushing her hand over the stiff, rigid line raised brilliantly against his pale britches—but he pushed her hand away.
Incredulous, she met his gaze.
He moved hard in her.
She gasped, her stomach disappearing again, collapsing back onto a pile of discarded lace and linen.
His fingers moved deep and deeper still, large and strong, surge after surge.
Virginia was vaguely aware of his gaze upon her, knew she was shameless, and she began to writhe and beg.
“Please, Devlin, please, come inside me…please!”
He grunted and leaned over her somehow and she felt his mouth on hers, his tongue thrusting deep, even as his hand continued to rock her, and she knew she needed, wanted, had to have more.
And suddenly his hand was gone. She was in his arms and his phallus rubbed over her sex and she shouted, gripping his shoulders, exploding into a thousand pieces, not once but many times, while he ground himself over her, again and again, panting and murmuring her name.
This time, she lay for an eternity upon the soft piles of silks and satins on the floor, and he lay on top of her, breathing hard, unmoving, still hard and aroused. She began to blush. She began to think. She began to wonder and to worry.
He sat up.
She met his gaze.
His eyes slid over her entire body. A flush mottled his high cheekbones.
Virginia sat, reaching for a fabric and covering herself. She had not expected this. She was stunned but not ashamed, not at all. And she wanted more, so much more.
“It’s a little late for that,” he remarked, eyeing the wisp of pink silk she held.
She wet her lips. She still ached to have him deep inside her, and not just with his fingers.
“I have longed to do that again,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze. “You are incredibly passionate, Virginia.”
His words went straight through her heart. “What about your pleasure?” she asked as quietly, her trepidation growing. But even a real union of their bodies would not be enough. If only he would reach out now and touch her with real affection.
But he did not. He shrugged, standing. “I’ll survive.”
She also stood, refusing to be disappointed, and quickly stepped into her drawers and pantalettes. “You appear ready to mount a cannon,” she managed, and then she gave up. She was disappointed.
“What?” he choked.
She did not understand him at all. She did not understand why he couldn’t become fond of her, why it had to be simply sex, and she would never understand the line he had drawn and what it really meant. “I mean, I am sorry you won’t take your pleasure, too.”
“I heard you the first time,” he said, and he actually smiled at her. “A man loves to have his size appreciated.”
“I am sure you have had more than your share of appreciation.” She faced him. “Devlin, I’m confused.”
His mask reappeared. “Don’t be. It was just…a moment. I should have never stayed here for your fitting.”
“And what? I am so beautiful that you lost almost all control?”
“Frankly, yes.”
She stared, about to berate him for his mockery, when she realized he wasn’t mocking at all. “Are you being serious?” she gasped.
“Yes.” He pursed his lips in indecision, and then said, “Yes, I am being very serious.”
Elation crept over her. She smiled. “But—”
He touched her lips. “Why don’t you accept the flattery and enjoy it?”
She grinned. Inwardly, a song was bursting from her heart, the last bar of which was a dance. He thought her beautiful. All disappointment vanished.
“You know, I think that I will.”