Chapter Eighteen
Oliver stared up at Emily’s downturned face. Rules. Of course she wanted rules—she was a woman for whom very few things had been within her control. This, if she was to engage in this, must also be.
Understanding that in a logical, intellectual way was very different from the reality, however.
His heart gave a kick in his chest—nerves, anticipation—and he nodded. He would give her whatever she needed, and he would take whatever she offered; there was no other way for this to go.
“Very well,” he said, retreating to his bed to put distance between them. As far as was possible, they should both have clear heads. “Tell me your rules. I warn you now, there’s very little you can tell me that would make me not want you, but I assure you, if I’m not comfortable, then I’ll say.”
She nodded, lacing her fingers together. “My first rule is that there is nothing between us but mutual pleasure and satisfaction.”
“Understood.”
“My second rule is . . .” Her gaze darted to the side, and she looked as though she steeled herself. “I will not remove all my clothes. I know pleasure can be achieved without a full loss of modesty.”
“Ah.” He did his best to keep his expression neutral. He had offered her a kiss; she was offering far more. Much as he wanted to see her bared for him, he could not push her. “What about mine?”
“Your clothes?”
“Yes. What are your preferences?”
“I—” She hesitated, glancing at his crotch, and his cock responded, swelling in anticipation of something he couldn’t even be sure would happen. “What are you comfortable with?”
“Everything,” he said immediately. “I would prefer to be unclothed unless you dislike the thought of seeing me.” He wagged his brows at her, and she laughed again, shaking her head.
“I have no objection.”
“Well, then. Anything else?”
“We never tell Isabella of what occurred between us,” she said immediately.
“That goes without saying. What happens between us in this room stays in this room.”
“Yes. And after—after we are done, I would prefer it if you didn’t . . . That is to say, I would like for you to immediately take your bed.”
For a long moment, Oliver said nothing. He’d had a few dalliances where speed was of the essence—all lifted skirts and muffled gasps and few kisses. On the surface of things, he didn’t know why he reacted against doing the same with Emily.
Perhaps because he had an intellectual and emotional connection with her—he was accustomed to being used for sexual gratification by near-strangers. But for someone he knew to treat him like that stung in an odd, indefinable way.
Yet what else had he been expecting? She’d said it herself: this was all pleasure, no intimacy.
He could do that.
At least, he thought he could.
“I want to be in control,” she said, and it felt as though the words had left her like an exhale, as though she had needed to say them for so long, they had burst free without her permission. “And for you to submit. To me.”
Now this was intriguing.
“Very well,” he said. “Then you will be in control. You will lead the way, and I will follow. Teach me, Emily. I will be your most avid student.” Finally, he rose, coming to kneel before her in a demonstration of submission.
Her breath hitched as he took her wrist in his hand and kissed her inner arm.
“Tell me what you want from me,” he murmured, pressing the words into her skin.
“Tell me, and I’ll obey.” A sharp intake of breath told him how much she liked that, and he continued.
“Does that please you, darling? Having me on my knees for you? Willing to do anything you command?” Finally, he looked up at her in time to see her blush.
She had such delectable colour, and he wanted to kiss it from her.
There were so many things he wanted to do to her. That he wanted her to ask for, to command him to do.
Things he wanted her to do to him.
He kissed her wrist one last time, then released her hand, standing before he got carried away.
“Would you like to change before we begin? If so, now is your chance. I will wait over here; call me when you’re done.
” Without giving her time to object, he strode across the room and faced the wall.
They had done this a few times over the past few days, and the rustling clothes had always been akin to torture, but it felt different this time.
His skin heated, and he felt the urgency of his arousal pulsing through his body.
Lust took on a new edge when it was like this—when he was getting so much, yet being denied so much at the same time. His urgency came from needing to make the most of this moment before it inevitably passed.
Once he took her back to Dalston, he expected he would have to leave and never see her again. These were the last few days in her company; if he didn’t embrace everything she offered him now, he would never get another chance.
Some part of him, buried so deep it was more instinct than rational thought, knew that he could not bear that eventuality.
“I’m ready,” she called, and when he turned back around, it was to see her in a nightgown that devoured the shape of her body, rendering nothing visible but the pearled nub of her nipples. No matter what she pretended for the sake of indifference and control, she wanted this, too.
Her gaze moved down him, lingering on the unavoidably visible bulge at his crotch. “Are you not undressing after all?”
“I thought you might wish to do that yourself. If you recall, you started once before.” He remained where he was, though he wanted nothing more than to stride over to her, to take her in his arms and bury his face in the loose, static curls around her head.
He wanted, he wanted, and he would never stop.
But she needed to feel as though she was in control here, and so he would take a step back and let it happen.
“Whatever you choose, Emily,” he said when she didn’t immediately speak.
“This isn’t about my tastes. I’ll have you any way you let me, whether it’s naked or clothed, on my knees worshipping you or if it’s against the wall.
Against the bed. With my eyes closed.” He grinned at her.
“In fact, that might be rather nice. So, what is it to be?” He spread his hands, gesturing wide. “Tell me what you want, Em.”
She inhaled, her cheeks hollowing as she considered, then she looked back at him. “I would like you to kiss me.”
Finally. Finally. Moving slowly, he stepped closer, bridging the distance between them, and slid his good hand into her hair.
She didn’t want romance, didn’t want affection, but he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her the way he wanted to.
Not as though she was another conquest, all pretty lips and swaying hips, but as though she was Emily Brunton, the lady he had been sharing a life with for the past few days.
Emily Brunton, whose strength made him want to be stronger. And whose weakness made him want to shield her from the world and everything it had done to hurt her.
Being around her made him want to be a better man, and he expressed that the only way he knew how—through his mouth. He kissed her deeply, slowly, urging her to soften under his touch, to let him in, to kiss him back with equal intensity.
And she did. Devastatingly. She razed him to the ground and built him anew. He had been aroused before, but as she gained confidence, flicking her tongue against his and arching her back, she brought him to ruin.
And he welcomed it.
“Your way,” he said. “We do this your way. And if you ever need me to stop or slow down, all you need do is tell me. I might want you, but that doesn’t make me an animal.
” He caught her face with his good hand, looking down into her eyes so she would know he was serious.
“Understand? I want only what you will enjoy.”
“I want you to enjoy it, too,” she said, reaching down between their bodies to cup his erection.
“That is not a concern.” No, his concern was that he would hold out long enough to give her what she needed.
His concern was that he would not know well enough what she needed, and she would be too proud to tell him. His concern was that she would not know what she needed, having never given the consideration any thought.
More than anyone else he had ever been with, it mattered to him that she enjoyed herself.
She drew back, and he watched. They should blow the candle out, he knew, but he would miss the lustrous gleam of her eyes, and the gleam of red in her rampant hair. Though her body was still a mystery to him, he would miss the little he could see.
“This is a first for me,” she said. “Being in control.”
He brought his mouth to the curve of her neck and kissed her there. She quivered under his touch, and he thought he would be half mad before the night was out for certain.
He didn’t think he cared.
“Then explore all you like,” he murmured. “Use me as you will, and promise me you won’t hold back.”
A pause, as though she was weighing up her desires against her sense of what she ought to want. Then, finally, she nodded, exhaling as though in relief. “I promise.”
What power came from control. Emily had never known it before.
When she’d been with Marlbury, it had been so very different.
He had always taken the lead, and she had followed, not even considering that she could say no.
He had never offered the reins to her. Never once implied that her pleasure would come first.
Oliver had not hesitated. He had demanded that she use him, and the words had sparked a new fire inside her. She felt almost giddy with the force of her desire, so much greater at the prospect of control than it had been at the prospect of yielding it.
His erection pressed into her lower stomach as she kissed him again, sliding her hand into his hair and tightening her fingers into a fist. He made a muffled groan, that erection throbbing against her, and she felt an answering pang of heat between her legs.