Chapter 15 #2
Losing control? Or rather giving in, to Frances’ mind. It meant making oneself prey to animal instincts regardless of right and wrong, regardless of sense and logic, regardless of promises and responsibilities to others.
“I cannot,” she said but with little conviction now.
“You never have, have you? Physically lost control, I mean, even in touching yourself?”
“I don’t understand,” Frances replied, her words a response both to Ambrose’s question and to his hands now unpinning and stroking her hair.
“May I show you? You will come to no harm, I promise.”
Frances did not know whether she was now swimming or drowning in the sensations that the Duke of Westall was so slowly and deliberately arousing in her. Still, she nodded, somehow trusting him despite everything. When one of his hands took hers and drew her onto his lap, she did not resist.
At such close quarters, Frances was completely lost, the warmth of his body and scent of his skin driving the last of her rational reservations from her head.
The kisses that Ambrose bestowed on her lips were deep and sensuous but still gentle, calling forth some fierceness in Frances herself.
Had her hand really reached around to pull his head down to hers more tightly?
When the duke’s hand cupped her bosom through her dress, Frances pressed into him rather than breaking away.
The effect of his kisses seemed to open her to appreciation of such touch and a few seconds later Ambrose’s mouth trailed down to kiss the skin of the shoulder he had just bared of its short sleeve.
A soft blanket lay over the back of the chair and the duke now pulled it loosely over them although the summer air was not at all cold. While Frances was still pondering this move, the duke’s hand slipped inside the low silken neckline of her dress and settled over her naked breast.
Frances cried out at the heated thrills that shot through her with this unprecedentedly intimate contact. She could not help the movement of her body on his lap, although such wriggling was into the duke’s arms rather than away from him.
“Oh, what is this…I’m afraid…Oh God!”
“Trust me,” Ambrose whispered back, returning his kisses to her face although his hand kept possession of her breast. “You will lose control, and it will be wonderful, Frances.”
Frances whimpered and shifted again on his lap, feeling something rock hard beneath her hip as she did so, and guessing what it must be.
There was little space to think about this however, as the duke had now fully lowered the neckline of her dress and was caressing both of her breasts, softly at first, but with full attention, his lips soon joining his hands.
“You are so very lovely,” Ambrose murmured, his voice noticeably lower and more breathless, as though the handling of her breasts had some strong effect on him, like exercise or strong drink.
“That feels so good…Oh, Ambrose…But I should not…”
““Your breasts are the most beautiful I have ever seen, Frances. What a gift you give me in permitting my caresses.”
A gift? Was Ambrose feeling something as intense as Frances through his exploration of her body? The duke’s language was strangely seductive, making her want to cease all remaining internal resistance and give in entirely to the currents of pleasure. It was all so strange but wonderful too.
While Ambrose’s skilled mouth was still at her breasts, one of his hands had begun to caress Frances’ legs beneath the blanket, accustoming her to this touch before raising her silken skirts and sliding beneath.
She moaned and writhed restlessly as his hand found her stocking tops and lingered there for a while, tantalizing the sensitive bare skin above her garters and gently urging her thighs apart.
The jolt that ran through her as he cupped her Mount of Venus was so powerful that Frances feared somehow falling although she was still held securely across the duke’s knees. Her most intimate flesh throbbed almost painfully and the rest of her body quivered with need.
There was no question of control now. Frances only wanted more – more of all that Ambrose could give her. His fingers had found her slit and were exploring there as he kissed her gasping mouth. The flesh of her womanhood was in an unfamiliar state, feeling swollen and slippery under his touch.
“So beautiful,” he whispered to her again. “How perfect. Let it happen.”
Let what happen? The duke’s thumb gently pressed on the firm nub of flesh within her womanhood and another wave of powerful pleasure rolled over her. Then his fingers found her opening and slid inside, heightening this new sensation further.
Frances could not speak as Ambrose proceeded with his skillful fingering, slow at first and then increasingly rhythmic.
She could only cling to him and moan, lost to the wildness of her feelings and the mounting pleasure in her belly.
Whatever was happening to her was unnerving but utterly compelling and there was no question at all of resistance now.
She had the sense of reaching the edge of a great drop, fearful of the fall. Ambrose seemed to hold her there deliberately for long moments, his voice whispering her name and welcoming all the responses she could no longer control.
“Now, Frances,” he urged, lowering his head to suckle her breasts again. “Give in to the pleasure, let it happen now.”
At his words, a first spasm of ecstasy took her and threw her over the edge, followed by two more in quick succession and then many smaller thrills. Eventually, the ecstatic madness began to subside into warmth and confusion.
“Oh God!” Frances moaned, coming to herself and grasping her disarray, although unable to move while Ambrose was still holding her so intimately. “Oh God, what was that?”
“That was only the start,” he told her, his face flushed and hungry but also pleased. “Did you like it?”
Like it? Such ordinary words were inadequate to the experience Frances had just undergone. Exquisitely conscious of the nakedness of her breasts and the fingers still buried within her slit, another little rill of pleasure shot through her and she shifted her hips with little involuntary moan.
If Frances had not already been as flushed as a woman could be, the blood would have run to her cheeks. She knew that if Ambrose wished to claim her fully at this moment, she would not object, even here in the library, with the risk of being observed by the staff.
“I did not know,” Frances managed to say and then gave another soft cry as Ambrose withdrew his hand and brought it to his own lips.
Her eyes opened wide as he put his fingers to his own mouth and sucked them with evident pleasure in tasting her excitement.
“Now, you know, and there is still more to learn,” he told her.
The loud sounding of the dinner gong in the hallway made Frances jump with fright.
“Oh, what will we do?” she exclaimed, fearful of being found in such a state.
Although he seemed amused for a moment by this reaction, Ambrose then drew the blanket more closely around Frances and spoke soothingly to her.
“We both need some minutes to cool our blood. Then, we will straighten our clothes, eat dinner and sleep in our own beds,” he told her. “That was only a first taste. You must tell me when you are ready for more.”