Breaking the kiss, he stepped back to look at her, his eyes heavy with a burning desire that excited Emily to her very core. Seeing the effect she had on him fueled her own hunger. She wanted to partake of everything he had to offer her, unleash the passion that she felt building inside her, and let him take her to places she’d never even dreamed existed.
Raising his other hand, he tugged at her dress to watch the other breast emerge. A look of devilish content settled upon his face. His lips curled upward in a wayward smile. “So beautiful,” he murmured in a husky undertone as he let his fingers sweep across them. With expert ease, he teased her n**ples, watching in reverence as they responded to his touch, perking into tight crimson buds.
Seizing her head with his hands, he drew her hastily toward him, his kiss transformed to one of fierce desire as he plunged his tongue inside her.
Matching his ardor, her arms flew about his neck, clutching onto him as though her life depended on it. Stars shone behind her closed eyelids while her body exploded in bursts of sensuality. Never in her life had she thought she’d feel so revered—it was nothing short of sensational.
Breaking the kiss once more, Francis trailed kisses down her neck—so soft, so sweet. “Beautiful—sweet—Emily,” he murmured between kisses.
She ran her hands through his thick dark hair as he lowered his head to her right breast, then gasped as he licked her nipple with the tip of his tongue, coaxing it to grow harder still. His own manhood grew taut as it strained against his breeches, desperate to find comfort within the warmth of her body.
A small voice whispered to him from somewhere far, far away. He wanted nothing more than to ignore it, to tell himself that it was insignificant—yet he could not, would not. He stepped away, his breathing coming hard and ragged as he looked at her like a man who’d crossed the desert and finally found the water he’d been so desperately seeking. She looked equally affected, her eyes beseeching him to continue.
“Emily,” he sighed. “If I don’t stop now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to.”
He saw the immediate look of disappointment upon her face. She wasn’t just a dillydally, however. She was his friend, first and foremost, and as such he had to do right by her. “You . . . you don’t want me after all?” she asked carefully. She suddenly appeared to be on the verge of tears.
“Emily,” he said, his voice full of incredulity. “How can you possibly think that I don’t want you after what we just shared?” Her face was flushed as she focused on the pattern of the carpet. “Look at me,” he beckoned. “Just look at me to see how much I truly want you.”
She raised her eyes to meet his. Giving her a quick downward glance, she followed his line of sight only to find herself staring at the massive bulge at his crotch. “Oh my . . .” she gasped, her face instantly reddening.
“Indeed,” he grinned, though his eyes were deadly serious. “Emily, I cannot do this to you, not like this. It would be terribly wrong of me to claim your innocence. As difficult as it is for me to do, I must not take what rightfully belongs to the man you will one day marry. You would be ruined, Emily, and your chances for a perfect match along with it. Do you understand?” He did not tell her that he intended to be the man she married—nevertheless, it was suddenly very important to him that he did everything according to the book. He sensed that, even though she might not realize it now, it would be important to her that she wasn’t deflowered before speaking her vows.
She nodded, then looked at him with sheer determination. “I know we’ve had our differences, Francis, though I like to think that we’re beginning to move past them. Whatever happens, I want you to know that nobody has ever had this effect on me, not even Adrian. With you, it’s as if my soul is on fire.” She paused for a moment, an inward struggle evident in her features, as if she knew not whether she ought to continue. “Though I lack the experience, I’m not as naïve as you might think when it comes to the art of lovemaking.”
Shocked, yet somehow intrigued by this new piece of evidence, Francis urged for her to continue. “You know how I love to read—I always have. There was a book in my father’s study that I happened to stumble across when I was sixteen. I’d been looking for something with which to pass the time; a novel or some poetry. But instead I picked this book from the shelf. When I opened it and saw what it contained, I immediately hurried it off to my room where I hid it until later that evening.
“The book contained illustrations of a sexual nature—explicit positions that left nothing to the imagination.”
Francis was stunned. Never in a million years would he have imagined that Emily’s father would have had such a book, nor that Emily would have been the sort to secretly read it late at night in the sanctity of her bedroom. The thought was a pure aphrodisiac.
“So, Francis . . . I know that there are ways to . . . to . . .” she trailed off, her embarrassment too great for her to continue.
“To what?” he asked her gently.
She was silent for what seemed like forever. He was about to ask her again, when she turned away. “Nothing,” she murmured, her confidence nowhere to be found.
“Bloody hell, Emily!” He reached out, grasped her wrist, and spun her toward him. “For heaven’s sake, lose your inhibitions and tell me what it is that’s on your mind. I’m not about to judge you. Come on—out with it!”
Her eyes came to rest upon his in a deadpan gaze. She saw the spark of passion in his and it fueled her own. She sagged against him, her arms once again about his neck. “Touch me,” she told him simply, her breath warm against his neck.
He knew immediately what she meant.
“Say no more,” he replied in a strained voice that conveyed with unwavering certainty his craving for her. In one swift movement, he picked her up in his arms and carried her over to a chair, then set her down carefully on her feet. “Don’t move.”
She watched in silence as he unbuttoned and removed his waistcoat, flinging it carelessly on the bed. He then unwrapped his cravat, pulled his shirt from beneath the waistline of his breeches and seated himself on the chair. “Come,” he told her as he reached out his hand and guided her toward him, pulling her in so that she stood between his legs.
Inhaling her scent, he slowly reached down—beneath the hems of her dress, her petticoat, and her chemise—to touch her calf. She stiffened, and drew a sharp breath. He looked up to find her eyes upon him, her face frozen with sudden alarm. “Are you sure that this is something that you want?” he asked with a hint of concern.
She nodded, her eyes never leaving him, not for a second. “All right then,” he smiled. “Just don’t forget to breathe, and try to relax. I intend for you to enjoy this, Emily.”
At the sound of her sigh, his lips broke into a greedy smile. He allowed his fingers to make their gradual journey upward, swirling in gentle motions around the backs of her knees and over her thighs—so whispery soft it sent tingles cascading over her, skimming the surface of her skin. She gripped his shoulders as his hands clasped her buttocks, nudging her closer toward him.
“Turn around,” he said, and as she did, a glimpse of alabaster skin that almost made him spill himself like an untrained youth. He cursed beneath his breath at the injustice of having the moral standing and sense of responsibility that he did. “Now help me pull up your skirts, as high as you can, then sit down on the seat between my legs.”
Without questioning him once, she did as he asked, her bare bottom coming to rest against the smooth silk upholstery. He ran his hands down her thighs and back up again, then pressed faint kisses against the back of her neck, relishing the way she purred at his touch. Then, taking one leg at a time, he picked them up and settled them on either side of his own, spreading her wide. With a slight groan that heated his blood past the level of boiling, she relaxed against him.
Brushing his fingertips softly over her inner thighs in an ever-upward motion, he placed a line of kisses upon her shoulder. When he reached the outermost part of her most sacred place, he pressed his lips close to her ear. “Tell me, Emily,” he whispered, so faint she could barely hear him. “Tell me again. What is it you want me to do for you?”
“Oh God, Francis . . . Francis, please . . . please touch me,” she gasped.
Without further delay, he swiftly moved one hand to her still-exposed br**sts, caressing each of them in turn. With his other hand, he gently brushed against her womanhood, sending ripples of ecstasy coursing through her veins. With unparalleled care, he parted those velvety soft layers that surrounded her, seeking the bud that would take her to the highest heights of exquisite pleasure.
He ran his fingers over her so gently that he barely touched her, yet the sensations it evoked within her were electrifying. With soft, circular motions, he rubbed his fingers lightly against her, then slid one finger inside her to feel her moist warmth surround him. She groaned from somewhere deep inside as she pressed herself forward against his hand, quietly begging him for something she did not yet understand. “Yes, sweet Emily, let me show you,” he murmured in her ear.
Pinching her left nipple between his fingers, he withdrew his other hand, added a finger, and plunged inside her again. She whimpered with pure pleasure. “That’s it, Emily, let me show you the stars.” His voice was low and guttural, his breath hot against her neck. Feathering his fingers inside her, he pressed his thumb against her bud and felt her insides contract as she shuddered against him, crying out his name.
Emily soared through space while stars burst around her, showering her with fervent pleasure. Nothing had ever felt so good or so right. Her only regret, as she drifted back to earth, was that he had not been allowed the same release.
“Thank you,” she sighed, resting against him, her body limp with sexual fulfillment. “That was magnificent.”
“You were magnificent,” he told her as he burrowed his head against the nape of her neck.
“Should I . . .” she began, then paused, unsure of how to broach the topic. “The way you touched me . . . couldn’t I do something similar for you?” Her voice quivered with uncertainty and self-awareness. Never in a million years would she have imagined that such a question might leave her lips.
“No,” he told her as he eased her back onto her feet and lowered her skirts around her. “It’s not that I don’t want you to,” he added quickly, before she could feel slighted. “In fact, there’s nothing I’d like more, but I don’t think I’d be able to leave it at that. Do you understand?” His eyes looked up at her imploringly.
Damn the rules of society. How utterly unfair!
“Yes,” she muttered with great frustration.
He stood up, kissing her gently on the lips. Though she did not look at it directly, she was only too painfully aware of the hardness that still protruded from the crotch of his breeches—a reminder of how little she’d been able to do for him.