She moaned.
He reached her hips, where her gown, chemise, and underskirts were tangled. He must’ve done something truly awful to her clothing then, because there was a prolonged tearing sound, and yards of fabric were at her feet and her bottom was bare. He placed his mouth on the small of her back and kissed her there before moving downward to kiss, actually kiss, her buttocks. This wasn’t mannerly. This was animal and crass and she shouldn’t like it. She shouldn’t.
“Samuel,” she moaned.
“Hush,” he muttered.
He was urging her legs apart, and one part of her mind was thinking that his position relative to hers did not put her in the most attractive angle. Then she forgot any doubts, for he was running his thumb along her crease.
“You’re wet,” he said, his voice deep and dark with male satisfaction.
She lifted her head from the wall and almost pulled away at that. How dare he take her for granted?
But he tilted her hips and then...
Oh, God! And then he licked her. Her cheek fell back against the wall. It didn’t matter anymore, her ungraceful position, his feral nature. She wanted him to continue this forever. His tongue worked between her folds, nudging and licking, and she thought she had never felt anything like it in her life. He pulled his mouth away and blew on the place where it had been, cooling and exciting her at once. Then he was pulling apart her folds with his thumbs and tonguing his way to the very center of her being. She was moaning now, her hips pushing back at his face, and if she thought too hard about what she was doing and what he was doing, she would be completely mortified. So she drove any thoughts from her mind and simply concentrated on the sensation, his mouth against her most intimate flesh. His tongue seeking out and finding her clitoris. She moaned as he found her. Moaned again when he licked delicately.
She felt him wrap one hand about her hip and stroke through her curls. She gasped and opened her eyes to look down. The sight was unbearably erotic. His dark fingers tracing across her white skin and into the black curls above her thighs. He slid his middle finger into her cleft, and she was forced to close her eyes as that finger replaced his tongue on her knot. She felt him lick back, and then he thrust his tongue into her, and she convulsed violently. Her body shuddered and she gasped, scraping the wall with her fingernails, moving her hips mindlessly as pleasure streamed through her. Spasms wracked her as he thrust and thrust again his tongue into her body, while his finger worked over her bud. Her climax seemed endless, a hard, shimmering river of light that went on and on and on.
Finally she subsided, weak and shivering, her knees threatening to give beneath her, her arms shaking as she held herself up.
His mouth left her and she tried to turn, but he held her still. “Bend over.”
She was dazed, her mind in a fevered sexual haze, and she could do naught but obey him, bending at the waist and grasping at the wall with outstretched arms to keep from falling.
His fingers nudged against her wet flesh, and then his cock. She sighed. So sweet, so beautiful. That hard, hot flesh parting her folds, beginning to enter her. This was the best part, the part of discovery. When he was a man stripped to his essentials and she was a woman receiving him. Exploring him and holding him. Discovering how this was with him.
He should be at the end of his rope by now, nearly frantic with delayed lust, but he went slowly. She felt each inch of his flesh enter hers, widening her until the fabric of his breeches met her bare bottom. He inhaled and thrust once, and he was fully seated. She could stay like this forever, she thought dreamily, holding his hardness within herself, reveling in the feeling of fullness, of connection.
But he drew back, as slowly as he’d entered her, and her inner muscles pulled at him, as if reluctant to let him leave. He thrust suddenly, and her arms bent with the force of the impact.
“Hold still,” he grunted, the words almost unintelligible.
She locked her elbows. And then he gripped her hips and began thrusting into her, hard and fast, the slide of his cock tormenting and wonderful. She angled her hips to more fully receive him.
“Jesus!” he growled.
His fingers were suddenly in her bush again, tunneling and seeking, finding that part of her that ached for his touch. He pressed down firmly in front even as his cock ravished her from behind. She felt a scream build in her throat. It was too much, the pummeling, the pressure of his knowing finger, the ache of her arms holding her up.
He swore suddenly, and then he caught her against himself, her bare back pressed to his waistcoat as his cock buried itself in her and began to spurt. It was an odd angle—and erotic—her feet on tiptoe, her legs wide apart, her breasts and belly bare and displayed, impaled on his cock. She heard him groan and reveled in his loss of control. He worked insistently at her bud, splaying his hand possessively over her cunny as he came inside her.
And then she did scream. Waves of almost painful pleasure coursed through her as she convulsed on his cock. He placed his hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, and she bit him, relishing the taste of his skin on her tongue.
Behind her, he caught his breath. “Little cat.”
He withdrew his flesh from hers and grasped her about the waist, lifting her from behind and dumping her on her back on the bed. Emeline only had time to brace herself and then he was in the bed beside her, the mattress dipping with his weight.
“You’ll probably bite me again, but it might just be worth it,” he said before bringing his mouth down on hers. He kicked her legs apart and shoved himself into her again. And then he just lay there, heavy and hot, kissing her hungrily.
He hadn’t even undressed, she thought hazily as she opened her mouth beneath his. He was still wearing coat, waistcoat, breeches, and leggings, probably even had his moccasins on the covers of her bed. But then that thought fled, and she gave herself over to his tongue, courting and seducing hers. She felt the press of the cold metal buttons of his waistcoat on her bare breasts as he leaned into her.
Someone knocked on the door. Emeline froze. Samuel lifted his head.
“Are you all right, my lady?” Harris, her maid, called.
He arched his eyebrow at her.
Emeline cleared her throat, conscious of his flesh still in hers. “Perfectly fine. You may leave.”