“It was the first time I had ever touched your breast,” he breathed, as the feeling was rising to a frenzy, beneath his hands, and between her legs. “It felt as soft as velvet but also very, very hard.”
He pulled her bodice away from her skin now and put one whole hand inside, grabbing one of her breasts in his palm, pulling back slightly so he could roll the nipple between his finger and thumb and pinch it hard. Rose cried out. He smothered her cry with his lips, catching hers, holding them.
“Ssssh,” he cautioned, against her mouth, pulling her even further back into the muffling curtain.
She could feel a liquid melting in the bottom of her stomach; hot flowing lava moving downwards, lower and lower until it was centered between her legs. Her body felt like it was on fire, from her head to her toes. She needed him. At this moment, in this instance, she was so keenly aware of everything she had missed, everything she had been denied, and she knew she needed this man in her bed, in her soul.
“Will,” Rose gasped, which seemed enough encouragement for him.
* * *
He pulled her bodice down, not caring if it ripped in the process, knowing he needed to expose her breasts to his hands and mouth. She reared back over his arm as his lips closed around one pointed tip, and he sucked at her. Her legs felt like they would give way beneath her, but it didn’t matter. He was bearing her weight; her whole body pressed against him. Deep down in him, in the very depths of his loins, everything was hard. He shifted against her slightly so he could push his burgeoning manhood against the inside of her leg. She responded by running her fingers through his hair, pressing his lips against her breasts. Then she was grasping at his back and waist, sliding her hands even lower to grip his buttocks through his breeches. All the way down their bodies, there was too much material, too many folds. The scent of her skin was intoxicating to him as his lips followed everywhere his fingers went. He couldn’t hold her close enough to relieve the ache in him. He could feel it in her too. She was thrashing against him.
In one smooth movement, he swung her up into his arms, his lips never leaving her breasts, as he carried her over to the antique, draped bed and laid her on it, then fell upon her, pressing himself down against her, grinding his hips against hers. Her arms came around him again to hold him as tightly as he was holding her.
“If we don’t stop now, we will both be lost,” she whispered.
He knew she was right. He knew they couldn't use each other like this. But it felt so good. He couldn't bring himself to release her, to remove his arm from around her back, or to move away from her two perfect, round breasts, which were now laid bare to him, tantalizing him with their tautness. He wanted to scream and release the tension inside him. Instead, he buried his face in her hair and neck, gently nipping the lobe of her ear between his teeth. Her entire body squirmed against him.
“Kiss me,” he heard her beg. He needed no greater invitation. He moved his lips from her earlobes to her mouth and slaked his lips across hers, but then, as he tasted the sweetness of her, he slowed down, took his time, licked at the insides of her lips, nipped her, all the while crushing his manhood into her hips.
He twisted to close one hand around her ankle, still wearing a low-heeled silk dancing shoe. He began to run his hand up her leg, from her ankle to her calf to her knee, bringing the fabric up with him to reveal her stockinged leg, his lips never leaving hers. He bent her leg at the knee to get her closer to him, pressinghimself against her. His hand was now on her thigh, over the cotton of her knee-length drawers, feeling the ribbons that held her stockings in place beneath.
She gasped. He smiled.
“You like that?” he whispered, his fingers rising higher and higher.
She arched against him.
“So much,” she breathed. “Don’t stop.”
The lower half of her body was exposed to him as he pushed the layers of fabric aside and feasted his eyes on her, and then he rolled to lay fully on top of her. He shuddered as his manhood strained against the fabric of his breeches and against the softness of her.
Suddenly, there was a loud hammering on the door of Rose's bedchamber. Both of them froze, but then Will leaped backward, grabbing his jacket from the end of the bed, as Rose also came to her feet, rapidly rearranging her bodice and pushing her skirts down.
The hammering was continuous.
* * *
Saying nothing, Rose grabbed the front of Will’s vest and pushed him over to the window and behind the heavy velvet curtain. She arranged it quickly to hide him, then rushed back to the bed and threw the silken coverlet aside. At that moment, her bedchamber door burst inwards, and she saw Ernest standing in the wooden frame, his face bright red, his wiry hair sticking up on end as if he had been repeatedly running his fingers through it.
—
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