Page 70 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
Dear God!
Obediently, she’d turned round. To his dismay, there were an extraordinary number of pearls at the back of her bodice, each acting as a button.
He applied trembling hands to the job. Attempting to extract a pearl from its loop, it simply slipped away, refusing his grasp.
“They are rather fiddly. Jenny uses a hook.” Rosamund spoke over her shoulder. “Do you have one?”
“Yes, somewhere.”
He’d a pair of boots that required something similar, but he’d not worn them for some time. He’d no idea where the contraption was. His valet, inherited from his uncle, took care of all that now.
“Don’t worry.” Rosamund sounded impatient. “Start with the skirt.”
This proved easier.
The buttons were larger, and the stiff silk was soon slithering to the floor. With Rosamund’s direction, he found the ties securing her bustle. She stood in her petticoats, her top half still encased in the rosebud strewn bodice, her corset laced strictly beneath.
One curling lock of gold had escaped her upswept coiffure, trailing down to touch those damnable pearl fastenings.
He lifted it, winding the soft wave of hair around his finger, baring her nape, then pressed his lips to her neck. She sighed, tilting her head, and he took his kisses slowly from beneath her ear to the crux of her collarbone. She tasted of salt and soap, and something gloriously earthy that was purely her.
Reaching around, he laid his palm flat upon the front of her corset, but she dragged it lower—beyond where her whalebone ended, and there was only the soft cloth of her underskirts. She guided his fingers downward, to cup her through the layers of cotton, then pushed back with her bottom.
Holding her that way, and having her rub her petticoated cheeks against his arousal brought a surge to his balls.
“Rosie!” He pulled his hand away, grasping her hips firmly, needing her to stop.
But, spinning about, she spoke fervently. “Show me, Benedict. I’m ready. I know I am.” She looked toward the bed and it was all the encouragement he needed.
Scooping her into his arms, he placed her on the quilt and she squirmed to free herself of her bloomers, kicking them off. She was still wearing her little boots, white leather and laced to the ankle.
“Don’t worry about those,” she said breathlessly, as he plucked at one of the laces. “Come here.”
He did as he was told, running his hands up her stockinged legs and pushing the petticoats so that they bunched about her hips.
With a moan of pure desire he lay upon her and she spread her thighs to welcome him, offering a cradle to his eagerness.
He angled himself and brought his forehead to hers. She gasped as his erection touched her but parted her legs further, and he slid naturally into the heated place waiting for him.
He’d feared they wouldn’t know what to do, when it came to the moment but, without difficulty, his head found her sex and the smallest push gained him entry.
She made a squeaking sound and clenched about him. He was barely inside her. Even so, he was on the brink of the precipice, wildly wanting to jump but fearful of hurting her.
“Kiss me.” She tilted her head upwards and her hips at the same time. As their lips met, she made a small sound but her body took him.
He was surrounded by velvet heat, embedded in that inner part of her, sheathed tightly.
He was holding his breath, and he sensed she was too, but then she let out a long sigh. She relaxed inside, then constricted again, squeezing him, and he was undone.
He’d thought he was already deep, but he sank further and she cried out, turning her face so that she was buried in his shoulder.
“Rosie!” his groan came loud, and like a gunshot fired from both barrels, he erupted.
The pleasure was excruciating.
His muscles locked and she was wrapping her arms and legs about his, holding him to her through each throbbing wave.
Chapter 25
