by Joanna Shupe
Christ.
What must she think of him? He could only imagine how horrified she must be, how appalled. His cock was still hard inside her, pulsing in utter contentment, while Emmett could feel nothing but loathing for the way he’d treated her.
The room was deathly quiet. The only sounds were the flakes hitting the panes of glass outside. This had been a horrible idea. Why hadn’t he kept his hands—and everything else—away from her?
Knowing he was probably crushing her, he began to pull away, not meeting her eyes. Calling on years of practice, he hid his emotions, building up an icy indifference where disapproval and disappointment could not touch him. He slid out of the warm clasp of her easily, the skin of his cock so oversensitive that he shivered.
A cloth. He needed to get a cloth and clean her. That was what a normal husband would do, wasn’t it? He drew back on his knees, tucked himself back in his combination, and buttoned his trousers. Before he could get up, a small hand wrapped around his forearm.
“Emmett, wait,” she said, rising up on her elbows. “What is wrong?”
He blew out a long breath. You just took your wife’s virginity. You’re supposed to be reassuring her, you shit-sack. She was spread out on the floor, her blond hair mussed from his fingers, clothing askew. She’d never looked more beautiful. “Nothing is wrong. I want to get a cloth to clean you up.”
“You seem unhappy with me.”
He shook his head. “Not with you. With myself.”
She gave him a hard stare. “Why?”
Instead of answering, he strode to the water closet. He turned on the hot tap and found a clean cloth. The water remained lukewarm, even after a few minutes, which didn’t surprise him since the water heater ran on gas. No doubt the poles holding the gas lines had fallen down by now.
He wet the cloth and returned to where Elizabeth lay on the floor. She watched him curiously, as if he were a stock hiccup to reason out. Ignoring her shrewd gaze, he dropped to his haunches by her hip and gently removed her sweat-dampened drawers. A small amount of blood smeared her inner thighs, and he cleaned her as carefully as he could manage with his clumsy hands. When she had been sufficiently tended to, he returned the cloth to the sink. He felt sticky and sweaty, a sensation he intensely hated, but changing his clothes would have to wait. So he washed as best he could.
When he came back, she hadn’t moved, so he lowered himself to the carpet and found his drink. “I apologize,” he said before finishing the warm champagne in his glass. He nearly gagged, but it was no less than he deserved.
“Apologize for what, exactly?” She sat up and reached for her own glass.
He made a vague gesture to the carpet. “Not doing this properly. Your first time should have been . . . gentler.”
Her brows rose dramatically. “Granted, I had no idea what to expect, but that seemed absolutely perfect to me.”
“Perfect? You must be joking. On a floor. Nearly fully clothed. I can only imagine what you are thinking of me.”
“Actually, I am thinking,” she said with a small twist of her lips, “that I want you to do that again.”
He blinked at her even as some of the tension left his shoulders. “What?”
“Did you not enjoy it?” Uncertainty deepened the lines of her face. “I thought that you . . .”
“I had an orgasm, yes. But there was never a question of whether I would enjoy sleeping with you.”
Even more lines appeared, and her gray eyes turned troubled. “Because every woman is the same?”
Jesus, he was mangling this. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “No. You are different from every other woman I’ve ever met. I’ve wanted you naked since the moment you read that ticker tape in my office.”
“You have?” A broad grin broke out on her face. She hitched her skirts, rolled onto her knees, then shuffled forward until she reached him. “I didn’t understand my reaction the first time I saw you,” she was saying as she began to unbutton his vest. “You were entirely too handsome.”
“You weren’t afraid of me? Afraid of my size?”
She cocked her head and studied him. “Absolutely not. I was afraid of what you made me feel. After all, I didn’t even know you. Why should I have such an immediate, visceral reaction to the sight of you?”
That admission struck him squarely in the chest. Tossing the crystal aside, he wrapped his arms around her waist and dragged her on top of him, falling to the floor at the same time as he took her mouth. He ravaged her, kissed her with everything he could not express, cupping her buttock with one hand while the other buried in her silky hair. She held nothing back, her tongue meeting his, the two of them struggling for dominance in this pleasurable game.
He was hard and heavy already, a feat he hadn’t expected so soon after spending, but Elizabeth affected him like none other. Still, he would do this properly.
Forcing himself away from her sinfully tempting mouth, he kissed her jaw. “I want to see every inch of you.” He palmed her small, round breast over her clothing, pleased when she arched into his hand. “May I undress you?”
He held his breath while awaiting her answer. If she refused, he very well might beg.
She nodded and slid off him. He rose and offered her a hand, aiding her to her feet. The row of buttons on her lilac shirtwaist beckoned, tiny buttons much too delicate for his large, anxious fingers. His mistresses had always worn garments factoring for a man’s impatience. Undressing his wife would no doubt be a test of his fortitude.
He began forcing the buttons through the holes. Anticipation churned in his gut, his skin tight and hot, and he considering rending the fabric. If they were at home, he wouldn’t hesitate, but he did not want to ruin her one available garment during the storm.
The release of each button revealed further glimpses of her underthings. Silk and lace covered unblemished, creamy skin. He traced his fingers over the hard edges of her collarbones, watched her shiver. He didn’t stop, but forced himself to slow down. The first time he removed her clothing, the first time he saw her entirely naked needed to be forged into his memory forever.
Buttons undone, he pushed the sides open and over her shoulders, revealing a white cotton corset cover fashioned with bows and more buttons. Sweat broke out on the back of his neck as he unwrapped her, and when he reached her pale pink corset, she was breathing fast, the motion forcing up the small mounds of her breasts. Ever lovin’ hell, the woman was perfection.
“So lovely,” he murmured before bending his head to place reverent kisses along the edge of the heavy fabric. She clutched at him, and the proof of her desire lit a match to the fever inside his blood. He had to have more of her, had to taste her. He held the weight of her corseted breast, plumped the soft flesh to expose it, then he rained kisses over the creamy slopes. After a long moment, he pulled back to drag in air, his cock aching, harder than it had ever been. Christ, the threads of his control were unraveling quickly, and she was still more than half dressed.
He stepped behind her, appreciated the curve of her delicate shoulders. At her waist he found the ties of her outer skirt, pulled the loops free. The ruffled petticoat came next, dropping to the floor on top of the skirt. He ran his fingers along her spine, over the lacings of her corset, enjoyed the gasp she gave as a result. Grasping her hand, he helped her step out of the skirts, moved them to the side with his foot.
He spun her around and found her wide eyes burning with a myriad of emotions. Desire, excitement, curiosity, embarrassment . . . She held nothing back from him, and he wanted to pay her back in kind. “You are the most magnificent woman I’ve ever seen.”
The smile she gave him tightened his chest with something entirely unfamiliar. Something unexpected.
Something he must ignore.
This was not forever; she still planned to leave him. Freedom could be attained with one creative lie to the judge regarding consummation. And why wouldn’t she, this high-bred girl from wealth and privilege, one who could hav
e her choice of worthy men?
Nevertheless, Emmett had her now. And he meant to have his fill of her.
His hands popped open the fastenings of her corset, exposing her bit by bit. The heavy piece fell to the ground with a thump. Unable to resist, he stroked her small breast over her chemise. Soft and round. He plucked at the hard nipple, then pinched, and her head fell back with a moan. With deft hands, he undid the bow and buttons, lifted the garment over her head. Her skin gleamed in the firelight, her breasts high and perfect, with dusky areolas that surrounded pink nipples just begging for his mouth.
Bending, he drew a nipple between his lips, onto his tongue, and sucked. She exhaled sharply, her fingers weaving through his hair to grasp his head. He repeated the motion, then bathed her nipple with his tongue, circling, alternating with suction, until her knees gave out.
He caught her easily and lowered her to the carpet. She gazed up at him from under long lashes. “I had no idea,” she breathed.
“You still don’t,” he said, before giving the same attention to the other breast. She was writhing beneath him by the time he removed her stockings. He took a moment to appreciate the view. Long, smooth legs. Downy blond curls. Tapered waist and gorgeous breasts. “My God, but you are a vision.”
“Emmett.” She reached for him.
“Wait. There’s something I must do first.” Shifting lower, he positioned himself between her legs. His fingers parted the folds until he reached the plush, slick center of her. Moisture pooled there, so much that his mouth watered. He wanted to devour her, to bury his face in her cleft for days and never come out. The tip of his finger traced her entrance. She would be sore from their earlier encounter, so he would need to restrain his own lust this time. But he could pleasure her.
“Lie back, Elizabeth. Let me taste you on my tongue.”
Chapter Fourteen
Always hand a chair for a lady, and perform any little service she may seem to require.
—American Etiquette and Rules of Politeness, 1883
Panic stole through her. Did he mean to kiss her there?
Before Lizzie had a chance to contemplate all the reasons she found that embarrassing, he dragged his tongue along the seam between her legs, lapping at her, and fire sizzled in every nerve ending. He repeated the action once more, and she nearly crawled out of her skin at the exquisite, sharp pleasure. Then his attention turned to the hard bud at the top of her sex, and she thought she’d lose her mind.
He was relentless, the intensity like nothing she’d imagined. His lips and tongue kept up the steady friction until she couldn’t hold back any longer. The world reduced to that one spot and how he was mastering it so thoroughly. When he sealed his mouth around the nub and sucked—she went over the edge, the crest fierce and undeniable, her legs shaking against his shoulders, her cries echoing in the big room. She shouted freely in this private world, safe from the storm, safe from the rest of the city. Safe from the reality that was their marriage. Here, nothing mattered but the pleasure, and the bliss continued on and on as he worked her. Finally, she grew sensitive and jerked away from his wicked mouth.
His lips met her inner thigh and he kissed her sweetly, almost as if expressing gratitude. Silly, when she was the one who should be grateful.
He moved to her side, propped up on an elbow, and stretched out. A large, rough hand traveled over her hip, swept across her stomach and ribs, glided between her breasts. Surprisingly, he was as out of breath as she.
“Did you enjoy that?” His eyes tracked the path of his hand.
“There are no words,” she answered honestly. “Why did I not know?”
“Because you haven’t been naked with me before.” The arrogance in his voice made her smile.
“Is that so? Allow me to guess: you are the only man in the world with such superlative bedroom skills?”
“Yes, of course. Do not ever consider otherwise.”
She laughed. “You can be quite charming when you want. But I do wonder why I am the only person without clothing in this room.”
He traced a path around her nipple with a fingertip. “You will be sore.”
“But I’m not sore now,” she said, and dragged the flat of her foot over the soft wool covering his calf. He was back to his tightly controlled, enigmatic self, and she much preferred the man who lost his mind with need for her. The one who couldn’t hold back.
She should be nervous, she supposed, since she lay naked on a rug with a man she hardly knew, but she couldn’t manage it. His dark eyes remained focused on her body, as if he had a hard time believing she were real. As if he had to keep a hand on her to prove they were both truly here. And a muscle jumped in his jaw, a sign of struggle that she relished.
He’d lost his vest and necktie at some point and was now in his shirtsleeves, collar, and trousers. Unbelievably, he still had on shoes. Rising up, she reached to unlace his square-toed low boots that were the height of fashion. She slipped each one off his foot, tossing it to the carpet. “Elizabeth,” he said, part warning, part something else that caused her to tingle in newly discovered places.
“Yes, Emmett?” she asked innocently as she shoved his black silk socks down. First one, then the other.
He swallowed hard, his stare fixed on her backside, which she’d unwittingly positioned toward him. Good. She scooted a bit, not turning, so she could unbutton his trousers. The fastenings came undone easily, the striped wool parting in her hands.
“You are playing with fire.” His voice, low and rough, sent a thrill through her.
“Not yet, but I soon will be, I hope.” Shifting, she lowered his suspenders. He rolled onto his back, lifted his hips off the floor, and pushed his trousers down, continuing until he kicked them off. “Now the shirt,” she told him.
In a flash, he dispensed with his shirt collar and shirt, leaving him in a thin, white combination. The tight, one-piece undergarment left little to the imagination. The fabric clung to him, showing off every ripple, every ridge, every bulge. Indeed, every bulge. Her heart skipped in her chest at the sheer masculine beauty of him. The seams struggled to contain his massive shoulders, and dark hair peeked out from the top edge under his collarbone. Her fingers itched to touch and explore, to learn the man underneath.
“Well?”
Her gaze snapped to his face. “Well, what?”
“You seemed to enjoy giving the orders. I was merely awaiting more direction.”
A surge of feminine power coursed through her. “And would you do anything I ask?”
He slipped his hand under his head, causing his bicep muscle to pop. “Unless it involves going outside, yes. Unequivocally.”
“Then kiss me.”
Where had that come from? She had no idea where this brazen self-assurance originated, but he must have approved because he lunged up and found her mouth, kissing her deeply. Confidently. As if he knew how much she craved him.
“Not on the floor,” he said against her mouth. In one fluid motion, he lifted her and stood, then carried her to the immense sofa, a piece of furniture definitely designed for a man his size. Wide and long, the sofa, covered in soft brown velvet, tickled her bare skin as he laid her down. He followed, giving her his weight in the most intimate and delicious of ways, with his cotton-covered erection hot and urgent against her thigh.
She wrapped her arms around him, and he slid a large thigh between her legs and took her mouth once more. He didn’t touch her, merely kissed her until she writhed and clawed beneath him, a mindless mass of blinding desire. Just as she started to beg, his hand drifted between her legs where he expertly stroked the heart of her. Her nails plunged into his shoulders when he pushed a finger inside her warm, wet channel, stretching her, and that digit soon turned into two. He pumped his hand a few times, readying her, and she rocked into the heel of his palm, needing more. Needing everything he could give her.
Needing him.
Her fingers flew to the buttons of his combination, tearing at it in her
haste. Buttons popped in her desperation to feel his skin against hers, and finally she was able to get the garment open and over his shoulders. He slipped one arm out and then the other, and together they shoved the cloth down his torso, over his hips. Rough, blazing skin touched hers, the soft hair along his belly, chest, and legs dragging on her flesh to make her shiver. His fingers returned to her sex, pleasuring until her eyes nearly rolled up in her head.
She drew back to breathe. “Please, Emmett.”
“Touch me,” he ordered, gently biting along the column of her throat. “I need to feel your hands on me.”
Her fingers found his chest, where she trailed over the taut muscles and stark ridges of his ribs. Learned the contours of his abdomen, the angles of his hip bones. Then she wrapped her hand around the velvety length, lightly grasping the heavy weight of his erection. He gave a sharp intake of breath as she tested the smooth skin, ran her thumb around the plump head.
“Harder,” he murmured into her neck. “You won’t hurt me.” As if to encourage her, he curled his fingers deep inside her and hit a spot that caused her to cry out. She retaliated by tightening her grip on him, stroking roughly. He groaned against her skin.
His hand withdrew, leaving her empty, until he mounted her, fit their hips together, and slowly began entering her. “Tell me if it hurts,” he rasped. “I swear, I’ll stop.”
“I’m fine. Hurry, Emmett.”
But he did not hurry. Instead he took his time, as if savoring the experience. He sank inside carefully, demanding surrender, overtaking her, until he’d fully seated himself. She wrapped around his frame, gathering him close as he started to move, pelvis driving, both giving and receiving pleasure. He would not be rushed, long, unfaltering strokes driving her higher, sweat running down his temple, his skin turning damp. Just when she was sure another minute of the exquisite torture would drive her mad, he reached between their bodies and touched her, the pad of his finger causing the pleasure to explode. Her release went on and on, her hands holding him, his name a chant on her lips.
