‘I could not look away either.’ Isaac muttered the words, still embarrassed at the thought of how his body had reacted to her.
‘Yes.’ Agnes’ smile hummed through her words. ‘As I recall, you seemed to have lost a certain portion of your… well. Your self-control.’
‘Now you will make me blush.’ Isaac kissed her neck, revelling in Agnes’ gasp as she melted against him.
‘I do not think you are capable of blushing, sir.’ Her giggle made the room seem warmer. ‘And I certainly blushed that day. But—as I was looking at you, there in the water, I… felt most strange. Something wordless, and very strong. I believe I would describe it as… as thirst.’
‘Thirst.’ Yes, that was a good word; Isaac remembered how parched he had felt whenever he had looked at her, floating through the gardens, just out of his reach.
‘Yes. Thirst. An odd word, but a true one.’ Agnes looked up at him, her lips slightly parted. ‘A thirst that seemed to, to… to travel to the soul, and beyond it. I did not need to drink. I needed…’
‘What did you need?’ Isaac brought his hand up to her neck, caressing it, his thumb light as a feather as it traced over her throat. ‘Tell me.’
‘No.’ Agnes smiled. ‘You said that I could show you.’
Her lips met his once more; Isaac moaned, unable to control himself, lost in the sweet, ripe pleasure of her lips against his. Long, languid, full of a secret fire which grew by degrees with every new kiss; every movement she made seemed designed to have him begging for more of her, pleading with his lips and hands. Sighing, breathless, brazen in their ardour—these were kisses meant for darkness, for intimacy, for naked skin.
‘Yes. Part of me wanted this.’ Agnes broke away, panting as she spoke. ‘But… not only this.’
Isaac swallowed as her hands reached tentatively for his damp shirt. ‘I see.’
‘Are you going to tell me that such a thirst is unwise?’ Agnes’ hands stilled; Isaac felt a bite of disappointment. ‘Now? After—after everything?’
‘No.’ How could Isaac say such a thing, when it was all he wanted? But doubt still stirred in him; nameless fears, growing in strength. ‘But I must remind you of what you are embarking upon. What we are embarking upon.’
‘I believe I know what we are embarking upon. Theoretically.’ Agnes swallowed; Isaac felt the heat of the blush in her cheeks. ‘And I believe I understand the implications.’
‘I…’ Isaac paused, trying to marshal his thoughts. ‘I do not know if you do.’
Removing his mud-stained boots, he climbed onto the bed as gently as he could as Agnes moved closer to the pillows. Taking her hands in his, looking deep into her eyes as the dawn began to rustle and sing outside the cottage window, Isaac attempted to give voice to the feelings that ruled him.
‘If we quench this thirst, here and now… I know, at least for myself, that it will never be enough.’ His voice trembled. ‘I am no ogre. I will not force you to stay here, to live with me—to be mine, and mine alone. But my heart will be wedded to yours, Agnes, as surely as if we had stood in a church and declared it to all and sundry.’ He bowed his head. ‘I cannot conceal this. Not after hiding it for so very long. You deserve to know.’
‘... I do not understand.’ Agnes looked at him, her brow furrowing. ‘Do you think that I would leave you, after this? That—that I would simply go back to my life, and you would go back to yours?’
‘That has traditionally been the way of it, for ladies and their staff.’ Isaac tried to say it gently, but winced as he saw the hurt in Agnes’ eyes. ‘Such… arrangements…’
‘Arrangements?’ Agnes pulled her hands away. ‘But—but I love you!’
She had said the words; the words Isaac had never dared to dream of. He stared at her in shock, watching the tears gather in her eyes, before pulling her into his arms as he stammered out his regret.
‘And I you, Agnes. I love you. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone in this world.’ He kissed her closed eyelids before the tears could fall; her lips sought his, trembling, and he gave her all that she needed. ‘Believe me.’
‘Then believe that I love you, and that we shall be married, and all will be well.’ Agnes’ voice, thick with desire and fury, shook him to his core. ‘Believe me.’
‘I do.’ Isaac kissed her again, his heart in his throat. ‘I do.’
‘Good.’ Agnes pulled away, looking at him. ‘And—and your clothes are very wet.’ No evidence of a blush lay on her face. ‘I think… I think you should remove them.’
‘Do you?’ Hearing those words from her lips was exciting beyond measure; Isaac felt his core ache for her.
‘Yes.’ Agnes smiled. ‘I do.’
Isaac nodded. Briefly moving from the bed as Agnes watched, rapt and smiling, he began to remove his clothes. There was a gleam in her eye; not an ugly glint of possession, as he had seen in the gazes of other women who had shared his bed. This was appreciation; a soft, sensuous gaze, as if she were looking at a rare bloom. It made Isaac feel both embarrassed and valued in a way that he could not remember feeling in the past.
His shirt fell to the floor, followed by his breeches; Agnes’ gaze never wavered, even as Isaac began to feel more and more exposed. When he was finally down to his thin, rain-dampened drawers, he reflexively covered himself.
‘Why do you do that?’ Agnes looked at him, her brow furrowed.
‘Because… I do not know.’ Isaac shrugged, acutely aware of his hardness. ‘Because I am ashamed.’
‘You did not seem to possess an abundance of shame that afternoon by the lake.’ Agnes tentatively smiled. ‘Surely this place is even more private.’
‘Yes.’ Isaac had to admit this was correct. ‘But I was less close to complete nakedness there.’
‘True.’ Agnes nodded. ‘But… but I felt so terribly thirsty there, watching you.’ She bit her lip, her voice a delicate mixture of daring and delight. ‘I would like to feel that thirst again.’
Who could refuse such a heartfelt appeal? Isaac acquiesced without a word; he removed his hands, taking off his last garment with the same methodical swiftness as he had his other clothes.
With a deep breath, banishing the last of his shame, he stepped forward. He stood before her, naked, staring at Agnes as her eyes travelled over every inch of his body. Her parted lips, her slow, greedy appreciation of him, could only inflame him further; he forced himself to stand still, his cock now brazenly erect at the very sight of her in his bed.
After a minute that felt like eternity, he could wait no longer. ‘May I come to you?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was everything he wanted. ‘Please.’
Isaac didn’t think he had ever moved so fast. He strode to the bed, leaping atop it like a tiger, pausing only to ascertain the placement of Agnes’ injured foot before taking her in his arms. She gasped, her smile a thing of beauty as she yielded to him, arms curled around him, her linen-clad skin divine as it rested against his own.
All dissolved into sensation; all was pleasure, the pleasure that Isaac had longed for ever since the day of the peony. Their wordless language of flowers was now the language of the body; his fingers sang against her as he removed the layers and layers of under-things that that still concealed her, still kept her from him. The more that was revealed, the more he could kiss; he lavished kisses on her shoulders, her neck, his tongue lapping at the hollow there until she cried out, her thighs tensing against his cock.
‘Is that meant to happen?’ Agnes looked up at him, her expression almost affronted as her fingertips rested on her neck. ‘To feel pleasure here, I mean.’
‘There is no bad pleasure here. Not between us. Only unexpected.’ Isaac leant down, gently kissing the base of her neck as Agnes shivered again. ‘Should I stop?’
‘No.’ Agnes’ voice was definite. ‘In fact, it should be done more. This way, I can expect it.’
With a smile, Isaac returned to his labours. Remembering his instructions, lavishing attent
ion on the flushed hollow of her neck as he undid buttons and untied strings, more and more of her was revealed; her linen-covered navel, as well as the erotic flash of curls that lay invitingly at the meeting of her thighs. Isaac, forcing himself to go slowly, focused his attention on the dark, rose-flushed points of her nipples, cupping her breasts gently in his hands as Agnes quivered beneath him.
‘Does this quench your thirst?’ Isaac stroked his thumbs over her nipples, delighting in the way they stiffened under his touch. ‘Or does it make it worse?’
‘Worse. It makes it much worse.’ Agnes spoke piteously; her fingers frantically aided Isaac’s as he lifted away the last of her undergarments. Now she lay beneath him, naked, flushed with want. ‘Please do something.’
Isaac nodded, his cock twitching as he watched goosebumps ripple over her flesh. Silently thanking whatever benevolent god had got him here, he bent his head to her breasts.
The effect was immediate. Agnes’ cry thrilled through him, her fingers suddenly tight in his hair as his mouth closed over her nipple. As much as Isaac wished to tease her with light licks and laps, playing with her, his body would not countenance the delay; he licked and sucked with as much strength as pleasure would permit, worshipping her, his teeth grazing each of her nipples with wicked lightness as he moved from one breast to the other. Each soft, wondering cry from Agnes’ throat was a reward beyond price; Isaac worked for them, his tongue ever-present on her stiff, swollen nipples, his cock hard and aching as it rested between her thighs.
Judging her readiness, finding his courage, he moved one hand to her thigh. Lord, how soft her skin was; she was a gift to his work-roughened palms as he stroked in slow, luxurious circles over her thigh, round to her hip, gripping her as tightly as he dared as he licked her with ever-greater force, Agnes sighing as her fingers tightened in his hair. A few more moments against her hip, revelling in the shape of her… and then his hand drifted over, downward, stroking the curls that lay at her entrance.
‘Mmm.’ Agnes’ whimper was one of sensuous helplessness; her hips jerked upward, pushing her mound against his hand. Isaac took it as encouragement; he moved his mouth from her breasts, showering her cheeks with light, reassuring kisses as he gently stroked her curls, pleased at the wetness he found there. She desired him as profoundly as he desired her; this was evidence of her thirst, and he would quench it.
‘Tell me if it hurts.’ He parted her lips as softly as he could, stroking along the slick channel he found there, watching Agnes’ face as she gasped. ‘I would rather die than hurt you.’
‘You were going to leave.’ Agnes brought up a finger, running it along his jawline. ‘That would have hurt me more than anything you will do here.’
‘I will never leave you. Not now that I have found you—not now that you are here.’ Isaac kissed her forehead. ‘You must know that.’
‘I do.’ Agnes shifted, bringing herself more firmly into contact with Isaac’s fingers. ‘So hurt me now, a little—then you will never hurt me again.’
Tell me if it hurts. Agnes had almost laughed; what could possibly hurt, here in his arms? Even if she burned alive, it would be better than what she had felt out in the dark—not knowing if she would ever see him again. She sighed quietly as his head moved back to her breasts; there was the pleasure again, filling her from top to toe, and it could more than counteract any pain that followed.
First there came yet more kisses; sweet, passionate, delicious ones, placed on all the most sensitive points of her body like offerings. Agnes was surprised at her own readiness; she had been waiting for so very long, imagining Isaac’s attentions with such intensity, that she felt herself unfurling with even the lightest touches. She offered herself up to him shamelessly, giving him her body; it was only right that he used it, took as much pleasure from it as he could.
Even the soft, tentative strokes between her thighs delighted her; she had attempted the same caresses herself in adolescence, but with Isaac’s hands the touch was something new and spectacular. Agnes found herself crying out at Isaac’s work-hardened hands coaxed untold bliss from her most private places.
‘Ah!’ Now she understood why he had said it would hurt. Isaac stared at her, his eyes full of pained love, as his finger rested at her tightest point.
His voice was full of apology. ‘I can stop. Tell me if you want me to stop.’
‘No.’ Agnes couldn’t bear the thought of him stopping, even if the pain was considerable. ‘I told you that I did not wish it.’
She half-expected him to argue with her; to tell her that he knew what was best for her. But with a soft smile that only gave more beauty to the rest of his face, Isaac kissed her forehead.
‘Promise me that you will still love me after this.’
‘Always.’ Agnes kissed him again. ‘I promise.’
She tensed, wincing, a cry of pain humming in her throat as his finger pushed deeper. It was too tight; too painful, no, it could never be managed… but as she stayed where she was, forcing herself to accommodate this new, strange invader, the pain slowly ebbed away into a sensation too raw, too different, to categorise as either bliss or discomfort.
‘How strange.’ She murmured it, experimentally shifting her hips. She felt her muscles grip him; there was a spark of pleasure, uncomplicated pleasure, and she gasped. ‘Very strange. How do… how do I feel?’
‘Like nothing on this earth.’ Isaac’s voice was full of desire; it pleased Agnes to hear it. ‘And… and how do I feel?’
‘New. Big—unusual.’ Agnes tried tensing her thighs again; a large spark of pleasure ran through her. ‘But good.’
‘Then we are contented.’ Isaac’s finger slowly, expertly curled inside her; Agnes shivered as the sparks of pleasure became a fire. ‘Or shall I continue? Could you be a little more content?’
‘I believe I could.’ Agnes kissed him, the new strength in her body surprising her. ‘I really do.’
Kissing was one thing, kissing and stroking was another—but what came next was something else entirely. Agnes had never felt so much at once; wave after wave of pleasure, each one slowly building on the other. Isaac’s kisses on her shoulders and breasts, his hand running over her hips and stomach, his other curled between her thighs as his finger did something spectacular—oh, she was helpless, helpless against the sheer bliss of it, her throat full of gasps and cries that she would never have allowed herself to express with any other man.
Isaac would keep her safe. He would even keep her safe against this sensation; the full-bodied, glittering magnificence of feeling that was rapidly overwhelming her. The waves were larger now, stronger; they were stronger than any tide, pulling her towards a peak that she had only ever dimly glimpsed in solitude.
‘Agnes.’ Isaac’s voice was like an anchor; Agnes gripped him tighter, quivering, looking at him helplessly as she nodded. ‘Are you close?’
Did he mean close to this; close to collapsing into a million pieces? Yes, yes she was; she had been close ever since she had seen him bathing in the lake—since he had given her the peony to put in her hair. ‘I—I believe I am.’
‘God, you’re beautiful.’ Isaac’s voice was harsh with want; his finger curled inside her again and again, touching some pure, deep point in her that only he could reach. ‘Let it come, my love, let it come.’
‘Yes.’ Agnes closed her eyes; she had needed his guidance. Now the waves had her; she was caught in them, lost, ecstatic. ‘Oh… yes.’
They lay for a long while, the dawn slowly turning the faint light from behind the curtains a dove-grey as Agnes caught her breath. Isaac lay beside her, softly stroking her face and hair as he watched her come back to herself. Only when he saw the openness come back to her face, the readiness, did he take a towel and gently clean away the evidence of her innocence. They way in which she curled her hands around his neck, allowing him yet more access to the most intimate part of her, filled Isaac with a tenderness that bound his heart as surely as his arousal did.
‘I want to touch it.’ Agnes looked up at him, her eyes impish in the firelight, her fingers light against the head of his cock. ‘As you did for me.’
Isaac could barely believe he had heard such words from Agnes’ lips. ‘So bold, Miss Hereford.’
‘Agnes. My name is Agnes, even when you are jesting.’ Agnes looked even more determined, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. ‘And I do not have to be shy with you. Not anymore.’
‘Oh, yes?’ The words felt like a reward to Isaac; a kind of spectacular grace. ‘And why is that?’
‘Because I am safe with you.’ Agnes nodded quietly to herself, her fingers light as thistledown on Isaac’s lips. ‘I know I am.’
Isaac was too moved to speak. He reached out, ready to gather her into his arms—but then Agnes’ fingers moved along his shaft, and every plan in Isaac’s head crumbled abruptly to dust.
He bit his lip, restraining a savage growl of pleasure as her hands moved over his shaft. It had been so long, so terribly long, since he’d felt any hand other than his own—and the fact that it was Agnes touching him, gentle, exploratory, had him half-afraid that he would finish in her palm before he could experience the pleasure of them joined.
‘Did I do something wrong?’ Agnes withdrew her hand. ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘No.’ Isaac let out a harsh burst of laughter. ‘The opposite.’ He brought Agnes’ face to his, kissing her deeply, revelling in the ripe warmth of her lips as she sighed against him. ‘Please do it again.’
‘So polite.’ Agnes bought her fingers back to his shaft, slowly stroking along the rigid, silken flesh as Isaac felt another wave of pleasure. ‘Do you know, I had imagined you being very commanding.’
Dukes and Devilry Page 24
