He glanced at the bed behind him and then at her. “Emeline—”
“Shhh.” She placed her fingers against his lips. “Please.”
He searched her eyes a moment and then must have understood her incoherent plea. He nodded.
She smiled tremblingly at him. For this night, she would put away all thoughts of the future and what would come. Her anxieties, her fears, all the burdens she carried, all the people who depended on her. She would forget them for a few precious hours. Gently she drew his coat from his shoulders, taking care not to jostle his injuries. She folded the garment carefully and placed it on a table; then she began unbuttoning his plain brown waistcoat. She was conscious of her breathing, shallow and quick with nervousness, and his as well, deep and even. He watched her undress him, making no move to either help or hinder, his hands idle by his side.
She glanced up and met his eyes and felt a wash of heat in her cheeks. What an intimate act this was, to undress a man.
He smiled faintly as he shrugged off his waistcoat. She took a deep breath and started on his shirt. His hands came up to rest on her hips, lightly, but she felt the heat of his fingers even through the layers of cloth. Her hands shook, fumbling with a button. He leaned over her and kissed the top of her head. His body surrounded her, and she inhaled his scent: wool and linen, leather and parsley. She pulled apart the edges of his shirt, looking at his bare chest. His skin was so beautiful; she ran her fingertips over his collarbone and pressed her palm onto his chest. She could feel the wiry hair beneath, and under that the slow beat of his heart. He was here with her, so real. How would she be able to bear it when he wasn’t? When he was across a wide, wide ocean?
She pushed that thought away as she urged him onto the bed. He sat and watched her under hooded eyes, waiting for her next move.
She dropped to her knees and began to unlace his moccasins. He made to lift her up.
She looked at him. “Please.”
His hands dropped.
The laces were made of some type of leather, and she bent over them, concentrating on discovering how they worked. She was aware, though, of his legs before her and her supplicant position. The pose was humble and at the same time erotic.
The first moccasin came off, and she started on the next. He stroked her hair as she worked, silent, never commenting, and she wondered what he thought of this. Yesterday he’d been so angry. She looked up and saw only need in his eyes.
He bent and kissed her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, holding her head now with both hands, and she was lost, forgetting her purpose, forgetting what she wanted. She swayed and placed her hands on his thighs to steady herself as he arched her head back, feeding on her mouth. Oh, Lord, she wanted this man. He brought her forward, and she was enclosed, still kneeling between his thighs, hard and strong, on either side of her. And in front...She smoothed her palms up the leather covering his thighs until they inevitably met where the leather stopped and there was only fabric at the juncture of his legs. She gasped, her inhale lost in his kiss, for he was hard and straining already against his breeches. She cradled his length, tracing him through the cloth.
He caught her hands.
She broke the kiss and glanced up at him. “Let me.”
His face was dark, flushed from passion, and he looked in no mood to concede her anything.
“Please,” she whispered.
He opened his hands, spreading them palms up on his thighs in a gesture of acquiescence. She squeezed him gently through the fabric and then let go to work on opening the flap of his breeches. She peeled back the cloth and fumbled with his smallclothes until she found him, ruddy and proud underneath. The hair surrounding his cock was almost black, a shockingly private sight. This should only be for her, she knew on a primitive level. This man, this sight, this penis was hers.
She stared for a moment and then looked up at him. “Take them off.”
Her tone was probably too commanding, for he half smiled at her, but she didn’t care at the moment. She wanted him entirely nude; she wanted to imprint the sight of him on her mind. He shucked his leggings and the rest of his clothes, and she stood to push him back onto the bed, slipping out of her wrap before climbing in next to him, wearing only her chemise. He lay on his back and immediately felt for her, but she slid down his length, out of his reach.
“Emeline—”
“Shhh.”
She was at the level of his manhood, and the creature fascinated her. One fingertip traced his length, bumping over his veins. She knew that there were women who found a man’s genitals ugly and rude, but she had never been one of them. Had Danny lived longer, had she been a more experienced wife, eventually she would’ve explored him, but they’d never had that time. Now she was determined not to lose this opportunity with Samuel.
She studied him, beguiled by the way his foreskin pulled back to accommodate his erection, enthralled by the slight curve upward. She flicked her eyes to him and saw that he was watching her intently as she examined him, and a thought occurred to her that, at any other time, she never would’ve voiced. They didn’t have years to overcome shyness and the strictures of polite society. They had only tonight and she would not waste this little time.
So she asked, “What do you do when you’re alone?”
He raised his eyebrows, and for a moment she was disappointed. He would pretend not to understand her vulgar question. But, still holding her gaze, he moved his right hand down and wrapped it about his length. Her eyes dropped from his then so that she could watch. He held his penis much more firmly than she would’ve dared and moved his hand up and down. On the up stroke, the head of his cock nearly disappeared into his fist.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” she asked.
She heard him chuckle raspily but couldn’t take her eyes from the sight of what he did to look at his face. “Far from it.”
And then she did something truly beyond the pale. She leaned forward and licked around the head of his penis.
He paused in his movement, and she heard his inhale before he breathed, “Do that again.”
She braced herself on her hands and hovered over him, licking and kissing the head of his cock while he continued to move his fist up and down. It wasn’t a sophisticated act; her tongue sometimes hit his hand as well as his penis, her breasts swung free inelegantly under her shift, but she didn’t care. She loved the taste of him, salt and spice; she adored the faint gasping sounds he made, and she was aware that she was becoming increasingly wet just from ministering to him. Why such an act should be so erotic, she had no idea, but there it was. His hand moved faster, and she attempted to engulf the entire tip of his cock in her mouth. His hips arched involuntarily off the bed.