No. “Yes.”
He had removed his jacket, tie, and collar, revealing the triangle of skin below his throat she had kissed the night before. The memory sent desire flashing through her, electrifying her nerve endings. She shifted and averted her gaze, noticing he had also discarded his shoes and stockings. Somehow this detail seemed so intimate, like such a sudden leap forward in their relationship. She giggled, staggered at the notion of knowing what Henry’s toes looked like.
Henry did not seem to notice. His gaze locked on her as though mesmerized, taking thorough stock of her every detail, and Ellie was aware of each overly large curve, the places where her dress bunched or tugged in an unpleasing fashion. Of every way she differed from Henry’s usual women. Of why she would never be enough for him.
He stopped when he was just within reach, as though some invisible tether had pulled him back, caught him before he went too far. His mouth worked for a moment before he sighed and shook his head. “I’m terrified I’ll hurt you.”
Ellie closed the distance between them, taking his hands in hers and lacing their fingers, letting them brush against their thighs as she looked up into his eyes. “I trust you, Henry. I know you’ll take care of me. You always have.”
Dropping his head, Henry brushed his lips in a featherlike caress against her mouth, so gentle, so tender it winded her. “I’ll only kiss you, like I should have last night.”
He deepened the kiss, the slightest increase of pressure, but she felt the tension in the fingers linked with hers, the slight tremble in his jaw.
“Why are you holding back?” Ellie whispered against his lips.
He froze. “I told you, I need to keep control.”
Frustration laced Ellie’s words. “Would you treat another lover like this? Like she was fragile and unable to understand her own desires?”
Hesitating, he pulled back, releasing one of her hands to brush her cheek. “You’re anything but fragile, but you are precious to me.”
The words buoyed her confidence, and she placed her hand over his, removing it from her cheek and placing it at the neckline of her gown, where satin met skin, the place where his touch had ended the night before. “You won’t break me.”
Henry released a low groan as his eyes darkened, his hand unsteady as he dragged his fingers against her flesh, slowly and reverently.
When he spoke, his voice was like gravel, sending goosebumps racing along her skin. “Will you take off your dress?”
Ellie blanched. “Why?”
Henry gave her the half-smile that made her knees weak. “It’s usually a prerequisite for this sort of thing.”
Her trembling fingers touched the buttons holding the placket of her bodice in place, then hesitated. “Why areyoustill dressed?”
Henry shifted on his feet, averting his gaze. “This isn’t about me. It’s supposed to be about you, finding what brings you pleasure.”
The gravelly rasp in his voice sent heat flooding through her body. Hypnotized by the sound, she slipped the satin-covered buttons of her jacket through the holes, allowing the placket to open and exposing the expanse of skin pouring above her corset.
Ellie hated her breasts from the moment they appeared, just before her eleventh birthday. They drew leering looks from boys and men, japes from girls, and disapproving glares from women. Before she had put away her dolls, she was forced to confront womanhood and the shame accompanying the sexualization of her body.
She turned away and dropped the jacket and skirt to the floor, grateful for the muslin underskirt hiding her from the waist down but wishing she had something more to cover her chest. Wincing as she turned back, she fought the urge to hide the offending flesh until she saw Henry’s face.
His eyes were dark as he took her in. She had never witnessed this desire, and knowing the effect she had on him sent another wave of arousal rushing to pool low in her belly. He stepped closer, raising his palms as though he would run them down her arms, but stopped before making contact. His jaw tightened and his eyelids drooped for a moment before he exhaled slowly and put his hands on her shoulders.
The touch was almost brotherly, reassuring and tender, but not romantic.Poor Henry,she thought, having to suffer through this for me.
“I want to do this, Ellie,” he said, as though reading her thoughts. “But I need—I think we need to take our time.”
Ellie fought the frustration tightening in her throat. “I thought we already had.”
“We did.” He ran one hand down her arm and back up in a move that felt much less brotherly. “This isn’t a process we should rush. It’s better for you—” another slow stroke up her forearm, “—if we take our time and make sure you’re ready.”
Ellie’s breath caught in her throat as goosebumps erupted in the wake of his touch. “I’m not ready now?”
He shook his head, his gaze having drifted back to the valley between her breasts. She suddenly understood the appeal of being a sexual being, seeing the visceral reaction her figure, or at least one specific portion of it, could induce in a man. The power was heady enough to make her crave another opportunity to witness the heat in his expression.
Henry cleared his throat before answering. “A man can be ready with little preparation, but a woman needs more time.” A flash of sympathy, almost pity, appeared on his face. “I suspect the act wasn’t pleasant for you before because you weren’t properly prepared.”
Ellie fought the cold pushing in from her memories. Of the door creaking open and her husband lifting her night dress, his foul breath as he labored over her—
