Sometime later, he was kissing her and unbuttoning his waistcoat.
Many kisses after that, he was untying his cravat.
And then, even later, he was unbuttoning his shirt, baring his chest to her, and she stopped the kisses to look at that, because she found the sight of him entirely enthralling. She had never been so close to a man without a shirt, she did not think, and he was all broadness and muscle and tantalizing little bits of dark hair clinging here and there to him, and she wanted to touch it, and then was frightened and laughed, as she tugged her hand back, flushing.
“You can touch me, Lizzy,” he told her in a gravelly voice, taking her and putting it against his bare skin as he shrugged out of his shirt. “I am but flesh. There is no danger.”
She did touch. Shy at first, she traced her fingers over him. He was solid and firm and yet warm, and under the hair, his skin was satiny. She liked the feel of him.
He shut his eyes and let her explore, a smile twitching at his lips, little sighs of appreciation and pleasure leaking from his mouth here and there.
Eventually, he pulled her close and kissed her and asked in a hushed voice if he could see her, too, and she felt shy again as she turned to let him work on the buttons on her dress.
His fingers were deft and quick. He unbuttoned her and then set about loosening her stays. In no time at all, he had divested her of everything, and she was entirely bare as he pressed into her from behind, his hands exploring the front of her, holding her against his body. He lingered, both hands on the swell of her belly, and she let out a sigh.
He groaned. One of his hands strayed to one of her breasts. He was very gentle as he barely cupped her there. His other hand moved up and down over her belly.
“Even now?” she breathed. “Even now, knowing it is his?”
“It is mine,” he countered. “Come now, say it.” He kissed her beneath her ear lobe. “Say, ‘The babe is yours, Fitz.’”
She let out an affected sigh. “The babe is yours, Fitz,” she repeated obediently.
“I do like it, Lizzy,” he whispered into her skin, and his voice was a little strained. “I like it quite a lot, in fact.” He pressed into her, and she could feel that part of him press into her flesh, feel that he was aroused.
She lay her head back on his shoulder.
He turned his face to kiss her. He moved his hands so that both of her breasts were gathered up now and he gently—so gently—began to tease the tips of her there, making her stiffen against his fingers.
She let out a whimper.
“I want to put my mouth on you here, Lizzy,” he breathed.
“Yes,” she said. “But I want you to take off your trousers.”
“Oh, I can quite be convinced ofthat,” he said.
And soon they were on the bed, and she was lying on her back and he was over her, and his mouth was wet and hot on her breasts, and she had her hands all over him, on his back, on hismuscular arms, and even his backside, the curve of that, and she felt wicked and expansive and her body was tight and yet loose and everything felt like a gathering autumn thunderstorm, ready to blow all the orange leaves from every single tree branch, the wind whipping here and there in anticipation.
She put her hand back on himthere, squeezing and stroking him the way she remembered he had liked, and he let outsucha noise.
And then he plucked her hand off of him and shook his head at her, smiling up from where he was suckling her sensitive breasts. “Lizzy, you mustn’t worry over my pleasure.”
She peered down at him. “No?”
“No, you see, it is the way of things. It is very easy for a man to find his pleasure with a woman, so she must worry entirely, absolutely entirely, about her own, and leave it to him to see to himself. I shall worry about that, all right? You must close your eyes and concentrate on enjoying yourself and on finding your climax.”
“Is that the way of it?” she said. “Truly?”
“I think so,” he said.
“I have not heard this,” she said, smiling down at him.
“Well, I have,” he said. “I have been taught it, in fact.”
She felt a dark cloud cover her pleasure. “Oh? By the same woman who taught you to put your mouth on a woman, then?”
“As it happens, yes,” he said, and he pushed up on his arms to look down on her. “I am sorry I said anything about that to you, though. I never meant to harm you with it. Would it help to know that I liked her a great deal more than she liked me? That I pined over her whilst she bedded likely five or seven other men, that I suppose I’m grateful for her instruction, but that there is no comparison between you and her? That I could never have chosen a woman like that?”
