Page 87 of Atone, Adonis

He walked to her slowly, reaching out to cup her face when he was close enough. He sat on the edge of the narrow bed and said, “Turn over so I can undo your stays.”

He watched while she turned, waist curving, hips flaring. His cock so hard in his trousers it felt as if it were made of a steel rod instead of himself. He leaned down and kissed the nape of her neck, where wisps of dark hair tickled her skin. She moaned when his lips touched her body and he couldn’t help but take his hand and press it into himself for just a moment.

He undid her stays, one by one, taking his time. Letting his fingers trail down her side and back, across every inch of skin he uncovered.

“Fred,” she whispered and he loved how it sounded close to a whine. Loved that she was shaking under his touch, that she needed him the way he needed her.

He pressed kisses to the tops of her shoulders, across her back, and down her spine, wherever his fingers had been. And then he helped her stand to remove the gown completely.

“Take the chemise off, Jules.”

She stepped out of it and, Christ, Dorset had gotten it wrong. He was no Adonis, but she was Aphrodite. Absolutely and in every way.

“Let your hair down,” he rasped and when she removed her pins and let it fall down around her shoulders he palmed himself again.

“Let me,” she said and closed the distance between them.

She took his hand in one of hers and with the other she pressed her palm to his cock. His hips jumped at the contact and a low, guttural moan escaped his lips. For a moment he had to close his eyes and think of every piece of horseflesh at Tattersalls so he wouldn’t lose himself completely.

Her fingers skimmed along the outline of his cockstand still in his trousers. “I liked watching you touch yourself in the carriage,” she said. “But now I’d like to touch you myself. If you agree.”

“Yes. Christ, yes.”

“Take your trousers off then, Fred.”

He tore the buttons he moved so quickly. But he didn’t care. All he wanted was to be rid of his clothing as soon as possible. And then he was standing before her, as naked and vulnerable as she was standing before him. For a long moment they just stared at each other, bathed in this new light of understanding between them.

He enclosed her in his arms then, wanting to feel her skin against his. Wanting to live inside this moment for as long as he could because it meant everything to him.

“Jules,” he whispered into her hair.

“I know,” she said and pressed into him, her fingers cupping his hard, hot erection. He felt himself moaning at the touch, rutting his hips forward into her hand.

When they lay down on the bed again they did it in unison, pressed as close together as they could be. The bed was narrow and demanded it, but they could have been lying in a bed the size of London itself and Fred would not have let an inch come between them. Not with Julianna there beneath him, her arms and legs wrapping around him as if she too wanted to hold him as close as she could. As if she never wanted to let him go.

Fred leaned his head down to kiss his wife again. The slip of her tongue in his mouth made him feel frantic, frenzied. He thought of Tattersalls again, and when that didn’t quite do the trick, he thought of his estate management to-do list. Anything to calm his panting, the way his hips had begun to rut against her entrance.

“Fred,” she whispered, her hips coming up to meet his. “Let me feel you.”

“Wait, Jules. I can—”

“No. After. I want you now. I want to feel you inside me.”

He kissed her once more, hard, before he pushed inside her. The smooth, warm slide felt so good his eyes nearly fluttered back in his head.

This, this, this. My wife, mine, for me, played in a jumbled loop in his head.

He pressed up on his forearms so he could better look into her face and then he began to move. He was tentative at first, a slow, shallow rocking of his hips until he was certain she was comfortable, that she felt pleasure too. But when she closed her eyes and used her heels to press him further into herself, he moved faster.

“There, Fred. Like that,” his wife murmured. When she clasped his ear lobe with her teeth he felt his bollocks draw up tight.

“Jules—” he said but she had taken over the rhythm now. She was moving beneath him, her hips snapping as she discovered her own pleasure.

The feel of her beneath him, pleasure evident in every plane of her face, was nearly too much.

“Jules,” he gasped out again.

“It’s alright, Fred. It’s—”