Page 21 of The Gift of a Christmas Scandal

Chapter Ten

The clock which stood on the mantel in her bedroom ticked steadily away, but the time seemed to pass at an unbearably slow rate. Selina had allowed Lisbet to prepare her for bed, and her light muslin nightrail brushed over her skin as she paced about the room. Her senses were acute, as if every tiniest touch was almost harsh, her breasts ached, their tips hardened, and the brush of the night rail made that moreso. She wished that touch was Alex’s fingers, not simply cloth.

What might they do, in the library tonight? She considered her imagination, her dreams, and knew that she lacked the knowledge to truly imagine all that was possible between a man and a woman. She knew the basics, she had learnt much from Mariel, and a truly shocking book that Mariel had shown her. A book which was also very arousing. But she struggled to translate those pictures into what it might feel like to do such things with a man. Perhaps she would find out, soon. She paused and studied herself in the mirror – would he find her somewhat dishevelled look attractive?

Finally, as the hour approached two, she lifted the silken robe from the chair by her bed, and slipped it on, tying the long sash around her. Taking a candle, she slipped out into the empty hallway. She saw no one, and reached the library without incident.

The door clicked shut behind her. As it did, he stepped from behind a bank of shelves. She went to him, almost running, no thought in that instant but to be in his arms, to feel his lips on hers, after the long day of unfulfilled desire. He scooped the candlestick from her fingers to drop it onto a side table, and lifted her in his arms, spinning her around for a moment before bringing his lips down on hers. She melted against him, returning the kiss, and his hands explored her.

When he discovered the loose opening of the robe, and his fingers brushed the thin muslin beneath, he groaned against her mouth. In response, she thrust herself harder against him, hungry for his touch, for the feel of his hard, male body against her softness. He bent and scooped her up into his arms, never breaking the kiss, and carried her to the secluded couch where they had sat the previous time they had met secretly here.

He lowered her, and stepped back – unconscious of what she did, she reached for him.

“A moment, my darling Selina. The candle – we do not want anyone to suspect we are here.”

He turned, and retrieved her candle, settling it onto the table nearby, beside his. Then he blew both of them out. For a moment, it seemed impossibly dark, then her eyes adjusted, and the moonlight coming through the high, narrow window to one side limned him in silver.

It made him look even more darkly, dangerously handsome than he usually did. He took her breath away – it seemed, more than ever, like one of her dreams come to life. He stood there, looking at her, and his expression spoke of need, hunger, and something more – something that she desperately hoped she was not imagining. She stretched out her hand, and he came to her, the heat of his touch belying the cool silver of the light

He settled onto the couch beside her, where she half lay along it and, as his lips found hers again, his hands gently undid the sash of her robe, letting it fall away to the sides. His hands caressed her, discovering her shape, trailing heat and tingling after them, until her whole body arched up into his touch, and odd little sounds came from her throat – sounds of pleasure, and desire, sounds which called for more – that more which she did not entirely understand. He drew back from the kiss a moment, but his hands did not stop their exploration.

“Selina… you are beautiful, so very beautiful. I should not… yet I cannot resist…”

“Then do not try to resist. Whether we should or not, I want this. I want your touch, your kisses…”

He groaned, that sound she had come to understand meant that he struggled to control his desire, his actions, in the face of pleasure. Tentative, she reached out, and ran her fingers down his chest, feeling the hard planes of him through the fine cotton of his shirt. In that moment, she realised – he was barely more dressed than she, wearing just his breeches and the thin shirt. The feel of it excited her, and she squirmed a little on the couch, her body aching to be touched. His eyes followed her movement, widening, and he swallowed.

His hands, which had stilled as he spoke, began to move again, trailing up from her hips to her breasts, until his fingers brushed gently over their tips, again and again, until she arched up off the couch, thrusting herself into his hands. At that, he leant down, and kissed her again, his kisses trailing from her mouth down her neck, until he pulled undone the ribbon which tied the neck of her night rail, and pushed it open, trailing kisses further down, onto the top of her breasts.

She could not think, could not do anything but allow the pleasure to take her. If her dreams had been good, this was so much more. Then, his lips found the hardened peak of one breast. The sensation made her gasp. Gently, he kissed, then licked, then sucked. She felt as if she was dissolving, as if there was nothing of her, but the point where his mouth met her flesh.

She could not stay still, yet she did not wish to ever move. She reached out, her fingers tracing his chest again, and slipping down, until they brushed over the hard bulge of his manhood, where it thrust against the containment of his breeches. At her touch, he moaned again, a deep sound that vibrated against her breast delightfully. She closed her fingers around that bulge, exploring its shape, wondering at its size and hardness, and its heat.

He shifted his weight onto one arm, another moan of pleasure shaking his body, resonating through her, and his other hand stroked down, leaving heat in its wake, over the thin muslin of the night rail, over her stomach, and down, brushing against that most secret place between her thighs, where an ache had been building for days. She gave a little cry as his fingers went further, then stilled a moment.

He was gently pulling up the hem of her night rail. The feel of his bare fingers on her bare skin was exquisite – the most intense sensation she had ever felt – until that was surpassed as his fingers reached that most secret place, and began to gently stroke over the tight soft hair that grew there. She realised that she was wet there, so very wet. His fingers slid, easily, and soon he found a spot that made her arch up into his hand.

“Alex! Oh! What are you… oh!”

“Shh, Selina, I will not go too far, no matter what I might desire – I will give you pleasure, but nothing more – tonight. There are ways to pleasure that do not involve…”

His fingers were still moving, and she barely heard his words, she was almost beyond caring about anything beyond the sensation. It was indescribable, intense, and yet, it made her want more, made her arch her body and move against his hand. Deep in her mind, she realised just how utterly wanton she was being – and chose not to care.

He bent to kiss her again, her breasts, her neck, her mouth, his fingers never stopping. The sensation built, until she could have begged – for what, she did not know, but there was something, some need which her body understood, even if her mind did not. Then, without warning, she reached it – it was as if fireworks exploded in her mind, as if she shattered into a million tiny pieces of sensation. She called out, but he caught the sound in a deep kiss, and held her until she stopped shaking with it. When she finally felt whole again, as if all of those little pieces had reassembled, she looked at him in wonder.

“Alex… what… what did you do to me?”

“I gave you the gift of pleasure.”

“But…”

Her fingers traced the hardness of him, through his breeches, and he groaned again.

“Do not torture me, sweet Selina. Tonight, the pleasure is all yours. I would not ruin you, as I have said before.”

She laughed, suddenly finding the entire situation beyond ridiculous.

“Alex, I do believe that you have ruined me regardless – ruined my ability to ever appreciate another man in the same way – for I cannot imagine anyone else giving me such pleasure. Nor, truthfully, do I wish to.”