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“Through the clouds came rays of bright sunshine suddenly, and I saw…your silhouette. One sweet wisp of hair that had escaped from your tight bun. Your apron, starched and perfect. Your neck, as long and pretty as any swan’s. And”—his hands closed over the bodice again adoringly—“your gentle swells.”
Her eyebrows reached upward as far as they could go. “Frederick! I didn’t know! Sometimes you seemed…stern, even.”
“I was trying not to dishonor you by showing my carnal thoughts. Remember, too, Molly, my conclusions about children. And…I believed no woman would want me for a husband. Could love me as I am.”
She took in a deep breath, marveling at how fortunate they were. She, too, for so long, had firmly believedthiswas impossible.
“I love you as you are. God help me, I love that you want to peel my gown from me…”
Her voice broke; however daring she’d felt until now, she couldn’t repeat his shocking words.
No matter; the time for speaking was done for now. He kissed her, tongues undulating softly against each other, and she couldn’t get close enough to him. His mouth left hers, trailing down her neck again, then lower.
He was rather taller than she, and after his lips grazed her collarbone, he stood up straight, giving up on bending. She gasped as he lifted her up the wall, his hands intimately on her rear.
Grasping his shoulders, she realized immediately the benefit of this position; he’d hoisted her up until his mouth hovered right above the neckline of her gown.
“I’ll take you upstairs soon. Lower your gown. Feast on you as long as you’ll let me. But first…”
He rubbed his lips back and forth against the silken skin of the swell of her breast, moaning at the pliancy he found there. Nuzzling into this space over her breastbone, he inhaled deeply.
Her fingers sank into his dark hair, holding him close as he explored the top of her other breast. When his tongue darted under the silk of her gown, she groaned. “More,” she begged, shoulders wriggling as if she could make her gown fall off.
Frederick let her gently slide down the wall back to the floor. As soon as her boots touched the floor, she tried to move into his arms—but he stopped her before she could press against him fully.
“I’m—I have…” He looked down his front meaningfully.
“Yes, you are. Yes, you have,” she said throatily.
But she could see that he looked worried about his arousal being so evident. “Frederick! Remember at the concert? I told you that I’mglad.”
He shook his head slowly. “You abide no mess, Molly. You’re a tidy woman. Andthis”—he looked down at his trousers—“this isn’t clean when I…”
“Ejaculate?” she supplied, her cheeks flaming. “Yes, I understand what will happen. Pages ten, eleven, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen—well, half the red book, really. It was all about cocks.”
“Gott im Himmel, Molly!” He swallowed and caught her wrist before she could touch him. “Are you certain?”
“What I can abide even less than a mess, Frederick, is unfairness! Surely you can’t expect me to lower my gown and allow you all manner of liberty without you dropping your trousers for me, eventually?”
Making a strangled sound as her hand found his rigid penis through his trousers, his hands tightened on her wrist before he let go.
The breath caught in Molly’s throat at the wave of arousal that swelled within her as she fitted her palm against him. Rubbing her fingers up and down, she delighted in his immediate reaction.
“It’s quite sensitive,” she said, then felt ridiculous.
“It is. And that feels good. But Molly, it’s—it’s one thing to behold on the page of a book, and another to…”
“To have it filling my hand?” she asked, her voice warm with appreciation.
He shook his head. “I don’t want to offend you. Disgust you. I don’t want you to ha—“
“Shh,” she soothed, shaking her head. A wicked thought came to her mind, almost buckling her knees. “Frederick, let me show you something. Let you feel something.”
She removed her boots, settling them just so against the baseboard of the wall at the correct angle. Under the silk gown she wore the only kind of hose she had ever owned; practical, woolen for winter. They were nothing like Lady Clara’s silk hose, embroidered with rosebuds or little leaves along the top.
But Frederick watched her lift her foot to a kitchen chair as if she were a queen, and when she held out her hand, he took it as if she were unlocking the gates of heaven.
Her eyes locked on his, she slipped his hand under the voluminous, iridescent pink-beige skirts and ran it slowly up her calf.
