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He took over, his long fingers stroking upward now of their own volition. They dipped into the space behind her knee, caressing, and up her thigh. Her hand found his again when he paused at the top of her hose, a few inches below the open slit of her drawers.
Her hand over his, she brought his fingers to the edge of where hair began. Groaning, breathing hard, he kept his eyes locked on hers as he stroked along her seam.
“You’re going to find a right mess there,” she warned, love shining in her eyes. “I’m wet.”
“Not a mess,” he gasped, his finger parting her. “Glorious.”
Her mouth opened and a raw sound escaped when his finger sank audibly into her moisture. His other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her up when she wobbled. She closed her eyes, almost unable to bear the pleasure of his blunt but gentle finger stroking against her clitoris.
“It’s quite sensitive,” he said, his voice deep.
In the back of her mind, she knew a distant amusement at his words, but her face was drawn tight, for his clever musician’s finger was beckoning gently against her bud again and again.
“Do you see?” she forced out. “This is what my body does for yours. Does it offend you? Disgust—“
“No! No, Molly.”
Her hands clutched the sleeves of his coat, then pulled at the fabric. “I wish to go upstairs. I wish for this gown to beoff. For your coat, your trousers, your shirt to beoff.”
His finger stilled against the slick side of her swollen peak. “I wish to go upstairs, and once all our garments areoff,I wish to place you on my bed. Prop you against my pillow as if it’s a tree trunk.”
“Yes?”
Between her folds, he applied the gentlest of pressure with his fingertip, a movement so subtle yet so pleasurable, an explosion of sensation shot through her lower body.
Frederick’s eyes dropped to her breasts, rising and falling rapidly under the bodice now, and his low voice was quiet. “Within two minutes, I wish to have my mouth learning your nipples. My hand back here.” This time he stroked up and over the peak, eliciting a guttural sound from her.
“Yes.”
For all their daring words, Molly was the most affected when, once both of her feet were back on the ground, he drew her into his arms, letting her press as close as she wanted, and his hands closed over her shoulders, squeezing three times.
Oh, Frederick!
She brought her hips in line with his, her eyes fluttering when his erection pressed through her skirts against her belly.
In allowing her to feel him this way, he was trusting her again, just as he had when he’d disclosed his decision not to father children. When he’d spoken of his megrims, clearly fearing the worst about what she’d made of it all.
“I love you, Frederick.”
He held her face. “I love you, too.” His thumb caressed her cheekbone. “You’re the most precious gift I’ve received in my life, on Christmas or otherwise.”
She smiled. “Even better than a spinning top?”
“Even better. Thank God for you, Molly Hawkins. Happy Christmas.”
