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Emalyn hesitated, then whispered, “If you only knew how often I had imagined this moment.”
“Probably less often than I have.”
“I would not be so sure, sir. I have seen you in your riding breeches.”
Philip grinned. “Why, you wanton minx.” He took her hand. “Come with me?”
“Anywhere.”
Gripping her hand as if she might slip away, Philip led Emalyn out to the third-floor landing. He paused, listening, but most of the household was at the daily tea his mother hosted. He looked at Emalyn once more. “Yes?”
With her free hand, she reached up and cupped his face. “With no hesitation.”
Philip kissed her quickly, then took the steps to the third floor. A wave of nervousness pulled at every sense as they drew closer to his bedchamber, building on a concern that his own inexperience would cause her harm. Since early that morning, when he decided to go to her with the news and proposal, he had recalled the lessons Cassandra had shared with him, the most vital one living in his memory: “She will be afraid. Talk to her. Reassure her. Watch her. The clues to her pleasure will all be there.”
Philip closed and locked the door to his bedchamber, then looked down in the bright eyes of his love. Tiny strands of hair had slipped free from her braid, quivering in a halo around her head, and he realized she was as nervous as he, even as she gazed at him with such stark adoration that he felt lightheaded. He cupped her face, his kiss gentle, lips brushing across hers with tender strokes. “I do not want to hurt you,” he whispered.
“I know.” Her words seemed to catch in her throat, and she swallowed. “I have a great imagination, but this...”
He smiled. “Is real.”
Emalyn nodded, and he guided her toward the bed. “Will you allow me to undress you?” Another nod, and he kissed her temple, then turned her around. He slowly released the ties on her bodice and skirt, then the laces on her stays. As each piece dropped to the floor, her trembling increased as he slipped the ribbon from her braid and eased his fingers through the long strands. “You are beautiful. All I imagined and more. You are my queen, my love. I could not want anyone more.” He held her, whispering the words again until she quieted, her body finally growing still.
Philip turned her then, kissing her once more, lifting her and settling her amongst the covers he had turned back earlier, hoping for this outcome. He placed her high on the pillows, so that she lounged back, looking like an ancient queen on a barge. He grinned at the image, removing his own clothes as quickly as he could without ripping them. As he bared his own body, her eyes grew ever larger—admiring, longing, then as he dropped his trousers and drawers—fearful.
Grateful more than ever for his father’s wisdom in taking him to Cassandra, Philip whispered, “Patience, my love.” He lay beside her, his hands moving over her with soft, affectionate caresses. At first, she shivered, but he persisted with kisses and light strokes over her face, breasts, and hips, until the quaking was replaced by eager squirms and quiet mewls in her throat. His mouth explored her breasts, pulling on each nipple until the tips hardened and she murmured his name.
Philip urged her legs to part, and his fingers delved into the lush and moist folds. He paused to watch her face, her eyes wide with surprise and pleasure as he found her entrance and pushed one finger, then two inside her. Her hips bucked at the sensation, and her hands clutched for his shoulders.
“Are you all right?” he asked, smiling when she nodded vigorously, her fingers digging into his flesh. He bent to kiss her belly, his lips moving lower as his fingers pushed farther inside her, thrusting slowly. She moaned, her back arching, as her hands gripped the pillows behind her, and Philip, as instructed, used his other hand to part the silky curls covering her, his fingers finding the hardening bud at the top of her sex. Exposing it, he blew a light stream of air across it. Emalyn whimpered, and Philip sucked gently on it as he twisted his hand inside her, curling his fingers upward.
The immediate effect startled him, as Emalyn seemed to explode beneath him. Her body bucked, writhing furiously, as she cried out, hitting the bed with both hands, her fingers grasping repeatedly at the sheets, at the air, at her own hair. Her eyes clenched shut as her body shuddered violently. Philip felt the pulsing of her muscles around his fingers, and he eased out, raising up to watch her, suddenly terrified that he had injured her. He stretched out beside her, gathering her into his arms. “Oh, my love. Did I hurt you?”
Emalyn’s eyes flew open, and she threw her arms around him, clinging to him, her face against his chest, still gasping for air. She shook her head but could not seem to speak. As her body began to calm, she looked up at him, her face more radiant than he had ever seen it. She whispered his name, then pressed her full length against him. “Is that what it’s like for you?”
Philip stroked her hair, finally understanding that what he had witnessed was a woman in the throes of pure pleasure. And he had done that for her. A wash of desire flooded through him, his erection hardening again at the thought that she was his now. He would be able to do this the rest of their lives. “I hope so, my love. I do hope so.”
*
In her fogof pleasure, Emalyn felt a wave of confusion.“I hope so”? What does that mean?She raised her head to peer at him. “Philip. How—have you never...”
He shook his head. “I only ever wanted you. Why would I seek out...” His cheeks reddened, and he looked away from her, his mouth tensing.
Emalyn stroked his jaw with one finger, urging him to look at her again. Something was not right, but in this moment, she only wanted him to continue loving her. To indulge in the way he made her feel, to immerse her heart in the way he looked at her, as if she were the only person in his world. “Then if you want only me, take me. We have this time together. Let us cherish it.”
Philip’s eyes clouded with desire, the blue shifting to gray as he focused on her again, his lips finding hers, his hands once again exploring every inch of her skin, the fingertips gliding over her shoulders, breasts, and hips. His very touch set her alight once more, kindling a desire more pervasive and consuming than she could have imagined. Taking her cue from him, she slid her hands over him in every way possible, mirroring his touch, exploring the taut muscles of his back and shoulders, his trim waist. He twitched as she ran her fingers up his side, and he caught her hand, pushing her back against the pillows.
“Not there.”
She could not help grinning. “Philip Ashton, are you ticklish?”
His eyes gleamed with a gentle humor. “No more than you are, minx. Do not test me.”
“I am not—”
His kiss cut off her words, and Emalyn closed her eyes, reveling in the sweet caresses of his lips, the lush feel of his tongue as he pressed into her mouth, the glorious sensation of desire and affection that washed over her. All she wanted was more of him, of his touch, of the heat of his skin against hers. Emalyn raked her fingers through his hair, his legs seeming to part of their own accord as she arched up against him.
His kiss broke and she whimpered, her hands entangling in his hair.
