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So, he did. His hands found her waist, pulling her inside the room and slamming the door closed. His hands trembled. Was it eagerness or was it something more, something much deeper? He banished the thought, adamant not to question a single moment of this. A fire ball exploded inside his chest then it lowered down to his abdomen, to his manhood threatening to tear his banyan open.
He buried his nose in her neck. Her skin was warm. It smelled like wild orchids. She pressed her hands to his chest, just like she did when he kissed her that first time in the darkened room. She was wearing a thin nightdress which he believed he could take off of her with ease, and he knew he would have to act on that impulse.
He trailed a line of soft kissed down her neck and to the protrusion of her clavicle. She felt softer than he could have imagined, so wonderful, so deliciously feminine. In the obscurity of these four walls, there was no propriety or impropriety. There were only sensations, emotions neither of them could control any longer.
“Joseph…” she whispered his name, moaning softly into his ear. “Touch me…”
There was nothing else he would rather do. Her words only seemed to heighten his senses, already brimming with desire and longing. He was wild for her, filled with yearning and desperation. Thinking that these feelings would wane after he had his taste of her was wrong. He knew that now. Having a taste of her would only make him want her more. Her wickedness was so utterly unexpected, so forbidden, that it took all of his conscious effort not to lift her up and take her to the bed immediately.
Her fingers slid up his neck and gripped at his hair. His cock immediately sprang to life even stronger, refusing to be satiated with mere kisses. His entire body was set aflame. The chamber was bathed in a golden glow of the moon, burning with fire which threatened to consume them both, yet neither of them pulled back.
Her upper thigh pressed between his legs, grazing at his engorged cock. The very touch of her flesh against that throbbing place made him ravenous with desire.
“Bridget…” he groaned her name desperately. “If you keep doing that, I will ravish you…”
“Do so…” she replied, pressing her lips to his with voraciousness he had never seen before in a woman. There was no tenderness about it. Only pure, unadulterated desire. His fingers dug into her sides, pulling her so close to him that their chests were pressed against each other, their hearts beating in unison.
“My God… what are you doing to me...” He pulled away only to mumble this then their lips met again as their bodies swirled in the direction of the big, oak bed which rested by the window.
The room seemed to be cavernous, without end. He felt as if they would never reach the bed. He laid her gently on her back, the cool linens unsuccessful in extinguishing the flames of their bodies. Her hair sprawled on the linens underneath her. She resembled a wood nymph from an old forgotten world, the likes of which never revealed their existence to mere humans. Only he was the fortunate one as she came to him to brighten his world and to bring him the light of herself.
His heart felt so full it threatened to start tearing at the seams. The sight of her bathed in moonlight was overwhelming, and all he could do was keep kissing her, praising her, reverently, like a sinner begging for forgiveness and entry into heaven. There was nothing more natural than this moment as he clamped his hands around her, adjusting her on the bed, so he could lie down next to her.
When his lips pulled away, her breathlessness assured him that she mourned the end of their kiss just as much as he did. But there was so much more left to show her, so much more to give her. His hand slid tenderly from her neck to her clavicle then down to her breast, cupping it through the thin fabric. Her nipples immediately hardened underneath his touch, her entire body trembling.
“Oh…” she managed to muster, biting her lower lip, her eyes closed, relishing the moment. She was there, giving herself to him like an offering, a sacrifice, and all he could do was adore her.
“If you want me to stop,” he whispered in breathless anticipation, “all you need to do is tell me. I would never do anything to hurt you, Bridget, never…”
The thought that she could be anything less than everything to him vanished. His fingers released the soft grip they had on her breast then slid down her stomach, to the apex of her thighs. The feathery fabric of her nightdress was still covering her thighs, her most secretive place. His fingers slowly pulled it up until the full paleness of her skin was revealed in stark comparison to the mound between her thighs.
He swallowed heavily, his fingers trembling right before the sight of it. He knew that this was her throbbing center, and he wanted all of himself on it, in it. He wanted to leave his scent on every inch of her body; he wanted to leave her gasping with desire for him.
His finger found her seam easily, parting her with tenderness, aching to release all that pent up yearning. He started stroking softly as if she were an instrument, and the concert had just begun. They still had more than enough time to slowly build up the tempo.
“Do you like it, darling?” he whispered into her ear.
“Mhm…” she murmured like a kitten as his finger flicked over her swollen bud with increasing pressure. He could tell she was close. She was on the brink, so he slowed the rhythm.
She purred once more, her body on fire because of him, for him.
“Tell me,” he urged. “Tell me what you want…”
“You…” she whispered back exactly what he wished to hear, what he had been dying to hear.
His tempo intensified, his touch knowing her as if she had been predestined for him, and they had finally found their way to each other. Her body tensed suddenly. His heart pounded louder and louder. His own manhood throbbed with sheer need, desperate for relief, but not before she had her pleasure first.
At that very moment, she wriggled underneath him, unable to breathe, tremors overpowering every single inch of her body under his caresses and kisses. She was close, so very close. All it would take was one single…
A knock on the door made him suddenly open his eyes. His manhood was hard, throbbing madly, driving him insane with desire. A glance at the window revealed it was daytime. Another knock on the door proved that it was all just a dream. A beautiful, painful dream that left him longing, aching.
“Who is it?” he shouted angrily, unable to explain why exactly he was so enraged. Was it the world, reality, or himself? He could not tell. Yet that rage refused to leave his side even once slumber completely left his mind, and he became fully cognizant of what just transpired.
“It is Pembroke, Your Grace,” his butler voiced himself cautiously on the other side of the door. “I am reminding you about the meeting you have with Lord Federline this morning. He should arrive in two hours.”
“Bollocks…” Joseph mumbled to himself, gripping at the covers and hiding his erect shame as if Pembroke were inside with him. He had completely forgotten about the meeting which he himself had ordered Pembroke to wake him up for. “I shall take my breakfast in fifteen minutes, Pembroke. Have Elizabeth send it up.”
“Right away, Your Grace.” Within seconds, Pembroke disappeared, and Joseph was left once again with his confusing shame.
