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His expression had changed. It was full of need, and the intensity she had spied so often before was back again.
“You can tell me to stop anytime if you’re not ready,” he murmured to her. She nodded, though she couldn’t imagine wanting to stop. She wanted to know too badly what it would feel like to know Elliot completely. “You don’t look very scared,” he added with a small smile.
“I’m not,” she assured him. “Did you think I would be?”
“The first time, it does hurt for a woman.” He sighed, as if the mere thought of it brought him pain. “That is why there are other things I wish to do first.”
“Things? What things?” she asked, her brow furrowing.
“Oh, I see there is much you do not know,” he teased her, his hands lowering down to her legs.
“I told you, I’m a new bride. I don’t have any experience.”
“Have you not heard whispers in corridors?” he asked, taking hold of her knees and drawing them apart. When he created a space for him to stand between, Ophelia grew distracted, struggling to respond to him. With her body on the edge of the desk and him stepping toward her, he brushed his hips against her own, eliciting such an excited feeling in her abdomen that it spiralled somewhere much further south.
“Some whispers,” she said softly. Yet she had no idea what he was referring to.
“Then I look forward to showing you what they are.” He moved to her ear and took up that sweet spot on her neck, kissing her there and nipping her gently once again. She tipped her head back, indulging in that pleasurable feeling as she grew aware of one of his hands raising up her thigh.
It was the tenderest of touches, feather-light as if barely there at all. She found she longed for a firmer touch, but he was teasing her with it. When she made a noise, he hesitated. When she clung to his bicep, wanting to know more, he chuckled into the kisses on her neck, then his hand reached beneath the cover of her gown.
The first touch Elliot gave to her centre had Ophelia’s breath hitching. He taunted her with soft, slight touches, softly. As her body began to relax and she leaned into him, wanting to know more of this small pleasure, he grew bolder. When his fingers slid inside of her, firmer this time, Ophelia leaned back. It was enough to break Elliot’s lips from her neck, and they looked at each other.
As Elliot began to move his hand, setting up a rhythm to mimic what their bodies would soon be doing together, Ophelia felt waves of pleasure begin to grow from where they were connected. He explored her boldly, making her quite frantic on the desk. She clung behind her to the wood, not knowing where else to hold onto.
When she closed her eyes, nervous of the moans that were escaping her lips and what he would think of them, she felt a kiss to her temple that had her eyes opening again.
“You need never be nervous of doing what’s natural with me,” he whispered to her. “Moan all you like, I’ll love it.” He kissed her again. “You do not need to hide.”
“Elliot,” she moaned his name as the rhythm he had created became faster. Ophelia was restless now, gripping to the edge of the wood of the desk. When the desk began to rock, making sounds against the floor, she ignored it, thinking only of what Elliot had said.
You do not need to hide.
As he leaned back a little from her, he looked down at where they were connected, watching as he pleasured her. Something about seeing him watch in such a way sent Ophelia into a realm of pleasure she had not known could possibly exist.
It was as if the way he touched her sent her body into a delirium. Pure ecstasy ran through her, and the pleasure extended through her entire body. One of her hands gripped his bicep hard as he rode out that pleasure, never once letting up with his fingers.
As Ophelia came down from that high, she pinched his arm, getting him to slow. She had become sensitive to his touches now, tender.
“I…” She tried to speak between panting breaths. “That was…”
“That is how it should always feel,” he whispered, leaning toward her. She thought he would come to kiss her again, but he didn’t. Instead, he wrapped both of his arms around her waist and lifted her from the desk, into his arms.
“That is one of the things you were speaking of?” she whispered.
“There is more yet,” he promised her, his smile growing. He turned her away from the desk, lowering their bodies together to the floor. They landed on a rug, with her body beneath Elliot’s.
This time as he kissed her, they both reached for one another’s clothes, desperately trying to release the other. There was no slowness to the movements, only urgency. She pulled off Elliot’s cravat and the waistcoat, wanting to see more of him. When she tugged at his shirt, they had to stop kissing long enough to toss the shirt aside.
When his chest was exposed, Ophelia grew distracted. She was aware he was pulling her dress, wanting her free from it, but her hands were busy running across his bare skin, marvelling at the muscle carved there. He was athletic, as she had suspected from the first night that she had seen him with the tight-fitting suit. Each touch and exploration she made with her fingers prompted Elliot to gasp.
“You’re making me burn, Ophelia,” he whispered to her, then urged her to sit up long enough to lift the gown over her head. She did as he asked, then turned as he untied the corset. He was met with difficulty, the ties becoming knots. “Damn things.”
“Ha! You do not like them?”
“They keep you hidden, so no. I do not like them at all.” He was mischievous, whispering the words in her ear before he tore off the corset. When she was only in her chemise and stockings, she was turned back round to face him.
Reaching for her stockings, he lowered them one at a time and kissed each patch of skin that was exposed as he moved. Ophelia laid back on the rug, basking in his touch, not wanting it to end.
