Christine Merrill - A Regency Virgin's Undoing

‘So I held her firmly and thrust my tongue deep into her mouth over and over, until she was quite weak with it.’

And it had felt nothing like this. Drusilla was heavy in his hands, warm and round, and he thanked God to his very soul for the wonder of her, massaging gently, and then more vigorously until the nipples stood out hard against his palms. He pinched them easily between his fingers and felt her gasp in pleasure at his touch.

‘Oh.’ The word was little better than a moan, as she writhed against his body, and a cue that he must stop before things got out of hand.

‘Are you feeling better?’ he asked.

‘Somewhat.’ Her head was lolling back, now, against his shoulder. ‘But I do not wish you to stop, just yet.’ She turned enough so he could see her eyes half-closed in the moonlight and her lips relaxed and parted. ‘It was very wrong of Char to behave in that way,’ she said, pursing her lips and wetting them with her tongue.

He threw caution to the winds. ‘Perhaps you had best show me how a proper girl ought to react,’ he offered.

‘I do not know—if that is wise …’ she said, slowly and deliberately, as though she had over-imbibed and were trying to remember why it was that she should not agree. But even as she said it, she turned in his arms and lifted her face for a kiss.

‘For the purposes of edification, if nothing else,’ he whispered, and gathered her close to him, one hand around her waist, the other sinking his fingers into her hair. It was heavy, as he’d imagined it to be, still smelling faintly of soap, even after three days on the road. Her lips, when he touched them, were perfect. As soft and full as her breasts and with that same pucker to them.

If he stopped to look at them, they might seem to be set in disapproval. But on closer inspection, they were open slightly, ready and waiting, as the other girl’s had been. More hopeful than demanding, his Drusilla wanted a kiss as much as he longed to give her one.

And so he did, brushing her lips with his, and then licking deep into her mouth, settling there, as though he had a right to possess her. In response, her hands came up to touch his shoulders and she brought her body close to his, brushing her breasts against his chest as though she was not sure that she was doing it correctly.

He struggled to hold himself still, to allow her to grow used to the feeling of his mouth on hers. And to enjoy the feel of her kissing him back: the gentle touch of her tongue on his and the soft movements of her lips as they parted with his, to touch the line of his jaw.

When they reached his ear, she whispered, ‘You make me feel most unusual, Mr Hendricks.’

He could feel, in her sweet and uneven breaths against his hair, that she desired him, just as he did her. ‘The way you feel is the most natural thing in the world and nothing to be concerned about.’

‘The fact that something is natural does not mean there is no cause for concern,’ she said.

‘Very logical of you, Lady Drusilla,’ he answered and laughed to himself that she would even try to think at a moment like this. But it was very her, and very appealing, and it only made him want to touch her all the more. ‘Does it frighten you?’

He had found his question aright if he wanted to urge more passion from her—he ought to know by now that there was nothing that frightened this woman. At least nothing that she might admit to. ‘Certainly not. I only wonder if it is a wise course of action.’

‘Probably not,’ he admitted.

‘But it is …’ she wet her lips and touched them to his earlobe ‘… quite pleasant. And I suppose, as long as we are still standing and not lying down together …’

‘Which we will not,’ he assured her.

‘And we are both fully dressed …’

‘Which we will remain,’ he added, swearing to himself that it was true and realising that she must understand very little of what he could accomplish without breaking either of her restrictions.

‘Then it cannot be so very bad.’ She then smiled against his skin.

‘That is good. For I am not ready to let you go.’ He kissed her again, dragging his lips along the curve of her jaw, to her throat and shoulder, and back up again, until his lips were resting beside her ear and he could whisper back to her, ‘May I touch you again?’

‘Please do.’

Then he let his hands go where they wished, exploring every inch of her that he could reach. Firm breasts. Tiny waist. Flat belly. He let his thumb sink into the dent that was her navel and imagined joining with her. Round bottom. Soft lush thighs. He pushed his hand between them and imagined those thighs wrapped around his waist. Then he cupped her womanhood, pressing his palm upwards, squeezing it possessively, feeling the heat of her in his hand and envisioning how she would look if he undid the drop of his breeches. ‘Does this do anything to ease your suffering?’ For it was increasing his, sure enough.

He waited for her to struggle free of his grasp, but instead her hands reached out to grasp his biceps to steady herself and she pushed back against his palm, groaning at the increased sensation. ‘That is the spot, exactly,’ she said, clearly amazed that he had guessed. And then added, ‘Perhaps, a little less gently.’

‘Very well, Lady Drusilla.’ He looked into her eyes and smiled, then allowed himself the freedom to stroke more vigorously, imagining the flesh heating and growing damp at his touch. She closed her eyes. But her lashes still fluttered, as though she could not control them, and her neck arched ever so slightly as she caught her lower lip in her teeth. ‘More?’ he asked, leaning close and letting his breath caress her skin.

But she was quite beyond speech at this point, lost in the beginnings of a wordless response to his touch. She gave the barest nod of encouragement. In a few more strokes of his hand, her lips were trembling, open, moist and perfect. And so he kissed her roughly, pulling her body to meet his, safely separated by their clothing as he thrust himself against her and imagined being inside her, surrounded by her, consumed.

Her tongue came to life, darting against his in frenzy as her hands tightened on his arms. He was desperately hard and more than half-wishing that he had not started a game that could not end in his own satisfaction, but equally happy to have his supposed employer gasping into his mouth and pressing her sex eagerly against his as though she could not get enough of him. And he felt the moment that she lost the last of her control and came for him, breaking the kiss in a desperate bid for air as her back arched and her body went limp, swooning in his arms.

He held her like that for a moment, almost lifeless. And he brushed the hair from her eyes and thought, I did this to you. And it was the first time. ‘Dru,’ he said softly, loving the sound of the word.

She took a great, smiling, shuddering breath.

Then she realised how she had behaved and was shaking off the near-swoon and pushing away from him, brushing hands down to straighten the skirts that she was not wearing, trying to pull together the injured dignity of Lady Drusilla Rudney and pretend that she was still in charge. ‘What was that?’ The words were said with a stern frown as though her own physical response to his touch was somehow a trick that had been played upon her.

He gave her a benign smile. ‘That was a perfectly normal, physical reaction.’

‘To your kiss?’

‘I suspect it had more to do with the way the breeches were fitting, and my—’ he glanced down and then quickly back up at her outraged face ‘—ministrations in that area. You will find you feel much more relaxed, now that the moment has passed. And you can just as easily perform the actions yourself, should you feel the need again.’