The First Proposal - Chasity Bowlin Page 0,38
of doing just that,” Algernon admitted.
“What if I wanted to be seduced?” she asked.
And just like that, his heart stuttered in his chest until he thought he might literally be dying. “Do not even jest about such things.”
“It wasn’t a jest,” she replied and began walking toward him, each step slow and measured, until, when she stopped, only scant inches separated them. “I wanted it then and I want it now.”
“Do you even understand what that means?”
“It means that I’m asking you to make love to me… I may be an old, firmly on the shelf spinster, but I didn’t spend the entirety of my life on a country estate without knowing what the mechanics of procreation are!” she said. “And not all of my father’s dusty old books were boring. Some of them were actually quite licentious!”
“And which ones were those?” he asked, intrigued by the prospect of her salacious reading habits.
“Ovid for one. Sappho. And of course, there were any number of English poets that one could consider to be very risque… Marlowe, Donne. I even read one of Wilmot’s though to be perfectly honest, there were things in it I did not understand,” she admitted.
He blinked. “Wilmot? You read Rochester and Sappho? God’s blood!”
“Yes. But words are simply words, Algernon. I haven’t the practical knowledge to act upon them… but you do.”
He said nothing for the longest time. “You have no idea how much I want that. But it’s one day. Not even twelve hours. I’ll be standing on the steps of the Archbishop of Canterbury himself before the sun rises in the morning to get that license. And we’ll be married at nine sharp.”
“I can’t tempt you?” she asked, leaning into him. “Not even a little?”
What man could resist her? Certainly not him. “You tempt me more than a little… and while I mean to leave you somewhat chaste until we are wed, we can indulge our desires to a lesser degree.”
She smiled up at him, rising on her toes until their lips were very nearly touching. “Show me.”
He took the bait, kissing her with all the hunger that he felt. Even as he kissed her, he maneuvered her toward the settee that faced the fireplace. When her knees backed against it, she made a soft squeak of surprise as he simply tumbled her backwards onto it and came down on top of her. Feeling the length of their bodies pressed together, even through the layers of clothing, fanned the flames of his need for her. But he intended to see to her pleasure only. It wasn’t entirely altruistic. He wanted her to want him so much that on their wedding night her need and her remembered pleasure would far surpass any fears.
Trailing heated kisses along her neck, he tugged at the bodice of her gown until it dipped low enough that the dusky pink tips of her pert breasts were visible to him. Unable to resist that sweet temptation, he dipped his head, his lips closing over that taut bud. She let out a sharp gasp, her hands spearing into his hair to hold him in place as he teased that tender flesh until she was writhing beneath him.
Reaching for the hem of her skirts, he tugged the fabric up and out of the way until he encountered the satiny skin of her bare thighs. Stroking that flesh with slow, deliberate movements, each pass of his hand brought him closer to the soft, golden curls that shielded her sex.
But Persephone, virginal as she was, was a woman in her own right, a woman who was not afraid to speak her mind or her desires, vague as they might be. “Touch me,” she whispered.
At another time, he might have demanded more of her, he might have made her utter something outrageous and provocative. But neither of them had the patience for such games. Instead, he shifted slightly, bringing his hand fully between her thighs until he could touch her intimately, until he could caress the heated, silken flesh that wept for him.
Finding the seat of her pleasure, circling that tiny nub of flesh with the pad of his finger, she shuddered beneath him. Her back arched and she strained toward him, seeking more. He gladly gave it. Committing every sigh and gasp to memory, he discovered what she liked, what made her cry out, what made her shudder.
It wasn’t until she was mindless with need, that he slipped from the settee to kneel on the floor