hooks and laces, and the top of the dress billows down, the corset barely containing my breasts. He chuckles at that and bends to slide his tongue along the edge of the fabric and then under it, finding a nipple, tongue sliding over it as I gasp. His hands move to my hips, and he teases my corseted breasts.
I writhe and groan, and his hands knead my hips. Then they tug down the dress, letting it pool at my feet. He releases the crinolines next and moves closer until the hardness of him brushes my stomach, and it takes all my willpower to stay where I am, to not press against him.
I hover there, barely able to draw breath as I strain for him. He runs his fingertips over my breasts and releases them from the fabric. His breath catches, and he nuzzles along my neck, still standing just far enough away that I can feel only the tease of him brushing my belly.
His hands slide over my hips, sheathed in my chemise, cushioning between my skin and the corset. He finds the hem of the chemise and tugs it up. When his fingers slip under to bare skin, he stops short.
“Yes,” I murmur. “There was something missing from the attire you so helpfully provided. No drawers. I made Mary turn her back while I put on the chemise and prayed she didn’t realize I was missing something.”
His fingers trace along the hem of my chemise, skimming over bare skin.
“I am wearing underwear,” I say. “They just . . . change a bit over the next hundred and seventy years.”
Those warm fingers creep up my hip, pushing the chemise along with them. When they find the fabric of my panties, they stop and toy with it, experimenting and then sliding down again, William’s breath catching as he realizes how little fabric is there. Not exactly a thong, but very different from mid-thigh Victorian drawers.
Both hands glide up my hips now, pushing the fabric of the chemise with them. He groans and presses, ever so gently, against my stomach before stopping himself and stepping back, my shift still raised, his hands still on my hips. He looks down and makes a noise in his throat, and his hands slide to my rear, fingers digging in as he presses against me, hard and urgent.
“I was very clearly born in the wrong century,” he says. “And I am half-inclined to put out the candles and wish for clouds to obscure my view before I fall on you like a lust-sick boy.”
I ease out of his grasp and take a slow step back. “Perhaps I should give you a moment to recover. I could dance for you again.”
Another step back, and his gaze travels over me, my breasts overflowing the corset top, the chemise falling to cover my hips and panties.
“Like this?” I say. Then, I tuck the chemise up under the corset, my legs and black panties bare. “Or like this?”
He groans, a long, drawn-out rough sound that sends fresh heat coursing through me.
“Would you like me to dance for you, William?” I say.
“I am not certain I dare answer,” he says, his voice so thick I can barely make out words. “I fear if you do, I really shall fall upon you, rutting in the grass.”
My gaze sweeps over him, still fully dressed. “Like that? I hardly think so.” I step toward him. “First, you would need to remove this.” I unbutton his black evening jacket and push it off his shoulders.
He reaches for me, but I take his hands and place them at his sides.
“Uh-uh,” I say. “You got to undress me without distraction. Allow me the same privilege.”
I remove the stickpin from his cravat and pierce it through the fabric of my corset, between my breasts. His gaze moves there, lingering, breathing hard before pulling away with a shudder that sends an accompanying shiver through me.
I look up and meet his eyes, deep wells of desire that weaken my knees and counsel me to glance away before he’s not the one throwing his companion to the ground like a lust-sick youth. And that thought does not help one bit, making it three long seconds before I can breathe again.
I don’t, however, break eye contact. I steel myself, and I keep looking into his eyes as I unfasten his cravat and let it fall. The white waistcoat follows. Then I unfasten his shirt, one button at a time, fingers sliding down