gave a little whimper and sagged against him.
“You wanted comfort,” he whispered hoarsely when the kiss was over, “and you shall have it. But my restraint has a price, Emmeline. Don’t forget that.” With that, remarkably, he began unbuttoning her dress, and she allowed it, standing still and docile while Gil Hartwell stripped her naked.
When he had done that, he removed his own clothes, and Emmeline saw plainly that he was ready for lovemaking and wondered how she could convince him that she desired to be taken, not just teased.
“I want you,” she said tremulously. “I’m asking, like you said I’d have to do.”
Gil pressed her gently onto one of the cots and lay down with her, partly covering her body with the solid, heated weight of his own. “No,” he said, though it was clear that the word had cost him dearly. “Not yet, Emmeline. Not yet.”
She ran her hand over his back and felt the scar tissue—and knew instantly, letters or no letters, that everything he’d said was true. He had been shanghaied and spent years at sea, a slave to an obviously cruel captain. “Oh, Gil,” she whispered.
Gil flinched slightly, and closed his eyes for a moment.
Emmeline kissed his bare shoulder, wanting to soothe him in the only way she knew how. He pulled away from her, and in that moment Emmeline grasped another truth: She wasn’t the only one who wasn’t ready for the complete, utter, and explosive physical reunion. Gil was afraid, too.
After gazing down at her for a few seconds in silence, his expression unreadable, Gil slid one hand from her hip to the sumptuous curve of her breast.
Emmeline whimpered as his thumb coursed back and forth across the sensitive nipple, ever so slowly, over and over again. Too breathless to speak, she watched his face, and saw that he seemed wonder-struck by the breast, stricken by its splendor. He made a circle around the areola with the lightest touch of his index finger, causing Emmeline to moan again, and then traced the length of each of the tiny blue veins, barely visible under the pale, translucent flesh.
A deep, primal shudder went through Emmeline when Gil finally bent his head over her and touched the aching nipple with the tip of his tongue. One arm was pinned against her side because of the narrowness of the cot, but her free hand went immediately to his hair and buried itself there, pressing him closer, urging him to devour what he had merely been sampling.
But Gil took his time. Each time he tasted the morsel, or rolled it between his fingers, or simply blew on it as though to put out a candle, he paused afterward and watched the involuntary responses his touch had aroused.
Emmeline grew quietly frantic and pleaded in soft, half-coherent words, but Gil would not appease her. He had apparently decided to seduce her by degrees, to focus his attentions on one part of her at a time, she surmised, remembering how he’d kissed her the first day, then stroked her ankles and feet the next. There was no telling when he’d reach the point he’d spoken of with such scandalous franknessin the kitchen, but Emmeline harbored a shameless and desperate hope that it would happen soon.
“Let me touch you,” she said.
Gil shifted so that Emmeline could move her arm, but he was suckling in earnest by that time, and he did not lift his head. When she found his rod and closed her hand tightly around it, she felt his groan move through the tissues of her breast, and he drew harder on the nipple, and harder still.
Emmeline stroked him slowly, all the while writhing in a storm of pleasure. With a cry, Gil freed himself and pressed her beneath him before falling to her other breast with the same hunger. She entangled her fingers in his hair and began to chant his name under her breath, a rhythmic and disconsolate plea.
He did not mount her, but instead reached down between their two bodies, enjoying her breasts all the while, to ply her with his fingers.
Emmeline went
“You wanted comfort,” he whispered hoarsely when the kiss was over, “and you shall have it. But my restraint has a price, Emmeline. Don’t forget that.” With that, remarkably, he began unbuttoning her dress, and she allowed it, standing still and docile while Gil Hartwell stripped her naked.
When he had done that, he removed his own clothes, and Emmeline saw plainly that he was ready for lovemaking and wondered how she could convince him that she desired to be taken, not just teased.
“I want you,” she said tremulously. “I’m asking, like you said I’d have to do.”
Gil pressed her gently onto one of the cots and lay down with her, partly covering her body with the solid, heated weight of his own. “No,” he said, though it was clear that the word had cost him dearly. “Not yet, Emmeline. Not yet.”
She ran her hand over his back and felt the scar tissue—and knew instantly, letters or no letters, that everything he’d said was true. He had been shanghaied and spent years at sea, a slave to an obviously cruel captain. “Oh, Gil,” she whispered.
Gil flinched slightly, and closed his eyes for a moment.
Emmeline kissed his bare shoulder, wanting to soothe him in the only way she knew how. He pulled away from her, and in that moment Emmeline grasped another truth: She wasn’t the only one who wasn’t ready for the complete, utter, and explosive physical reunion. Gil was afraid, too.
After gazing down at her for a few seconds in silence, his expression unreadable, Gil slid one hand from her hip to the sumptuous curve of her breast.
Emmeline whimpered as his thumb coursed back and forth across the sensitive nipple, ever so slowly, over and over again. Too breathless to speak, she watched his face, and saw that he seemed wonder-struck by the breast, stricken by its splendor. He made a circle around the areola with the lightest touch of his index finger, causing Emmeline to moan again, and then traced the length of each of the tiny blue veins, barely visible under the pale, translucent flesh.
A deep, primal shudder went through Emmeline when Gil finally bent his head over her and touched the aching nipple with the tip of his tongue. One arm was pinned against her side because of the narrowness of the cot, but her free hand went immediately to his hair and buried itself there, pressing him closer, urging him to devour what he had merely been sampling.
But Gil took his time. Each time he tasted the morsel, or rolled it between his fingers, or simply blew on it as though to put out a candle, he paused afterward and watched the involuntary responses his touch had aroused.
Emmeline grew quietly frantic and pleaded in soft, half-coherent words, but Gil would not appease her. He had apparently decided to seduce her by degrees, to focus his attentions on one part of her at a time, she surmised, remembering how he’d kissed her the first day, then stroked her ankles and feet the next. There was no telling when he’d reach the point he’d spoken of with such scandalous franknessin the kitchen, but Emmeline harbored a shameless and desperate hope that it would happen soon.
“Let me touch you,” she said.
Gil shifted so that Emmeline could move her arm, but he was suckling in earnest by that time, and he did not lift his head. When she found his rod and closed her hand tightly around it, she felt his groan move through the tissues of her breast, and he drew harder on the nipple, and harder still.
Emmeline stroked him slowly, all the while writhing in a storm of pleasure. With a cry, Gil freed himself and pressed her beneath him before falling to her other breast with the same hunger. She entangled her fingers in his hair and began to chant his name under her breath, a rhythmic and disconsolate plea.
He did not mount her, but instead reached down between their two bodies, enjoying her breasts all the while, to ply her with his fingers.
Emmeline went
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