Emma gasped and arched her back.
“What did you say, sweetheart?” He chuckled. “I did not hear you.”
“Thomas, I . . . can’t . . . talk.”
Both his hands rose to cup her face, and she believed he stared into her very soul. “Why is that?” His mouth dropped to hers, and this time the kiss overpowered her. His lips, teeth, tongue were demanding, taking, and seeking all she had to give. So engrossed was she by his kisses, Emma never noticed her skirts being dragged up, until he gently touched her there.
Tearing her lips from his, she gasped. “What are you doing?”
“What I said I wanted to do. I’m touching and tasting all of you.”
While her body vibrated with some kind of unknown need, Thomas dropped to his knees. Her breath hitched as he spread her legs and buried his face there.
“Oh, dear God,” she whispered, barely breathing as she grabbed a handful of his thick hair and held on.
“You are so wet, my dear. You taste so sweet, like the nectar of the most desirable flower ever. And you are all mine.” Thomas groaned as he licked his tongue up and down, in and out, languidly, as if he had all day. Then he pushed a finger inside her, causing her to stiffen in shock. When he moved it in and out, in and out, in perfect rhythm, she bucked against his hand. Emma could not help it. Her head rolled back, she closed her eyes, and her brain was blank to everything but the sensations Thomas caused.
Emma inhaled loudly and held her breath.
“Relax, and let go,” he coaxed as his finger continued its quest and his thumb rubbed her nub in little circles, faster, harder. Until her insides exploded with liquid heat that expanded until she could no longer contain her screams of intense pleasure. Her insides clenched tight against his finger until finally she collapsed down to her knees, facing Thomas.
Burying her head into his shoulder, she waited until her breathing slowed and coherent thought returned. “What did you do to me?”
Thomas’s lips brushed across her hair as he rubbed her back. “I helped you have a sexual release, or to put it another way, I pleasured you. Do you not know what that is?”
“Are you mocking me?”
“Never,” Thomas answered in a deep, strained voice. “I would never mock you. But when we are married I will make you come, many times, every single night.”
Her stomach flipped. “What about you? Did you have release as well?”
Having Emma in his arms, asking whether he’d had release, sent a fissure of pleasure into his heart. Obviously she had no idea what that meant for a man.
“My darling Emma,” he whispered, clasping her hand, moving it to his straining erection, and pushing her hand against it. His body shuddered and a moan escaped him. “I did not have release.”
“Would you like to?” she asked innocently.
Forcing his brain to ignore the throbbing pain of his cock, he stood, bringing Emma with him. She stared with glazed eyes while he fixed her dress.
“On our wedding night, when I take your virginity, I will come inside your body and you will milk me dry. And then we will truly belong to each other . . . forever.”
Suddenly Emma’s eyes focused. “But I told you. I don’t want—”
Thomas placed the tip of his index finger on her lips to silence her. “We are getting married. I don’t want to hear another word about you returning to America unless we are going together, on a vacation.” He walked to the window, pushed the drapes aside, and glanced out to the gardens.
He knew if he did not put some distance between himself and Emma, he would take her here and now. His body burned so badly for her it took all his control to turn away from her. Thomas wanted to push her soft, delectable, womanly body down on the rug and take her over and over until neither of them could move or form a coherent thought.
“In fact, you, along with my mother and my sisters, leave for Stony Cross Manor in Dover tomorrow. We marry in three weeks’ time.”
Emma brought herself up tall, sticking her chin out indignantly. “Do I not have a say in this?”
“No, you do not. Now leave me and go supervise the packing of your belongings for the trip.” Thomas did not know what fueled his blood more, the Emma who was soft and pliant, flushed with sated lust, or the Emma who showed her anger. Being married to her would never be boring. The nagging pain in his side had not subsided as decisions were made. Indeed it lingered.
Thomas frowned and left the room.
***
Two coaches, each with a matched set of four, sat in front of his home––one carrying the four women in Thomas’s life, the other piled high with trunks and carrying their servants. As they pulled away from his home, a feeling of melancholy penetrated his soul.