A sudden groundswell of self-consciousness crashed into her, and Margot lifted her hands, needing to cover her nakedness, built on a fear he might find her small curves undesirable.
Silvester moved backwards. His face tilted as he looked down at her, a slight frown marring his features. Only when she settled did he lift his hands to cover her own—holding on to her palms when she hid her nipples from his view.
“Are you suddenly shy, love?”
She realised she was, and yet when she gazed up into his handsome face, she saw mirrored there both the fears and excitement that were governing her. Unknowing what caused it precisely, she shuddered with suppressed emotion—lust, understanding, need… a vulnerability that peeked out occasionally that Margot thought she might even love about him. This thought scared her, and she forced herself to answer his question.
“Yes,” she said, then she grinned broadly. “But I still want this.”
Leaning down, he captured her mouth in a passionate kiss. She liked that he didn’t question her desire or remind her that she had resisted this for so long. No, Silvester knew when it was time to give in to one’s needs.
She was grateful to find all her undergarments cast aside by his skilful hands.
Arching her back up, she pressed herself against his bare chest. There was an enticing rub of the hair on his chest gliding against her nipples, the friction exquisite as his fingers tangled in her hair, loosening her chignon, tugging the strands free, and rubbing her scalp with skill.
Her legs wrapped around his hips, pressing him against her core. So eager for him. More so than she had ever imagined. That night at Madam Sandrine’s had lit a spark within her, unquenchable without him, that thirsted desperately for a resumption of what had occurred. It had been a gift, a temptation that now that she was aware of, Margot would forever wonder about…
The heat igniting brightly had Margot grinding herself against the shape of his anatomy, which was still shielded by his breeches. From the acts she had witnessed and from what she’d read, that itching, desirous, skin-biting urge that zipped and buzzed under her skin would not be satisfied until she could know with certainty what he felt like inside her.
“Silvester,” she muttered, her mouth kissing as much of his face as she could reach.
“God, you’ll make me spend before I’m even…”
“Hurry,” Margot said. Her hands drifted down his back, keen to feel the supple shape of his muscled shoulders, the dip as she travelled lower, until she reached the top of his breeches, hiding the rest of his body from her hands. The material was thick, and when she dug beneath it, her fingertips brushed against the roundness of his bottom. Unbidden—from joy, nerves, and perhaps satisfaction partly answered—she laughed.
Silvester leant backwards, lifting his face from where he had been tracing warm kisses along her neck and collarbone. His gaze was still intense. It made her uncomfortable, girlish, and shy.
“Are you often caught fondling men?” Amusement warmed his words, and he leant down and nuzzled her cheek. There was something in Silvester’s look, perhaps he had the ability with all women, but in that moment with that specific gaze, he made Margot feel as if she were the only one present. That no one else mattered.
“You bring it out in me,” Margot said, her hand moving to rest on the curve of his spine. There was such heat pouring from him. “I am sure it is not wise of me.”
“I might argue it is the wisest thing either of us have ever done.”
“Then why have you not removed your breeches?” Margot asked. She knew the bravado she felt in this moment might fade, or vanish in the harsh light of the next day, but right now she would live in this moment. She would have no regrets, and holding, tasting, knowing Silvester—doing so was also a way of knowing herself better.
“I want you to be certain.”
“I am.”
“I will keep you safe.” His words seemed almost to himself, and for a second Margot wished he had not said as much. It made her deeply aware of how he might have said something similar to another woman previously. Presumably to countless others before, and would after her too. But then, Silvester eased his breeches loose, and all other thoughts fled.
Before she could muster up the right words to express these feelings, Silvester’s hand moved against the curls guarding her sex, stroking the wetness he found there, until any doubts that had been pressing down on her were distracted by the practised movement of his fingers. He seemed to know precisely how long to linger, to rub, and to hold, until Margot was certain the entirety of her frame was quivering with need.
She locked eyes with him. “I can’t…”
“Just let go. I will catch you.” His lips pressed lightly against her forehead, his words almost a mantra to himself. “I will always catch you.” His right hand sank further into her core, and Margot screamed as her body reacted in delight to the intrusion. The sensation was a wash of colour, of emotion, of joy that pounded through her, leaving her panting. Only then, as she righted herself, did she realise that Silvester had positioned himself over her, and was pressing down into her. Further inch by inch edging inside her, and with each slight movement he made, her body clenched around his.
“Relax,” Silvester whispered. Once more his finger moved down to touch her, and Margot felt any resistance crumble before he thrust into her completely.
“My God.” His voice was hoarse, and Margot felt an immense wave of power consume her. She was giving him a similarly indescribable pleasure.
Silvester eased back and moved his arms to encircle her head, as tentatively his hips started to move lightly up and down. “You are wondrous,” he said, the sentiment seeming almost a revelation to himself as much to her.
He was right, the feel of him penetrating her was wonderful. Silvester’s movements were increasing, pushing deeply within her, sending the most glorious of pulses through her body, causing her back to arch and her skin to writhe at the feelings it produced in her. Glorious and all-consuming, as each part of her shook with the emotion and swell of it all. Her climax was stronger this time, robbing her of her surroundings, grabbing and holding her with the strength of it. Distantly, she heard Silvester cry out too.
The poets, the writers, hell, every intellectual had lied—this was the most miraculous thing imaginable, and Margot knew she was pleased to have experienced this with Silvester.
At some pointMargot realised she must have fallen asleep, they had been talking together slowly, teasingly, kissing occasionally, and then she realised that darkness had flooded the bedroom, and the faint lingering strings of music from downstairs had ceased. At one point she had grown cold, and pulled her shift over her head. She knew the ball was over, but nothing would make her leave this chamber.
