his sapphire • anthony bridgerton

seventeen • the union

His hands slid to the top button of his trousers and unfastened it, but stopped there. She was still fully clothed, and still fully an innocent. She wasn't yet ready to see the proof of his desire.

He climbed onto the bed, inching closer and closer until her elbows, which had been plopping her up, slid out from under her and she was lying flat on her back, staring up at him, her breathe coming fast and slow through her parted lips.

There was nothing, he decided, more breathtaking than Nola's face when flushed with desire. The flowers falling free from her hair, creating a beautiful scene around her loose locks. Her lips, always a bit too full for conventional beauty, had taken on a fuchsia color in the slanted light of late afternoon. And her skin- never had it seemed so flawless. She was real, human, and trembling with desire. He couldn't have wished for more.

With a reverent hand, he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, then slid them down her neck to the tender skin that peeked above the edge of the bodice. Her gown was fastened by a maddening amount of buttons at the back, but he'd already undone nearly a third of them, and it was now loose enough to slide the silken fabric over her breasts.

Her nipples were rosy pink, cresting breasts that he knew fit his hands to perfection. "No chemise?" He murmured, appreciatively, running his fingers along the prominent line of her collarbone.

She shook her head, her voice breathy as she answered, "the cut of the gown did not allow it..."

One side of his mouth lifted into a very male smirk, "remind me to send a bonus to your modiste..."

His hand moved even lower, and he cupped one of her breasts, squeezing it softly, feeling a groan of desire rise up within him as he heard a similar moan escape her lips. "So lovely," he murmured, lifting his hand and letting his eyes caress her. It had never occurred to him that there could be such pleasure from the simple act of gazing at a woman. Lovemaking had always been about touch and taste; for the first time, sight was equally seductive.

She was so perfect, so utterly beautiful to him, and he felt satisfied knowing she belonged to him and that certain men had been blind to her intense beauty. He loved that her charms were hidden from the rest of the world.

It made her seem more his.

Suddenly eager to be touched as he was touching, he lifted one of her hands, and brought it to his chest. He could feel the heat of her skin through the fabric of the glove, but it wasn't enough. "I want to feel you," he whispered, then removed the two rings that rested on her fourth finger. He laid them in the hollow between her breasts, a space made shallow by her supine position.

Nola gasped and shivered at the touch of the cold metal against her skin, then watched with breathless satisfaction as Anthony went to work on her glove, tugging gently on each finger, until it was loose, then sliding the length of it down her arm and over her hand. The rush of satin was like an endless kiss, raising goosebumps over her entire body.

Then, with the tenderness that nearly brought her to tears, he replaced the rings on her finger, one by one, stopping to only kiss the sensitive palm of her hand in between.

"Give me your other hand," he gently ordered.

She did, and he repeated the same exquisite torture, tugging and sliding the satin asking her skin. But this time, when he was through, he brought her pinky finger to his mouth, then drew it between his lips, and sucked, swirling his tongue around the tip.