Chapter Two, Part Three

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The mirrors kept her from tripping as she backed across the gaudy room until she fetched up against the bed, and David closed the gap between them to capture her lips again. Sally stood on tiptoes and, when that was not enough, tried to hook one leg around his hips, but her petticoats defeated her, and she tugged at their ties, almost sobbing with relief when his hands came down to help her. He made short work of the knots, all the while teasing at her lips and her chin, her throat and her nipples, with his roving mouth.

"My corset..." she groaned. It was too tight. She could not take a deep breath and her skin had grown so sensitive that the soft fabric hurt. He came to her rescue, unsnapping the hooks with one hand while caressing one breast with the other.

Sal had clawed her hands up David's shirt to reach his hot skin. But she stopped when she saw the look in his eyes as her corset fell away.

"God, Sal, you utter beauty." He held her breasts in his hands, gazing at her before dipping his head forward to feast on them.

Gracious. No wonder debutantes were guarded so carefully!

"I cannot believe..." David mumbles, in between wet, suckling kisses "You honor me so, sweeting."

"Shirt!" she commanded, trying to tug it over the head that was engaged at her breast.

She wanted to look on him as he had looked on her, the reverence in his eyes melting her more even than the wonder of the sensations he had unleashed.

He helped her to tug his shirt over his head, and then lifted her onto the edge of the bed, and slid one hand up her leg, under the cotton of her drawers. Her... unmentionable place felt strange. Full, and hot, and damp. And pierced with a sharp sensation that was somehow sweet.

His fingers did something magnificent and Sally fell back against the pillows, moaning, all of the words in every language she had ever been taught flown from her mind.

She had thought it could not feel more wonderful, but she was wrong. The piercing sensation increased manifold, and the edges of her vision dimmed, the mirrors forgotten. Everything narrowed to the spot, the multiple spots, where David was touching her and rubbing her, and... She did not know what except that something was just out of her reach and she had to have it or she would die. Her head thrashed back and forth on the pillows.

She could not help but call out, a wordless demand for... something. She was thrusting herself against David's wonderful ministrations, and the pressure was building, and building, and building, and at any moment she would break apart.

And she fell, with a keening cry. A million separate pieces drifted softly down from the mighty heights of the mountain David had driven her up. For a moment, she was blind, and deaf, and speechless, and every bone in her body had dissolved.

David gently disentangled her legs from his shoulders, cradling her body close to his as he crawled back up the bed.

"My beauty, you are so... I cannot even express it."

"Gracious, David. I think I had better allow no kisses at all. If all rakes are as talented as you, I shall never be able to resist." She snuggled closer, deeply content.

David growled. "You mustn't be taken in by rakes, just because they know how to make you feel... heated."

"No, indeed," she said pacifically. She was too languid to fight with David at the moment. Too languid, and too grateful. Even if this never happened again, even if it meant nothing to him and he went back to his chambermaids and whores, she would treasure this memory her whole life. "This was the whole point of asking you to kiss me, David, if you recall. I just meant that I can now see how an unscrupulous rake might take a maiden in. Not you, David, for you are not at all unscrupulous, and were very firm about not marrying me. Other people, though. Other gentlemen, if one uses the term loosely."

She smiled at him, sleepily. "I suppose I should get dressed again now."

He ran his hands over her warm, soft skin. "I wish you never needed to get dressed again."

She smiled, and patted the side of his face. "You are my best friend in the whole world, David, and I am glad you are the one to ... do whatever it was." She frowned. "I can quite see the attraction, but it didn't happen for you, did it? Isn't it meant to? Can you teach me how to make it happen for you, too?"

He smiled. "La petite mort, the French call it. An orgasm. And no, sweeting, it did not happen for me, but that is of no moment. You need not concern yourself. I can... take care of matters later on."

"The little death. Yes, exactly so. I want you to feel it, too, David. I know you have had many org-orgasms before, but I have never given you one, and it does not seem right that barmaids and opera dancers and people of that type have pleased you when I have not."

David kissed her, not one of his hot fevering assaults, but a gentle blessing. "No, Sally. It would be wrong. It would be dangerous. I might not be able to control myself, and I will not ruin you, dear friend. I will not."

In a sudden movement, he rolled off the bed.

"Stay here, Beauty. Rest for a moment. I will be right back."

Sally lay on the bed, looking up at her reflection, idly wondering where he was going. She looked debauched, her careful coiffure a ruin, her bare breasts showing red marks from David's loving, her legs flung carelessly apart so that a few dark curls showed in the gap of her drawers.

David would be right back. Sally wondered if they could do it again.

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