In Consequence

In Consequence - Chapter 16

It was not merely desire but a palpitating need to feel her soft form against his that bade him to act. He grasped her wrists, and before he knew what he was doing, pulled her steadily toward him across his lap.

Mr. Thornton’s pulse pounded at his audacity and he closed his eyes to grasp at self-restraint. He had not been prepared for her appearance; her very nearness had been his undoing.

To hold her so intimately close to him after two long days of loneliness was a delicious torture. Moved by forces beyond his control, he began to nuzzle the skin behind her ear, breathing in her sweet scent as if he drew his very life force from her being. He kept still, one hand at her back, determined not to frighten her with any further claims upon her person, yet eager to gain her trust with utter tenderness.

Margaret’s heart beat wildly. Never before had she been so intimately situated with a man. She could not move, but closed her eyes to feel his warm breath on her neck, which caused shivers of anticipation to ripple through her every nerve.

Moments passed. He did not stir. She felt the weight of his arm lying across her lap and fluttered her eyes open to observe it. She studied with fascination the sinewy strength of his forearm, noting how masculine his dark-toned skin appeared against the white cotton of his sleeve, which was rolled nearly to the bend of his elbow.

Instinctively, she sought to touch what her eyes feasted upon. Her fingers hesitantly traced over the skin at his wrist, brushing over the fine hairs of his arm as she slid her hand along his bare skin.

She heard his breath catch with an inarticulate sound as her own breathing grew ragged and uneven at the sensations that the simple feel of his skin under her hand aroused in her.

The muscles of his arm grew taut as he tightened his grasp on her. His lips, once still, now began to nip and brush against her neck with excruciating slowness.

She was lost in the headiness of his soft touch, the nearness of him drowning out everything around her. She gripped his arm to steady herself.

His lips traced the path of her jawline, inch by inch.

Delirious in her need to feel his kiss, she turned her face haltingly towards his as if moved by magnetic force to the pull of his sensual power.

 At last his lips slowly slid over hers, brushing them tentatively before he fused his mouth to hers with an urgency that was willingly met by her own desperate need.

He felt her delicate arm reach up to wrap about his neck, and his whole body shuddered at her willing submission. The notion that she had sought his kiss - wanted his touch - shattered any expectation that he would receive tempered love from the woman that would be his wife.

Their kisses deepened. His body was on fire, his passion ignited by the unquenchable yearning to be one with her.  The promise of what was to come sent every emotion into an agonizing frenzy of desire to claim her.

It was well that there was no surface on which to comfortably recline, or he would be sorely tempted to take her as his own, casting aside five days as naught against the years of their binding union.

They were lost in the all-consuming ecstasy of sensual communion, starved from their days of separation. The emptiness they had endured in each other’s absence had only increased their latent passion. Mr. Thornton fleetingly prayed for strength to halt the outpouring of his amorous affection before it reached a perilous brink.

A rap at the door brought them abruptly apart. Margaret scrambled to her feet, taking up her place beside the basket she had brought.

“Come in,” the Master called out as he leaned over his desk, his voice taut with forced brusqueness.