First Kiss Friday
Today’s first kiss comes from The Countess’s Christmas Groom by Fenna Edgewood
A steamy class-difference Christmas novella set at a Regency England house party.
Well, if they would speak of her wickedness and believed her so irredeemable, she thought, cold tears pricking the corners of her eyes, then she may as well do just what she liked and follow this urge all the way to her ruin.
She looked up at Ashley Spencer and met his stormy blue eyes with determination in her own.
And then her hands were on his chest, her fingers were lacing through the cords of his livery jacket, and she was pulling him toward her.
She did not even have to think. She simply lifted her chin upwards and kissed him.
He tasted wonderful. If this was sin, she could not repent of her indulgence. She immediately craved more. She felt his lips on hers like a shock of ice water, all the way through to her very bones.
She traced his lips with her tongue before she could help it, lightly at first, following the edges and peaks, her heart racing with the daring of it.
He was not hesitating to return the kiss. His lips had sealed to hers, pressing gently but firmly, opening to her tongue as she searched his skin, tasted him, stroked along his edges.
Somewhere along the way, his hands had grasped her waist, pulled her to him tightly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to do.
His grip on her was so strong and sure, she felt dizzy. What would it be like to be possessed by such a man, fully? Her heart was pounding, the blood rushing through her veins as she felt his hands through her dress like burning coals against her skin.
If only they were truly on her skin, with nothing between them.
She tasted the salt of his lips, and the urge for more was becoming a pain, less pleasurable, more torturous.
His hands slid over the silk of her dress, cupping her more closely to him, as if he had the right to do so. As if she was his.
She could not allow it. She had already gone too far.
If anyone else were to see them, it would certainly mean his position. For his sake, at the very least, she must stop this.
She pushed away, almost roughly, just barely registering the look of disappointment that came over his face.
She ran her hands over her dress, unnecessarily smoothing down the front of her skirt, as if she might erase creases as easily as unwanted desires.
“There was another matter I wished to speak with you about, Mr. Spencer,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes again. “Considering the present state of things, I do not think you will do me the discourtesy of refusing. I understand you are a temporary footman, yes? And your normal place is in the stables?” She just caught his nod. “Very well then. Please meet me at the stables this afternoon at two o’clock. I will tell you at that time what you will be doing to make up for your… mistake.”
She lifted her head haughtily and, steeling her features, lowered her voice and added, “Please do not misunderstand me. It will not be more of this.”
Then she brushed past him and went up to her room.