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Authors: The Last Rake in London
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desire for her had been like rain falling on parched ground and she had decided that, no matter how rash and impulsive it was, she was going to find out at last what physical love was all about.
Except that she had assumed that Jack would take charge, and now he was hesitating and his delay was making her nervous. Grabbing her courage in both hands, she walked straight up to him.
‘You will have to unfasten my gown,’ she said. ‘I am sorry, but I cannot manage it without a maid.’
Jack smiled then, a smile that made her toes curl and her stomach hollow with longing. He turned her around and started to unbutton the Poiret dress, bending his lips to the curve of her neck, kissing the skin that he uncovered, the flick of his tongue over her making the goose pimples rise all over her body. The gown fell to the floor with an expensive slither and Sally stepped out of it. She kicked off her shoes, her toes in their silk stockings sinking into the thick carpet. Standing there, armoured in her corset, she suddenly felt the same conviction that had always plagued her. She looked ugly and unattractive, Jack would change his mind, make an excuse, leave her. The thought made her feel suddenly sick and cold and she crossed her arms for comfort.
Jack turned her back to face him and their eyes met, and Sally’s heart skittered with nervousness and excitement at the look on his face, for he was looking at her as though she was the most exquisite thing he had ever seen. His hand was on one of her shoulders, warm on her bare skin, and now he slid it down to her wrist and held her gently.
‘Sally Bowes,’ he said, ‘you are the most beautiful girl.’
Shock and disbelief held her still, staring at him. He took a step towards her and pulled the end of her bandeau so that her hair tumbled down about her shoulders. The pins fell silently on to the soft carpet, but he ignored them, tangling a hand in her hair, bringing her lips to his to kiss her again. The world spun, tilted, and Sally would have fallen with the sheer sensual demand of his mouth on hers, but he scooped her up in his arms and tossed her into the middle of her big double bed.
‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I just don’t have the patience for this.’
She looked at him, uncomprehending. Surely he was not simply going to stop ? There was a danger that, if he did, she might just kill him out of sheer frustration. She felt the mattress shift as he moved away, and she struggled to sit up. She heard the click as he took Matty’s sewing scissors from the table and saw the lamplight glint on the silver. Her throat dried as she realised his intention. These were proper, big dressmaker’s scissors, not some harmless toy.
‘But…They’re sharp!’
He put a hand on her bare shoulder, pushing her back down to lie on the yielding bedcovers.
‘Keep still, then.’ The words were laced with wickedness. ‘I’m sorry about the corset,’ he said again. ‘I’ll buy you a new one.’
He placed the scissors on the neckline of her chemise, between her breasts. She felt the cold kiss of the metal against her skin and shuddered with nervousness and hungry desire. Her nipples chafed against the cotton, waiting for the cut that would free her breasts from constraint. The heat pooled low in her belly. She wanted to squirm but the fear held her still.
The first snap of the scissor blades made her shiver uncontrollably. He cut downwards, straight, his hand steady. The material eased. Her breasts felt full, straining for his touch, but his concentration did not waver. When the tip of the blade touched her belly button he stopped for a moment and Sally shifted, fisting her hands into the bedcovers.
‘Don’t stop, damn you,’ she said, and heard him laugh.
The cutting continued. She watched his face, intent and dark in the faint lamplight, watched the flash of the scissors and the pale exposure of her skin as the material of her corset and chemise and bloomers parted. The blade
Except that she had assumed that Jack would take charge, and now he was hesitating and his delay was making her nervous. Grabbing her courage in both hands, she walked straight up to him.
‘You will have to unfasten my gown,’ she said. ‘I am sorry, but I cannot manage it without a maid.’
Jack smiled then, a smile that made her toes curl and her stomach hollow with longing. He turned her around and started to unbutton the Poiret dress, bending his lips to the curve of her neck, kissing the skin that he uncovered, the flick of his tongue over her making the goose pimples rise all over her body. The gown fell to the floor with an expensive slither and Sally stepped out of it. She kicked off her shoes, her toes in their silk stockings sinking into the thick carpet. Standing there, armoured in her corset, she suddenly felt the same conviction that had always plagued her. She looked ugly and unattractive, Jack would change his mind, make an excuse, leave her. The thought made her feel suddenly sick and cold and she crossed her arms for comfort.
Jack turned her back to face him and their eyes met, and Sally’s heart skittered with nervousness and excitement at the look on his face, for he was looking at her as though she was the most exquisite thing he had ever seen. His hand was on one of her shoulders, warm on her bare skin, and now he slid it down to her wrist and held her gently.
‘Sally Bowes,’ he said, ‘you are the most beautiful girl.’
Shock and disbelief held her still, staring at him. He took a step towards her and pulled the end of her bandeau so that her hair tumbled down about her shoulders. The pins fell silently on to the soft carpet, but he ignored them, tangling a hand in her hair, bringing her lips to his to kiss her again. The world spun, tilted, and Sally would have fallen with the sheer sensual demand of his mouth on hers, but he scooped her up in his arms and tossed her into the middle of her big double bed.
‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I just don’t have the patience for this.’
She looked at him, uncomprehending. Surely he was not simply going to stop ? There was a danger that, if he did, she might just kill him out of sheer frustration. She felt the mattress shift as he moved away, and she struggled to sit up. She heard the click as he took Matty’s sewing scissors from the table and saw the lamplight glint on the silver. Her throat dried as she realised his intention. These were proper, big dressmaker’s scissors, not some harmless toy.
‘But…They’re sharp!’
He put a hand on her bare shoulder, pushing her back down to lie on the yielding bedcovers.
‘Keep still, then.’ The words were laced with wickedness. ‘I’m sorry about the corset,’ he said again. ‘I’ll buy you a new one.’
He placed the scissors on the neckline of her chemise, between her breasts. She felt the cold kiss of the metal against her skin and shuddered with nervousness and hungry desire. Her nipples chafed against the cotton, waiting for the cut that would free her breasts from constraint. The heat pooled low in her belly. She wanted to squirm but the fear held her still.
The first snap of the scissor blades made her shiver uncontrollably. He cut downwards, straight, his hand steady. The material eased. Her breasts felt full, straining for his touch, but his concentration did not waver. When the tip of the blade touched her belly button he stopped for a moment and Sally shifted, fisting her hands into the bedcovers.
‘Don’t stop, damn you,’ she said, and heard him laugh.
The cutting continued. She watched his face, intent and dark in the faint lamplight, watched the flash of the scissors and the pale exposure of her skin as the material of her corset and chemise and bloomers parted. The blade
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