The Life of Amelia Barnette

Leading me into the other room, I raised my arms and Darcy slowly rolled my gown up my thighs, stroking fingers along my stomach, aching touches up my throat and finally pulling the fabric over my head, until I stood before him, the candlelight bearing witness to my cold, bare flesh. He held out a hand for me, and as I gripped tightly, Darcy led me to the bath, the steaming water on the verge of burning. But my head held no attention to that, as there was a different burning happening inside of me. One that made me throb and pulse all over. My skin itched to be touched, breath catching at each pro-longed eye contact. As I settled into the warmth, my hand suddenly felt far too cold as Darcy began to let go. I quickly snatched back his grip and pulled him to the bath's edge. He looked down at me with a yearning I shared and reached his other hand up to caress my flushed cheek. I leant into it, closing my eyes at the sudden tenderness. Opening them to the sound of rustling fabric, I couldn't look away as the man before me stripped painfully slow, putting on display each movement of muscle, the hairs that trailed dangerously low. The water rocked as our knees touched. Then he gently tugged at my shoulders and whirled me around so that I was sitting with my back towards him, his breath sending shivers along my skin, our bodies pressed against each other. There was something thrilling about not seeing what was to come. The share anticipation as his fingertips trailed waves down my arms, stopping at my elbows. And then a rush of pleasure as he cupped my breasts, causing small peaks to form which he rushed to cup. He traced my body, remembering every movement of his that caused my breath to catch, a moan to slip from my drooped lips, my head already pushed back, limp on his shoulder, his lips sucking the tender spots on my neck, teeth pulling at my ear. He was intoxicating me, and I obliged deeply, drinking him until I was drunk off his touch.