Part Three

*****

He came out of his pleasant reverie with the intertwining melodies of the Little Fugue still floating through his half-conscious mind. He tried to open his eyes, but could not. Someone was covering them, and he reached up to pull the hands away.

"You sad old thing!" Fancy said, as he held her by the wrists. "Have you been in here sleeping all this time? I looked and looked for you!"

She was behind him, bending over the back of the sofa. He could feel her breath on his cheek and smell her light perfume. He let go her arms and she slid them around his neck, resting her chin on the top of his head.

"Well, you have found me now," he said. "How did you get away?"

She laughed. "You have been asleep! It's very late. They've all gone on to Lady Barrington's for dancing. I've put papa to bed. He was pleased, I think; the cantata was very well received."

Suddenly, she squeezed his neck so tightly she nearly cut off his wind, and instinctively, he raised his hands to her arms again.

Oh! I am so happy!" she cried. "I know I shall never go to sleep! Was it not the most perfect night? Oh, why didn't you stay, Adam? Mr. Sheridan was here! Mr. Thom was so very impressed!"

"I heard you sing. I saw how beautiful you looked."

She let go of his neck and stood up. He heard the soft rustle of her silk skirts as she came around to the front of the sofa and sank to her knees at his feet. On the master's desk, his single candle had burned quite low, but there was enough light for him to see her, enough to catch the sparkle of jewels in her hair.

She reached out and put one hand on his knee. "I thought you must have gone off with a girl," she said softly, teasingly.

He shook his head. "No. Don't be foolish."

"Daisy was here," she offered.

"I don't love Daisy."

"No. You love me." She moved in closer, and with both hands on his thighs, leaned forward and brushed her lips over his. His response, as always, was instantaneous, as was his little sigh of despair. He thought she couldn't really know what she did to him, how difficult it was for him to control his raging blood when she was even near, never mind when she touched him, when she kissed him, as she did now, and here they were, all alone in the dark, in a house that slept---

"Fancy..." God, it was no good. He drew her to him and kissed her mouth, an impatient, devouring kiss that she all too willingly accepted, her head falling back, her soft mouth opening, allowing his tongue to enter and plumb it's warm, sweet depths.

He caught her under the arms and pulled her up onto the sofa and into his lap. She clung to him, returning his feverish kisses, with soft little moans that that he could feel in her throat as he kissed her there. His hand moved up over the stiff front of her gown, sending a few of the tiny pearls that had been sewn to the bodice flying off into the surrounding dark.

The more he let himself go, the greater would be the agony, he knew, of the rebuff he also knew must inevitably come. He would have to stop, or she must stop him soon, or it would be too late. They were a pair of fools, dancing on a cliff's edge, always dancing away at the last second, and always daring, because they were fools, to dance right back again.

No. She would have to tell him no.

The silk of her gown was incredibly soft and fine, her skin above it, more incredible still. On the brink of peril, he plunged his face into the deep cleft between her breasts, inhaling the fragrance of her perfume, mingled with the hot scent of her flesh. His hand reached for her breasts, fingers sliding inside the low decolletage of the gown, pushing it down so that he could cup one of the soft mounds within, holding it, while a finger rubbed the nipple until it rose, hard and tight and wanting.

She whimpered, arching beneath his hands, and as she did so, grinding her bottom into his crotch, and his already painfully stiff erection.

"Ah! God!" he cried out, the pain bringing him momentarily to his senses, and shoved her sideways off his lap. "No, Fancy, oh, sweetheart, I cannot---"

She fell back against the arm of the sofa, one arm thrown up across her forehead. Her hair was tumbling down, her breasts spilling out of the front of her gown, heaving with each panting breath. She looked a complete wanton, which was not helping his situation one little bit. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. He was desperate to unbutton his breeches and adjust himself. He gritted his teeth.

"Yes," she said.

She was getting to her knees, reaching for him. Her arms reached around him, her hands moving over his chest, his stomach. Then her breasts were pushing into his back, her legs straddling him, and a heavy fall of black hair spilled over his shoulder as she leant forward to whisper in his ear, "Yes."

He felt as doomed as a man on the scaffold, turning, reaching for her again. He lay back along the length of the sofa, pulling her down on top of him for another reckless kiss, until breathless, he broke it and asked, "What did you say?"

She smiled down at him. "I said 'yes'."

Yes.

"We...cannot," he whispered painfully, quite unable to believe he was hearing himself say it. "Not here. Let me come to your room." He would let her go and sit here until he recovered his wits. Have another drink.

"They are all asleep. I locked the door." With the pad of her thumb, she stroked his chin, his mouth. "I love you."

"I love you!" He was vanquished. He kissed her again. He clutched at the slithering elaboration of silk that covered her, drawing her skirts higher and higher, bundling the layers of fabric in his hands until he had pushed it all the way up over her back. He reached down, feeling the smooth silk of her stockings, the ribbon garters, and then, finally, the firm, hot flesh of her thighs, the backs slightly moist with perspiration. He raised his knee between her legs and they parted for him, and his hands slid higher, up over the round swell of her bared bottom, and he caressed her, stroking the soft, curving cheeks, the swell of her hips. Wanting to explore even further, he gently parted the cheeks with his hands, and let his fingers wander into the warm furrow between. She squirmed a little, and made an odd little sound, between a gasp and a squeak, and bit his lip.

"I want to take off all of my clothes," she whispered, and she was already sliding down and sitting up, turning her back to him. "I need you to..."

"Yes...all right." With trembling fingers, her fumbled with the laces at the back of her gown, both terrified and relieved when the fabric fell away beneath his hands, baring her lovely smooth shoulders and slender arms. She stood and let the gown fall at her feet in a heap of pale, softly shimmering gold. She was utterly irresistible, standing there in her underskirts, her breasts jutting from the top of her mauled stays, and he rose quickly to take her in his arms and then to divest her of what remained.

The short stays took only a moment to loosen; the disposal of a stiffened cambric petticoat and small hoop was a simple matter of untying a ribbon or two. The fine muslin shift, finally, was gone in a whisper. He knelt at her feet as she stepped out of her gold satin slippers, his hands encircling her thighs just above her garters of white lace and ribbon. She was trembling, and he knew she was not as shameless as she appeared, standing naked before him. There was very little light, but her body seemed to glow, smooth and golden, in the darkness. The undersides of her breasts were round and creamy white, their rosy crowns erect within their smooth, dark circles. He inhaled deeply, pulling her to him, pressing his face into her soft, flat belly, just above the silky nest of fragrant black hair. He thought he could smell her desire, and it thrilled him near to madness.

He rubbed his cheek against her, kissed the jutting points of her hipbones, the little crease at the join of her thigh, and felt her quiver. He untied the garters, and slid the stockings down her legs, kissing, as he moved down, the insides of her thighs, the hollows of her knees, and even the instep of each delicate foot as she lifted it for him to pull off the stocking, making her laugh.

"Now you."

In a quick, graceful motion, she knelt down and began to work at his waistcoat buttons. She giggled as he made the work difficult for her with all his kissing and fondling. When she had him stripped to the waist, he suddenly took her in his arms and laid her on the carpet, half covering her with his body. She was looking at him, wide-eyed, expectant.

He felt overwhelmed, out of breath. He could not believe this was happening, that she truly wanted to give herself to him.

 He touched her cheeks, thinking a thousand things, but knowing not what to say.

"What is it?' she whispered. Her hand slid to the waist of his breeches. "Don't say no."

He laughed, a little weakly. "Sweetheart, I couldn't. Not now."

Her fingers were down inside his breeches, a hair's breadth from the insistent prick that was trying it's damnedest to find it's way out the top.

 He'd never lain with a virgin. Fancy was bold, and he thought she had a fair idea of how a man was made; he'd hardly been able to conceal the evidence of his arousal when they had come close. But she was still innocent, and even to him, his own cock appeared brutish and ugly in the natural state. Not knowing what her reaction might be, he was just a little reluctant for her to see him exposed and fully rampant.

She had the buttons almost all undone.

Quickly, he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her deeply, and in a single motion pushed breeches and drawers down his legs and off. The stockings went most of the way with them, and he fumbled them the rest of the way off with his toes. Clasping her tightly, he rolled her underneath him, so that his hardness was pressed between them.

"I want you so, Fancy," he said. "Can you feel me?"

"Yes," she whispered lowly. "It feels beautiful."

He thought he might go straight over the edge just hearing the husky tone of her voice, and from the feel of her beneath him, her hands moving over his back and down his flanks, her fingers pressing into the taut muscles of his backside.

Garnets and pearls glowed at her throat, and in her hair, all disarray, the strands of pearls were scattered like stars in a midnight sky. Tonight she had seemed a queen, distant, untouchable, and strange. But she was here, and she was real, his love. And she was waiting for him.

He cupped her breasts in his hands, holding them together as he kissed and suckled them until she moaned sweetly. His hands danced over her body, her curves as elegant, her skin as satin smooth as the violin, and he wanted to play that precious instrument like a master. With the work of his lips and hands he wished to draw from her the resonant chords of response.

She gasped when his hand slid at last between her thighs, startling as he parted the soft petaled lips of her sex and touched the sensitive flesh within. But she was soft and wet, and in a moment she yielded, her legs separated, and soon she began to move against him, pulsing with the gentle, rhythmic strokes of his musician's fingers.

"Oh, Adam," she sighed in his ear. "Yes, yes..."

He traced her open lips with his tongue, drawing her into another kiss as if they had all the time in the world. But she was moving her hips against him in what felt like a shy invitation, reminding him of the painful urgency of his own need.

And then her hand came between them, and his breath stopped as she clasped him in her hot little palm, wishing, he could only imagine, to give back some of the pleasure he was giving to her---but he could hardly bear it.

"No, Fancy!" he gasped. "Touch me and I shall be lost!"

"I am sorry!" she whispered, alarmed. "But I feel so..." she arched her hips upward as if in wordless demand, as if she yearned for completion as much as he. "Oh...Adam, what now?"

Beyond words, he could only answer her with his body. She was ready, open. He slid one hand under her bottom, lifting her a little, guiding himself. He felt her tense, wary of invasion, but he could not stop now, and he thrust himself forward. A soft little cry, a moment's resistance, and he slid easily into her, closing his eyes as the soft, velvety sheath closed around him.

He held himself above her, trembling. His back was rigid, the muscles of his forearms were corded, the tendons standing out as he fought for control. Don't move, he pleaded silently. One wriggle, one sigh, and I shall lose myself completely. Fancy lay still, holding him by the arms as the throbbing pulse of his flesh filled her, becoming a part of her. Her breathing was soft and quick. He opened his eyes and met her gaze, her eyes as deep and glowing as the jewels she wore.

He could be no closer, and yet he felt as if he floated apart from her in a curious state of unreality, awash in sensation, unable to realize this awesome moment. This was Fancy. This was the girl he loved, and he was lying between her legs, his cock was buried inside her. This was the fulfillment of his most beautiful dream and yet it seemed he could not know it fully, as if his body and his heart feared the coming together that would surely be their end.

Her hands were sliding over his shoulders and down his back to his buttocks, pulling him down to her. His muscles convulsed, and unable to hold back any longer, he plunged, and in the same instant, she lifted her hips to meet the deep thrust of his body.

His control was all but shattered, his every nerve aflame as he rocked into her again and again. He knew he would leave her behind, but he was beyond his ability to rate himself and almost beyond care. Then he felt her closing on him, and heard her little surprised, pleasured cry.

"Oh, God, Fancy!" With a groan he buried his face in the angle of her throat. "I love you! Oh, I love you!" Pray God, pray God, he could only manage to---

The mad heat flooded him, an inexorable surge, and he raised up, choking on his cry. With a desperate lunge, he pulled himself out of her body, his hot seed spurted over her golden belly and thighs as he fell on top of her, his limbs tangled with hers.

Only their deep, gasping breaths could be heard for a long time. Then Adam slowly rolled off of her. He turned on his side to look at her. Naked and bejeweled, her black hair falling all around her, she looked as pleased as Salome having taken her prize. She turned her head and smiled at him, and he reached for her again, drawing her close until their bellies touched, sticky and slippery with his spend. He kissed her brow, moving his mouth up into the hairline, licking away the salty dew of exertion.

"Are you hurt?" he asked gently.

She shook her head. "No. Not at all." She touched his cheek. "How do you feel?"

"Ravished," he said, with a little smile. "Like nothing will ever be the same."

"No," she said, curling against him. "After tonight, nothing will ever be the same."

Go to Part Four