A/N: Written for Merry Month of Masterbation challenge at LiveJournal. This is fic #2.
She was there, hovering above him, in the dress she had first worn last Christmas. She was not supposed to be here in his room of all places, it was not proper, he should have showed her to the door. But he found himself unmoving, almost waiting to see what the figure before him would do.
She began to take her hair down with an impish smile on her face, he knew right there this, no matter what dream come true it could be, had to stop.
"Emma I-"
"Mr. Knightley have you not seen? I need you as any woman ever needed a man, I cannot wait a moment longer. You, out of everyone, know how I am."
Mr. Knightley nearly found himself stuttering, "I do know you Emma, and you would never do this. Not to your father, you sister, or even Miss Taylor. No matter my feelings, this cannot go on."
Emma's features softened. She caressed his face with her hand, "What you must have gone through," She said sympathetically, "If I'd have only known, we could have spared each other some heartache."
Emma's kindness, one of her greatest virtues, made Mr. Knightley's point become a nearly distant memory.
"George," she said in a tone Mr. Knightley had never heard but had always dreamt of, "We cannot be married, I cannot do that to my father. If I were to leave, then Miss Taylor would be nearly forced out, I cannot do this to two of the people we both love. I need you..."
That was his undoing. No other thought entered his head. Only Emma. His Emma. For this one night he could have her, be with her, truly love her the way he always wanted to. Tomorrow they would be old friends again, and as for his eternal soul; this was worth it.
He did what he had always longed to do, he ran his hand from her hip to her pert breast. The feeling of soft curves underneath left him breathless, he looked up into her eyes.
"Y-you have nothing-"
"I assure you, I came here quite undone, in every sense of the word."
She lowered her head so they were nearly touching, she did not kiss him, she knew he needed to be the one to kiss her. He ran his hand through hair he had dreamed of touching but never had, he raised his head off his pillow ever so slightly, and Emma held her breath in anticipation.
Mr. Knightley shot up in his bed, looked around the room to see that no one was there, it was, as he had feared, a dream. He took no time in thinking or reflecting. He tore off the covers and wrapped his hand around his pulsing member. He threw his head back onto the bed, and shut tight his eyes, thinking of the feeling of her nipple on his finger. Each stroke he imagined something different, her eyes, her tone, the way her mouth almost met his. That tongue of hers, which was always so sharp, what it could do to his body. He jerked up and came silently basking in the feeling he knew was to be as close he could ever get to her. She would never, could never, be his.
"If only you were mine," he whispered to the darkened room, "For I will always be yours."