Helen Magnus blushed. It wasn't that she was opposed to what John was asking; she'd done it before, but he didn't know that. No one did. It was just that she had never expected such a thing to be one of his fantasies. It wasn't as though he hadn't seen her laid out bare; they had been intimate for quite some time, and she had thought they had shared everything until he whispered his request into her ear during the opera. The very idea had made her uncomfortable and anxious, and almost unable to sit through the conclusion of the evening. The more she had thought about what he'd asked, the more intrigued she became, but she was still nervous. John was most certainly the aggressor in their relationship, and while she was an enthusiastic participant, this would require more initiative than she had ever had to show in the past.
He gently undid her hair and she felt it tumble around her shoulders and down her back as she continued to stare at the floor. "Look at me, Helen," he gently lifted her chin until her eyes met his and she felt her cheeks heat even more. "Show me." He leaned in and kissed her lips softly.
Her pulse quickened. "I can't."
His breath tickled behind her ear before his lips followed, gently tracing the line of her neck. "Please," he whispered, and Helen melted. John never said 'please.'
She dropped her hand from his hip and slowly backed away from him. Her courage was bolstered with every step of distance she put between them. "I'll need you to unlace me," she threw over her shoulder as she crossed from the sitting room into her bedroom.
She felt rather than heard him follow behind her as she unfastened the tiny buttons which kept her evening gown on her body. She pushed the top off of her shoulders and his hands slid around her waist before sliding back and coming to rest just at the line of her bustle. She felt a tug and a cool breeze as her skirts fell to the floor and she was left standing in her corset, chemise and the cage of her bustle. John was more adept than her maid in divesting her of her clothing rapidly. Given that it took Mary five minutes to remove her skirts and petticoats, Helen was often amazed at his ability to remove them with what seemed to be little more than the flick of a wrist.
"Unlace me," she commanded, growing bolder, presenting her back to him, while she worked on the ties of her bustle. She felt her lungs expand as the corset loosened and stepped forward from him to pull the torturous contraption away from her body. She freed the tape of her bloomers, stepping out of them and reaching for her garters.
"Leave them." She started at his hoarse whisper, a shiver running through her. John liked to make love to her in a state of partial undress from time to time. She preferred the sensation of pure skin-to-skin, but knowing how much this aroused him made her ache to feel his hands on her body. She turned around, gloriously naked except for her stockings.
"Fine. You next." John didn't hesitate and quickly stripped off his evening attire. "Much better." She perused his body hungrily. "If I am to do this, it seems only fair that I am not the only one who is naked."
John stepped into her arms and pulled her close for a kiss. It started slow and sensual, quickly heating until she felt him hard and rampant against her belly. When his hand brushed her bottom, she sighed and he pulled away. "Now, Helen," he murmured. "Show me."
She nodded, looking away as the blush heated her body once more. He took her hand and led her to the bed. "All right, then." She smiled impishly as she climbed into the bed and reclined against the mountain of pillows assembled at its head. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought as John followed her, seating himself near her feet; his heated gaze raking over her body.
In the carriage on the way to the theater, John had asked her if her father would be home tonight— their code for whether or not their evening would turn into an all-night affair. As it happened, her father had left for Scotland the day before to chase down one of his creatures. When she'd told him as much, he had asked if there was anything in particular she'd like. She had replied that she'd like to do something special for him. What would please him? His eyebrows had nearly flown through the roof of her carriage. She could see that a dozen things had come to mind immediately, but he had simply become quiet, and the subject faded away until his whispered request during the third act of Turandot had shocked her into a bundle of nervous energy.
Helen ran her hands through her hair and down her neck, sweeping them over her breasts and down her sides. She let her eyes flutter shut as her strong hands moved back up, palms circling the tender nipples, bringing them to oversensitized points. She ached for his touch, but knew he wouldn't dare. This was his fantasy, after all.
Helen brought two fingers to her mouth, wetting them before bringing them back to roll and knead the buds. She let a sigh escape as the sexual charge shot from nipple to groin and she heard his breath catch. Bending her knee, she stroked her hands down her belly and around her inner thigh, deliberately avoiding what she knew he was aching to see.
Her hips began to shift on the bed as she stroked and fondled herself: legs, arms, neck, face. She felt the manic energy emanating from him and it thrilled her body more than she could have imagined. She shouldn't have been quite so surprised; very few of John's suggestions were less than absolutely electrifying. "Helen," he gasped, and she relented, giving him what they were both craving by sliding her hands back down her body and between her legs into her wet folds. Using the tips of her fingers she gently stroked her inner lips, dipping a finger inside her body to collect some of the wetness gathered there. Gently, she brought those fingers to circle her clitoris without actually touching it. Her hips bucked and she felt the warmth of his body move over hers. "Do it," the strangled command vibrated just shy of her cheek, and Helen was too keyed up to resist.
She pressed her fingers firmly against her clit and cried out as her orgasm overtook her. Helen opened her eyes to see John's wild gaze boring into her as the shudders settled down. He leaned forward to kiss her, but she quietly yet firmly interrupted him. "John," she murmured, "I need you."
"Thank God," he groaned as she slid a leg around his hip and welcomed him into her body. Their lovemaking was wild, the aftershocks of her climax producing miniature secondary orgasms as John pistoned furiously, seeking his own release.
It didn't take long, and he collapsed on top of her, remaining still for several minutes. She relished the weight of him pinning her to the bed. Helen stroked her hands up John's back before he rolled to the side pulling her against him and tucking her head in the crook of his arm.
"That was beautiful, Helen," he drawled breathlessly.
She tilted her head up, kissing him softly on the lips. "Thank you." she murmured with the smile that she reserved only for him.
"I wonder that we've never tried it before."
She chuckled softly. "We've never done this before, John, but that doesn't mean I haven't."
"Helen Magnus, you saucy minx," he laughed giving her bum a soft pinch.
She ran a hand up his arm, tucking her face into his chest, breathing in his musky scent before placing a kiss there and turning her eyes to his. "Well, Mr. Druitt, we all must have our secrets."