My assumption is that you'll squee and then maybe want to hurt me. Hey, Pertie, I'm working on that M rating for you…and maybe a little for Jax and Rave too.
Paladin112
Erik didn't say anything for a long while, just as Sophia had feared. He stood no more than three feet away, the opened book balanced in the palm of his hand. His breathing had changed, deepening just like Philippe's did before he grew frustrated and stormed from the room.
He startled her when he cleared his throat and refused to look in her direction. His face had flushed with embarrassment of discovering the woman he'd thought fondly of was no better than some wretch on the street.
Now she'd done it, really done it! He would look at her in a completely new and despicable light, one that was completely unforgivable. Proper ladies didn't look at images of male anatomy. Her quest for knowledge had ended by horrifying Erik. Any moment now he would snap the book shut, toss it aside, and leave her home in favor of his own.
"Well," he said. He cleared his throat as though he couldn't bear to continue. He was far too much a gentleman to say another word, she realized. He couldn't waste his breath by commenting on this lewd material.
"My head does hurt," she said suddenly.
"Excuse me?"
"Never mind."
Unable to stand it a moment more, her face crumpled, her hands balled into tight fists, and she did the only thing she could. She prepared to explain herself.
"Sophia?" he questioned before she could begin to tell him how she wanted to be a modern woman able to care for herself and her curiosity. She wanted to tell him that it shouldn't have shocked him. She was, after all, twenty-five years of age now and had earned the right to know a little about men.
But at the very last moment she retreated into humiliation and bowed her head. The tears welled hot in her eyes, her throat tightened as though her words would rather strangle her than come out of her mouth.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm terribly, terribly sorry you've witnessed this…abomination."
Face buried in her hands, she started to cry in complete and utter humiliation for this folly, which made her feel more like a child than a woman of educated mind.
-o-
Why the discovery aroused him he wasn't quite sure, but it did—and swiftly. There was no denying how it affected him to think of her studying the text and pictures. He imagined this book hidden beneath her pillow, stashed from her brother's ever-watchful gaze. Of all the books he imagined in her grasp, this would have been the very last on the list. Sweet, innocent Sophia, curled up beneath the covers with the illustrations staring back at her. It was a surreal image, one that would remain branded in his mind for a lifetime. But he wanted it there, in his mind, where he could easily summon the thought of her finger tracing the sketches and imagining what it would be like to…
He cleared his throat and momentarily looked away from her. If only she knew what ran through his mind, if only he could guarantee that she wouldn't back away from him if he shared his own reading with her.
Indeed, his own activities were far worse. Surely Sophia had more sense than to find herself aroused by black and white drawings, cold, unfeeling pictures of women's torsos. His fingers tingled with the thought of creating his own book of pictures, only his model would be striking as she reclined before him. He shifted his weight, finding his trousers becoming increasingly uncomfortable as his thoughts blossomed into daydreams of her sitting cross-legged, her skirts pulled up to her thighs as she sat reading a book while he feverishly captured each detail on paper. He'd smudge the charcoal edges, smooth the rough lines until it matched her perfectly. Then, if she'd allow it, he'd brush his fingers over the curves of her body, explore the contours and make certain everything on her body had graced his sketch.
The book nearly slipped from his grasp, and for the first time he realized he was breathing like a well-run horse.
She murmured something so fast and so quiet that he missed what she'd said.
"Excuse me?"
"Never mind."
Their awkward conversation turned to silence once more. Why exactly did she have this, he wondered? He glanced from her to the book, and his brow furrowed. By the look of her dress, she hadn't slept much. There were wrinkles, but not nearly enough to show she'd spent the night crumpled in her gown.
He almost wanted to laugh at the thought of her, dressed for dinner with a scandalous tome in hand, but he thought it far too rude. She'd gone pale from her mortification, no doubt, and she'd never forgive him if he laughed at her now. This needed to be dealt with carefully.
Slowly he lifted his gaze and studied her, unable to guess what she was thinking now.
"Well," he said. Quite an interesting read. That's not a bit impressive. What in the hell are you looking at in this book? May I turn the page and see what comes next?
He couldn't possibly finish his thoughts aloud without damaging her. Cocking his head to the side, he studied her carefully. She didn't meet his eye, and he didn't want to speak until she looked at him.
Her gaze slowly lifted, the determination on her face drifting away. She looked odd and unfamiliar to him, and he wasn't sure if the bump to the head or the book was to blame.
"Sophia?" he whispered.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, which alarmed him so greatly that he froze and stared at her, unsure of what to do. Somehow, with barely a word, he'd shamed her to tears. It appalled him as he hated, above all things, the sound of someone crying and Sophia's heartache and embarrassment wrenched his insides.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm terribly, terribly sorry you've witnessed this…abomination." She pressed her hands to her temples and let out a strained cry of barely suppressed agony. "Oh, please don't look at it any more. It gives me a headache."
"I beg your pardon?" he asked, though it didn't much matter what gave her a headache.
She pointed at the book, her lips still quivering, her cheeks lined with tracks of tears. "Please, I don't want you to think—"
He softly closed the book and looked at the spine with its title and author in large, gold lettering, before he set it aside. "Sit," he commanded. "For God's sake, Sophia, sit down at once before you fall and hit your head again."
She jumped at his harsh tone and appeared puzzled by his lack of acknowledgement toward her book, but obeyed nonetheless. As she sat perched on the bed, she continued to stare at the offending material, her eyes still filled with tears. He watched her shake her head as though to scorn her reading material.
"Has your vision doubled?" He knelt down in front of her and moved the lamp to the edge of the bedside table in order to properly view her injury.
"No," she said softly, her gaze cast down.
With his index finger he tilted her chin up. Her skin felt heated to his touch, which concerned him. "But your head hurts?"
It took her a moment before she replied, her gaze still cast aside. "Only a little." She paused and gulped down a breath. "I am very sorry."
He searched her mottled face. "For what? A medical book?"
She seemed surprised, then even more ashamed of herself. "It's not really that medical. It's too…intense…for study of the educational kind."
He couldn't help but smile and show her he knew what she was doing and he didn't much care. "You give your true intentions away, then."
She started to cry again, which sent him into a panic. "Sophia, I didn't mean—"
"I've never looked before," she squeaked. "And I never will again. Not for as long as I live."
Without speaking, he shook his head and sat beside her. He waited to see if she'd cry harder or catch her breath. When it looked as though his presence comforted her, he hooked his arm around her waist and gave a tentative squeeze. Slowly she settled down and rested the side of her head gingerly against his chest.
"May I ask where you found this?" he asked, half-wondering if it had come from his own shelf.
"My parents," she answered. "They had many medical books from their physician. Philippe never got rid of them, though I suppose it's because he never looked through them."
He grunted, preoccupied by the scent of her hair. Each time he breathed—and he was breathing harder than ever now—he captured part of her and drew her into his lungs, into his hot blood.
"I just wanted to know," she said at last.
His fingers caressed the length of her arm in a long, lazy rhythm. Now that she'd calmed down considerably, he caressed her temple with his lips, inhaled harder until he only smelled her, until the warmth of her flesh became his as well.
"Have you learned enough, Sophia?" he asked hoarsely.
"More than is safe for one night," she answered.
"I'd like to know a little more," he said under his breath.
She stared at him, her breath almost matching his. She leaned into him, allowed more of the contact he craved from her. "But…wouldn't you already know all of the parts?"
He smiled at her innocence, grateful that they both lacked experience. He knew for certain that he couldn't have sat beside her with such ease if she'd been a woman of worldly physical experience.
"Perhaps not by name, but I know how these parts work."
"Then…?"
"I'd like to know what is on the next page," he mumbled.
She gasped and would have sat upright had his arm not been around her. When she turned to look at him, he couldn't stand it a moment longer. All these thoughts and images of her had intrigued him, stirred him up and left only a chance to unravel.
He placed the palm of his hand against her face to turn her toward him. She didn't protest as he nuzzled her, as their lips parted and they exchanged harsh breaths.
"Sophia," he whispered, his lips barely grazing hers. "Sophia, I know you don't want to make love, but please, please let us…" She sat closer, her hand on his thigh. Only a hand's breadth away and she'd be where he needed to feel her, where books could not teach of pleasure.
"Touch?" she finished.
"Yes," he hissed. "Yes."