Georgina Lovell

TRYST STORY

Miss Georgina Lovell had never looked so toothsome. Her doe brown eyes staring boldly at him from over her yellow crepe fan had stirred Baxter Fitzwilliam so much he had to excuse himself from the stuffy drawing room to cool down. 

She knew what she was doing, too. He'd seen her smirk as he left the room hastily. Her ample bosom was plumped together just enough in her pale yellow muslin to persuade ungentlemanly thoughts. Her long, blonde hair curled temptingly to point toward the dark crevice, and he couldn't wait to bury his face in it again, make her breathless with longing. 

The soft moonlight shone down on Baxter's dark head as he exited onto the veranda. It was becoming increasingly difficult to walk with his growing manhood, straining to be let loose. He pressed himself painfully up against the cold stone of the railing and took a breath of rain-filled air. A crisp and sweet scent filled his nostrils, and he turned around quickly to see Georgina slowly walking towards him, a sultry smile on her full, pink lips.

"How did you get away?" he asked, a little breathlessly. This woman was unlike any he had ever met. Bold but not ostentatious, she taunted society's rules and met him in the dark recesses of London, not to mention his deeper desires.

"I told Mama I needed a bit of fresh air. She is so busy with her card game that she barely noticed." She waved a slender hand, and he swallowed hard. That same slender hand gave him much pleasure. Her eyes darted down, and she smiled. "But I noticed that from across the room."

She stepped closer, and his backside hit the cold railing, raindrops seeping through his pants. Georgina skimmed a hand over the front of him, and it jumped and got even stiffer. She giggled but didn't move her hand, and it twitched at her constant touch.

"Such fun," she whispered, and Baxter felt his heart skip a beat in anticipation. "Why do they insist we be married before we can play with each other?" She pouted, her lips delectable, her eyes tempting him to come ever closer.

With a curse, he grabbed her shoulders and crushed his lips onto hers. Her breath left her, and she turned her hand to cup him, the other on his muscled arm that was pulling her into him. Their tongues entangled, hard and fast, not like the first time when they had both been cautious and tread carefully. 

Then the fire had started slowly, a little spark that burned and grew hotter as his lips had explored hers when they had snuck away from their hunting party. Pressed against a tree, the tempting Miss Lovell had whimpered when Baxter had plied his tongue into her warm, willing mouth.  

Just like then, his long fingers found her eager nipple, erect and easy to find through the gauzy fabric of her dress. She inhaled sharply and pulled her hand away to grip his other arm as his fingertips deftly circled her nipple. His hand cupped her heavy breast, which he longed to taste, but she had not yet succumbed to his pleas and allowed him that decadence.

Thrice, now since their betrothal, they had met clandestinely, and each time he burned hotter for her. He lifted his mouth and her eyes opened; dark pools of desire staring back at him. 

"Don't stop," she whispered, still gripping him tightly. Emboldened, he held her close, his manhood now bulging even more painfully against her thighs, and let go of her nipple to reach behind him and wet his fingertips with the cold rain. 

Her cry of protest became a moan of hot pleasure when he pushed the collar of her dress down to rub the swollen nub with his now-chilled fingertips. Her head fell back, a half sob escaped her swollen lips and she pressed her slender body into him, clinging to him weakly.

"Oh," was all she could manage and then he was devouring her exposed neck and throat, creamy and pale in the moonlight. His fingers kept up their slow onslaught, and goosebumps popped up along her arms and breasts. Her breathing was fast and shallow and he knew enough about women to know she would shudder and writhe and implode if he touched her in her most private places hidden among the folds of her gown.

This was a mere tease to the things he wanted to do to her; to teach her. She had been a most willing and eager student so far; he couldn't wait to see how eager she was once they were married.  

"Baxter," she breathed, "take me to your chambers." Her look was delightfully naughty.

"We can't, Miss Lovell," he taunted, using her formal name. "We must wait another fortnight." 

She groaned, kissing him passionately. "I don't know how I shall ever survive," she said. Her hand slid down between them and it was his turn to groan. "How will you survive?" she giggled against his searching mouth.

"I don't know, my sweet." He reluctantly pulled her dress back up over her rigid nipple and she bit back a groan. "We'll be missed," he whispered. 

"I don't care," she whispered back but he was already disentangling their arms and straightening her gown. With one last deep kiss, he sent her back across the veranda before he followed at a believable enough distance that they could not be suspected of doing what they had just done.