Emma (25 page)

“Take your hand and put it upon my member,” he instructed. “Today you shall meet my
cock
.”

Emma’s face heated as she stared at him. “Pardon?”

His laugh fell humourlessly. “Twice I have brought you to satisfaction and now I find myself unable to turn away from you without seeing to my own. Touch me, Emma. Put your hands on me as I have you.”

When she remained still, he took her hand and laid it on his prick. She gasped at the hardened ridge inside his trousers. She tried to draw back her hand, but he again placed it on himself.

“Please, Emma. Have mercy.”

She swallowed past her alarm. “What would you have me do?”

“It is more what you would allow of me. You asked to know what it is between a man and a woman and I have ventured to show you only a little. Do you truly wish to know as much as there is? Are you prepared for the consequences of losing your virtue?”

“I have no need of it,” she told him with more bravery than she felt. “What need have I of my private virtue when I have no need of marriage?”

“You’re quite sure?”

A fine tremble set upon her that was not brought on by the cold. Though she knew not what to expect, her body seemed to claim more insight than she. Emma again nodded, at a loss for words where actions were meant to benefit her knowledge of lovemaking in its fullest definition.

Mr Knightley lifted the front of her dress, then elevated her in a manner which forced her legs around him. Startled by the sudden move, Emma cried out as she clutched his arms. Her cleft, still wet from his ministrations, cooled sharply as it parted. Her blush rose unavoidably.

Mr Knightley reached between them and it was not until she felt the hot prod of his cock that she realised how this might be done. Her cheeks flamed in earnest then.

“This shall hurt momentarily, Emma. Be prepared.”

More entranced was she regarding these new sensations than his words. He spoke with calm indifference, with the clipped command he always favoured, but his face wore the expression of a man much reserved of his true sentiments.

His eyes burned brightly upon her face. His jaw twitched with the strain of some deeper stores of control and as his cock nudged against her, his lips parted on a low groan as his heat touched hers. It shook her innermost parts with feminine appreciation.

The discomfort filled her and though she made to retreat by climbing higher, Mr Knightley held her firm in his grasp. Sharp pain touched her where she so quickly felt he had reached her limit.

“Now, Emma, be brave.”

“There’s more?” she asked, her voice squeaking. She paid no attention to the undignified sound, more alarmed by the threat of pain beyond the beginning sting she currently endured.

Then pain seared her. Emma screamed. Knightley covered her lips as she tried to shake it from her. Tears spilled forth and she bit him.

“Be still, Emma. It will improve, I promise you.”

Knightley’s thickened voice pierced the harsh roaring in her ears.

“It is done, dearest. Hold steady. Hold,” he instructed her.

Her back pushed against the gazebo wood. His breath came in harsh gasps as he levered her higher on his hips, parted her farther than seemed natural. He filled her, opened her flesh, yet as he touched her cunny, a different heat blossomed in the place of pain. The throbbing sting took longer to abate, but the more he worked her nub, the more Emma writhed on his hardened shaft to find the bliss she knew he could deliver.

“Well done, Emma,” he praised. “You sense it now, do you not? It returns to consume you as it does me.”

“Does it—does it pain you?” she asked, needing to know if he bore up better than she.

Mr Knightley chuckled low and dark. “No, Emma, not the same as you. My pain lies in my need for pleasure and in being the cause of yours. When you are ready, we will continue but pray make it soon, as I may not last much longer.”

Emma arched her hips, reaching for the sweet tickle of his fingers on her parted flesh. “Oh!” she cried.

Knightley moved them away and Emma chased her hips forward to reclaim the beautiful thrill they afforded.

“That’s it. Find what you need.” Mr Knightley buried his face in her bosoms, his ragged breath showing her that he was not as unaffected as his calm words would suggest. Then he moved in her.

She stiffened, wishing him to stop but not having the presence of mind to clarify between ceasing his movements or ceasing his finger play. The words escaped her and so she did not utter them. He moved again and though she continued to feel quite divided by him, it stole her breath for more of the same.

“Oh! Oh, I like that.”

Mr Knightley groaned as he laughed. “As do I, darling.” He lifted his face to claim her lips.

Emma circled his neck with her arms. She found that hooking her ankles around him gave her better feeling and him more freedom to continue doing to her what had become more delicious than words provided.

She welcomed his tongue into her mouth, feeling more connected to Mr Knightley than any other human in any other moment she’d encountered in her one-and-twenty years thus far. Oh! The sheer delight. The beauty! How had she not known of this before? How clever of her to have thought of this. And Mr Knightley. How well she had selected her instrument of deflowering!

He shuttled his cock within her sheath. His fingers danced upon her flesh and when he let go to hold her better, she meant to complain for the interruption, but his thrusts increased tenfold and her complaint died on her lips.

Emma’s eyes slid shut. Heat coursed through her until her senses spun and ecstasy cascaded upon her, through her, around her. Knightley grunted as her body clenched on him. She could feel every tender muscle clamp, yet he pushed on until something warm spurted inside her and Knightley stilled.

“And that, Mr Knightley? What is that called?”

His rich brown eyes settled on her, a small smile playing around his lips. “Which part, darling?”

“The mindless bit.”

Her words seemed to please him, humour him. “Orgasm. You had two orgasms. One before and one during.”

She sighed happily. “They were divine.”

He laughed and pulled her tight to his chest. She felt him slide from her sheath. Uncharacteristic shyness touched her and she squirmed free to adjust her clothing.

“I will walk you to the house, but I cannot enter. Your father or staff would see me and know precisely what I have been up to,” he told her.

She gasped. “Should they know upon seeing me?”

He studied her, a look of fondness on his face. “Very possibly. Your cheeks are burnished and you will need to clean carefully without assistance.” He touched her cheek. “Oh, Emma. You have no idea how much I enjoyed you.”

Emma pushed at him. “You hurt me.”

“A necessary pain to achieve the final outcome.”

“Will it be so awful next time?” she asked.

“Not nearly so. It may sting at first, but frequency does resolve the entire discomfort. Tell me, Emma. Now that you are no longer a maid, do you wish to continue with me?”

“Is there more to learn?”

“Much, much more.”

“Then I would continue instruction.”

Her words seemed to please him. Mr Knightley smiled at her in such a way that it outdid all the others in the past month. It warmed her to know she’d pleased him.

“There is one discussion we must have,” he murmured, kissing her temple. “Should you conceive—”

Emma stilled in his arms. “Heavens! Surely there is some way to see that I don’t!”

“Would you call upon Mr Perry for a preventative? Your father may discover you.”

“He would, if I called upon him. If
you
called upon him, he would have no reason to suspect me.”

She expected him to argue. Mr Knightley only nodded.

“I will call upon him tomorrow morning.”

Emma moved away from him, beginning her careful walk to the house. Her body felt stretched and slick from their joining. She wondered if walking without these sensations would return to her or if his invasion had permanently altered her gait.

“Would it be too much a hardship to request our next meeting be made in the warmth of Hartfield?” Emma asked pointedly.

Knightley walked beside her, keeping his pace the same as hers. “I will attempt to seduce you in a warmer environment,” he agreed, though she detected the colour of humour in his statement.

“I have no interest in risking discovery, mind you. Out of doors provides too many opportunities for capture also. It is very bad of you to recommend it.”

“Forgive me. I am duly chastised.”

“I should hope so. I expect you to show more charity to your good fortune in the future.”

“My—my good fortune!”

Mr Knightley’s laugh could hardly be considered charitable and she scowled at him, though her efforts were in half measure. Her smile slipped out. He saw it and they laughed together as they arrived at the entrance to the house.

Knightley had righted his jacket as she had smoothed her hair when the door to the salon was thrown open, and Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax walked into the room. Full of thanks, and full of news, Miss Bates knew not which to give quickest. Mr Knightley soon saw that he had lost his moment to leave and better repair himself, and that not another syllable of communication could rest with him. Especially as Mr Woodhouse had now been awoken to see them all standing there.

“Oh! My dear sir, how are you this morning? My dear Miss Woodhouse—I come quite overpowered. Such a beautiful hindquarter of pork! You are too bountiful! Have you heard the news? Mr Elton is going to be married.”

Emma had not had time even to think of Mr Elton, and she was so completely surprised that she could not avoid a little start, and a little blush, at the sound.

“There is my other news, I thought it would interest you,” said Mr Knightley, with a smile which implied a conviction of some part of what had passed between them.

“But where could
you
hear it?” cried Miss Bates. “Where could you possibly hear it, Mr Knightley? For it is not five minutes since I received Mrs Cole’s note—no, it cannot be more than five—or at least ten—for I had got my bonnet and spencer on, just ready to come out—I was only gone down to speak to Patty again about the pork—Jane was standing in the passage—were not you, Jane? For my mother was so afraid that we had not any salting-pan large enough. So I said I would go down and see, and Jane said, ‘Shall I go down instead? For I think you have a little cold, and Patty has been washing the kitchen.’ ‘Oh! My dear,’ said I—well, and just then came the note. A Miss Hawkins—that’s all I know. A Miss Hawkins of Bath. But Mr Knightley, how could you possibly have heard it? For the very moment Mr Cole told Mrs Cole of it, she sat down and wrote to me. A Miss Hawkins—”

“I was with Mr Cole on business an hour and a half ago. He had just read Elton’s letter as I was shown in, and handed it to me directly.”

“Well, that is quite—I suppose there never was a piece of news more generally interesting. My dear sir, you really are too bountiful. My mother desires her very best compliments and regards, and a thousand thanks, and says you really quite oppress her.”

“We consider our Hartfield pork,” replied Mr Woodhouse, “indeed it certainly is, so very superior to all other pork, that Emma and I cannot have a greater pleasure than—”

“Oh! My dear sir, as my mother says, our friends are only too good to us. If ever there were people who, without having great wealth themselves, had everything they could wish for, I am sure it is us. We may well say that ‘our lot is cast in a goodly heritage’. Well, Mr Knightley, and so you actually saw the letter, well—”

“It was short—merely to announce—but cheerful, exulting, of course.” Here was a sly glance at Emma. “He had been so fortunate as to—I forget the precise words—one has no business to remember them. The information was, as you state, that he was going to be married to a Miss Hawkins. By his style, I should imagine it just settled.”

“Mr Elton going to be married!” said Emma, as soon as she could speak, shooting an equally irritated glance at Mr Knightley for withholding his information through their entire engagement, when it was clear he had this particular information to impart. “He will have everybody’s wishes for his happiness.”

Mr Knightley met her gaze with one of apology.

“He is very young to settle,” was Mr Woodhouse’s observation. “He had better not be in a hurry. He seemed to me very well off as he was. We were always glad to see him at Hartfield.”

“A new neighbour for us all, Miss Woodhouse!” said Miss Bates, joyfully. “My mother is so pleased! She says she cannot bear to have the poor old Vicarage without a mistress. This is great news, indeed. Jane, you have never seen Mr Elton! No wonder that you have such a curiosity to see him.”

Jane’s curiosity did not appear of that absorbing nature as wholly to occupy her.

“No—I have never seen Mr Elton,” she replied, starting on this appeal, “is he—is he a tall man?”

“Who shall answer that question?” cried Emma. “My father would say ‘yes’, Mr Knightley ‘no’, and Miss Bates and I that he is just the happy medium. When you have been here a little longer, Miss Fairfax, you will understand that Mr Elton is the standard of perfection in Highbury, both in person and mind.” Emma was quite ill at ease, sure that all and sundry would take any small note of her dishevelment and have the truth from her. Could they not hurry the discussion? Her thighs still moist from her coupling, she wondered they could not instantly discern her discomfort and thereupon determine the cause of it. She felt as though she wore the truth as plainly as she wore her shawl upon her shoulders. But she need not have worried. Neither her father nor the Bateses were observant of anything more pressing than whatever discourse they cared to explore, and so Emma began to calm with the assurance of her safety.

“Very true, Miss Woodhouse, so she will. He is the very best young man— But my dear Jane, if you remember, I told you yesterday he was precisely the height of Mr Perry. Miss Hawkins, I dare say, an excellent young woman. His extreme attention to my mother—wanting her to sit in the vicarage pew, that she might hear the better, for my mother is a little deaf, you know—it is not much, but she does not hear quite quick. Jane says that Colonel Campbell is a little deaf. He fancied bathing might be good for it—the warm bath—but she says it did him no lasting benefit. Colonel Campbell, you know, is quite our angel. And Mr Dixon seems a very charming young man, quite worthy of him. It is such a happiness when good people get together—and they always do. Now, here will be Mr Elton and Miss Hawkins, and there are the Coles, such very good people, and the Perrys—I suppose there never was a happier or a better couple than Mr and Mrs Perry. I say, sir”—turning to Mr Woodhouse—“I think there are few places with such society as Highbury. I always say, we are quite blessed in our neighbours. My dear sir, if there is one thing my mother loves better than another, it is pork—a roast loin of pork—”