A Victorian Virgin? Ch. 02

"None of the other things we've done tonight are proper," Ned told her, with his easy grin. "Please Victoria, all ask is that you lie down beside me. I'll kiss you, you'll kiss me, but that's all. Trust me."

"I don't trust you."

"Please, Victoria. I promise you that I won't force you to do anything." He got up and caught her about the waist. His lips ran down the side of her neck, but she remained as rigid as steel.

"Don't," she snapped.

He turned her about to face him and pressed his lips against hers. She gave no response. "Nightingale, please, just lie by my side." He held her waist in his hands and thrust his pelvis against her hips. This time he kissed her violently.

Victoria was in a state of confusion. She wanted to respond to the pull she felt toward Ned Hawke. She wanted to push her hips against his and feel that strange, hard man-thing press against that wet cleft between her thighs. She wanted to kiss him so hungrily that he would gasp just as she had. Her body was hot with desire. Her heart was still pulsing too rapidly to count beats. Her brain was screaming at her to stop. She was behaving in a disgraceful manner. She should not kiss this man, let alone lie beside him. She could not lose her virginity. It was the only dowry she had.

Here she was with a man kissing her in the way she had kissed him. She wanted to kiss him back, to run her tongue and body against his. Her brain was winning this battle. She could not respond to Ned Hawke. The risk was too great.

He stopped kissing her and regarded her with sad eyes. "I'd best take you home then."

The sadness in his eyes made her decision and sealed her fate. Secretly, it was what she had wanted all along, although would never have admitted such a thought to herself. If Ned Hawke had been anybody but a rich doctor with an uncle with a thriving private clinic, she may have been able to pull herself away. "I don't want to go home, just yet." She lay slowly and deliberately on the bed. It was surprisingly soft, much softer than Charlotte's mattress. The satin cover was strangely slippery beneath her body.

Ned Hawke lay beside her. "It isn't that bad is it? Quite soft, really."

She felt the bed swim beneath her and heard it creak as he shuffled over to press his body against her side. The hardness prodding her thigh was frightening. She quivered as she felt his lips brush her cheek. "Please-" she breathed, but was cut off by his lips finding hers. Quickly, she broke the kiss. "This is a very bad idea."

"Roll over," Ned said. "Face me." Victoria felt his hands on her opposite hip, pulling her toward him. She resisted, knowing that if she looked at him, all would be lost. "Victoria, please," she heard him whisper as she stiffened in his grasp. The man lying beside her shifted again and she saw his face looking down upon hers. She shut her eyes tightly as he kissed her once more.

"Open your eyes," he told her. Damn it, she was as rigid as a corpse. "Please, Victoria, I promise I will keep my clothes on. There will be no connection, no intercourse, no sex, no whatever you want to call it. Please, I just want you to be close to you."

She wanted to believe him. She felt his lips brush against hers and knew it was wrong, but she responded anyway. Suddenly she was opening her legs as he mounted her. She only stopped kissing him when she felt his hard penis pressing through his clothing and the fabric on her inner thigh. Ned instinctively knew what it was that troubled her. "I promised you, no intercourse," his voice whispered huskily in her ear. His cheek swept against hers; strangely, she wondered how many times he had shaved that day to get his skin that smooth. It had been prickly when she had touched it in room twenty-one.

"Then what are we doing?" she heard herself gasp.

"Just having fun." He kissed her again, then pulled back from her, supporting himself with his arms. "Are you quite comfortable? Is that damned lumpy thing they keep putting on women's skirts bothering you? I bet it's very uncomfortable, only you're too much of a lady to say it, right?"

Victoria nodded. The bustle, though only a small one, was prodding into her back, forcing her waist and hips forward and curving her spine at a difficult angle. She would never have said a word about it, had he not asked. It was embarrassing that he was aware of how her underwear and clothing was held together.

"We'll roll over then."

"Roll over?" Victoria asked, confused.

"You'll be on top; I'll be on the bottom. Just hold onto me and roll over when I do."

It was easier said than done. In the end, Ned separated himself from Victoria and lay on his back. Victoria crouched beside him, observing him with frightened eyes. He was very hard now, his large erection painfully constricted within his drawers and trousers. She tried not to look at it, but somehow her eyes always strayed that way. Mother of God, it was huge. How could such a thing fit inside a woman? It must be so dreadfully painful. She could not even imagine ever committing such an act... yet here she was, sitting beside a man on a bed.

Ned watched her line of vision. She was terrified, he could see. "It's all right. I won't hurt you. I promised you, no intercourse, didn't I? Of course, you can touch it, if you like."

Victoria jumped as if struck by lightning. How could he tell what she had been thinking? "No, I- No."

"Why don't you come and lie on me?"

"I'll squash you," Victoria protested.

"If I squashed you, I'm very sorry, but you will weigh a lot less than I. Besides, I do not mind a little extra pressure." He smiled his easy grin and his eyes seemed to twinkle. His hand massaged her wrist.

Gently, slowly, she climbed on top of him. She was clumsy. She did not know what to do with her legs, hands or face. They had seemed to fit together with Ned on top, but now it just seemed awkward and uncomfortable. "What do I do now?" she asked, frantically.

She shuddered as she felt his hands glide underneath her skirt and across her buttocks. They guided her legs gently apart, lingering on the wetness between her legs. Her drawers had no centre seam between the legs, a characteristic seen in most women's underwear of the day. He pushed her hips down so that her crotch rested uncomfortably on the fabric holding his sex. Next, he positioned her arms beneath him, so that were bound closely together in a hug. She felt his own hands holding her just above her hips.

He kissed her gently, then passionately, writhing his pelvis so that his erection rubbed strangely between her legs. It sent jolts of pleasure through her body, causing her heart to pump harder than ever. She knew not what to do in response. She was frightened. She lay there, stiff and contorted, unable to respond to his kisses.

"Are you all right?" he asked her.

Victoria nodded, numbly, in reply. What he was doing to her felt good, but she knew not whether to tell him she liked it or appear shocked and frightened of what it was he was doing.

"Don't you like what we're doing? We can stop if you don't."

"I do like it," she heard herself respond shakily. She kissed him hungrily to prove it, her hot tongue gently massaging his.

"If you like what I'm doing you should move against me," Ned gasped between kisses.

"What do you mean?"

"When I rub you, you rub me." She still looked perplexed. He hurriedly pushed his hips against hers as demonstration, and then pressured her hips with his hands to do the same. Gently, she thrust against him. "Harder," he whispered in a hoarse voice. This time his pelvis crashed against hers and she gave a ragged gasp. Their lips met in hunger, kissing, biting, manipulating. At the same time, their bodies violently writhed against each other. He heard her intake shuddering breaths as her body grew hot with pleasure. He pushed harder and quicker against her until she gave a final, quaking gasp. He emptied painfully into his drawers a few seconds later.

Victoria rolled off Ned and lay with her head on his chest. She was breathing heavily and painfully, her breath scorching from her lungs in short bolts. Her body was hot and ran with sweat. The fabric of her dress was heavily creased and pulled above her waist. Her petticoats were jumbled chaotically about her thighs, the drawers beneath clinging to the sweaty curve of her buttocks and legs. A strange, hot, thick wetness left the cleft between her legs as slippery as egg whites. She recalled Genevieve Gore's case of self-abuse and wondered if this was a similar act to the one she had been so disgusted by. It was strange that such a sinful experience could bring so much pleasure.

"Did you like that, Nightingale?" Ned asked her.

"Yes," she whispered in reply.

"Next time it will be better," he promised. When she turned to kiss him, he shook his head. "No, I'd best get you back home. I wouldn't want to upset your sister or her husband." He helped her re-pin the sections of stray hair that had escaped their bonds and to straighten her skirts. When he was convinced she looked unmolested, they left the room, fetched their clothing and caught a cab back to Spitalfields.

He gave her a chaste kiss goodnight, whispering in her ear, "I'll be in touch in the next couple of days. Next time, don't wear your corset." She was left on the side of the street wondering if she had heard correctly. Strangely, the idea appealed.