Chapter 6

M r. Russell set down his sketchbook and pencil, his eyes roaming over her body. She saw desire in his eyes, something her husband had never shown. She wanted to experience passion with a man.

Her breath quickened, her body responding to the raw intensity of Mr. Russell's gaze. She felt an irresistible pull between her thighs, the sensitive folds aching for his touch. Her nipples hardened without needing her touch.

He stepped closer, his fingers tracing a path up her arm and sending a shiver down her spine. He leaned in, capturing her mouth in a hungry kiss that left no doubt of his intentions. Their tongues danced together, exploring and teasing, as his hands began tugging his shirt free.

Standing, Mr. Russell pulled off his neck cloth and shirt, and tugged off his boots and stockings. He unbuttoned his breeches, letting them drop and stepping out of his small clothes. Joy had never seen a man undress so quickly. Come to think of it, she'd never watched her husband undress. He'd always come to her in his night shirt and kept it on during their brief conjugal sessions.

When Mr. Russell stood naked before her, she was in awe of the muscles, the black hair scattered about, and the proud erection jutting out from his taut groin. His gaze held hers, as stimulating as a touch, before he knelt again to kiss her.

Joy gasped as his lips left a trail of fire down her neck, his stubble grazing her skin. His hands roamed her body, smoothing over every curve and contour, until they found her breast. He teased her nipple with his thumb, eliciting a low moan from deep within her.

His fingers danced down her abdomen, tracing a path to the damp curls between her legs. She opened her legs more, and he wasted no time delving into her warmth.

Her hips bucked as his fingers found her clit, her body instinctively seeking more of his touch. He circled the sensitive nub, and she gasped and whimpered as she writhed beneath him. The room filled with the sounds of their pleasure, the crackling fire serving as a sultry backdrop to their lovemaking.

As she neared the edge of another release, he slipped a finger inside her, his thumb still working her swollen clit. The combination of sensations was overwhelming, and she cried out as her orgasm washed over her. Her inner walls clenched around his finger, her body shaking with the force of her release.

Mr. Russell moved to lay above her, the chaise not wide enough for both of them. His lips met hers in a searing kiss that reignited every nerve ending in her body. It was not the gentle peck of an acquaintance, nor the restrained touch of a gentleman caller—it was the kiss of a man who had long denied himself the taste of passion, now unleashed.

His hands, those of an artist accustomed to shaping beauty from raw materials, now gently caressed her face as if she were his most treasured creation. The sensation of his rough fingertips against her skin sent a shiver down her spine, and Joy found herself leaning into the kiss, eager for the comfort and excitement it provided.

His hands traced the gentle slope of her collarbone, leaving in their wake a trail of heat on her chilled skin. Her heart raced, quickening with each inch he explored, as if it too sought to be closer to him.

"Mr. Russell," she breathed out. But his lips met hers again and she forgot what she was going to ask.

He responded not with words, but with action, lowering his head to the tender expanse of her neck. The gentle nips preceded every gasp and moan that she offered up to the quiet room.

"Ah..." The sound escaped her, unbidden and raw, as he continued his ministrations. In that moment, Joy felt as though she were coming undone under his touch.

Emboldened by her experiences, her hands found their way to his chest, a chiseled landscape of his muscles. She traced the lines and grooves with a sense of wonder and discovery.

His breath hitched slightly under her touch. The room, filled with only the occasional crackle from the fireplace and their involuntary vocalizations, became an intimate cocoon where only their mutual desire existed.

"Mrs. Sinclair," he whispered, his hand returning to the heat between her thighs.

"Y-Yes?"

"Are you certain?" His piercing eyes searched hers, seeking permission, ever respectful despite the urgency that fueled them both.

"More than I have ever been," Joy assured him. "Please, show me how it should be done."

And with that affirmation, Mr. Russell aligned himself with her, entering her slowly, the tension in his body showing his restraint.

Joy's eyes fluttered shut, her brow furrowing slightly in pleasure as the heat of his breath fanned across her neck, her racing pulse responding to the agility of his hands tracing the contours of her sides. Her fingers locked around his wrists, drawing him even closer, pressing their warm bodies together in an almost desperate embrace. His mouth left a trail of burning kisses down her collarbone and neck, displacing the cool air with each delicate nip and lick, sending shivers over her that turned into tremors of anticipation. The rough pad of his thumb brushed against the crests of her breasts, barely touching but evoking a moan from deep within her.

As he continued to stroke slowly inside her, Joy's stomach fluttered. She arched into him, eager for more—for his touch to explore and claim every inch of her body that had been yearning for this moment for so long. When his kisses reached the valley between her breasts, his hot breath made them tingle with excitement. He placed a soft kiss there, followed by another on her sternum.

"More," she breathed out against his hair as he nestled his face into the crook of her neck. Her hips rocked forward instinctively, grinding against him in a silent plea for release. She could feel the pressure building inside her core, pulsing with each throb of their hips together.

Mr. Russell let out a low growl against her skin before lifting his head slowly, looking into Joy's eyes, holding her gaze captive.

The sounds of their lovemaking filled the room, painting a vivid picture of their entwined passion. The chaise creaked beneath them, its wooden frame moaning in response to the forceful thrusts. His deep groans reverberated against Joy's ear, the sound raw and primal, as if every ounce of control he possessed was slipping away. In response, she cried out his name, high-pitched and breathless, her body arching off the chaise in search of still deeper pleasure. Their bodies moved as one, each motion mirroring the other's increasing fervor.

As he drove into her harder and faster, Joy clung to him desperately, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as she surrendered to the rapture coursing through her. The scent of their sweat and each other's skin mingled in the air around them, becoming intoxicatingly heady. With each powerful stroke, he pushed deeper inside, claiming her completely. Her moans became louder with every passing second, echoing off the walls.

She could taste the sweetness of him on her tongue as they kissed frantically, their tongues tangling and dancing together in a whirlwind of sensation. His lips were soft yet firm against hers, demanding attention while also offering gentle reassurance. His beard scraped against her skin, leaving tiny scratches that stung and tingled in a way that only added to the intensity of their encounter.

The heat between them was palpable. Joy felt it everywhere—in the damp flesh against flesh, in the pounding of their hearts, in the taut muscles that shook beneath her fingers. Her body tensed. A gasp escaped her lips, blossoming into a series of soft moans that echoed his name—a litany of pleasure that crowned the chaotic beauty of her release.

Waves of pure bliss cascaded over her, ripples spreading through the very fibers of her being, leaving no corner untouched by their exquisite torment. Every nerve sang, every sense heightened, as she surrendered herself to the ecstasy that claimed her wholly.

In answer, with a strangled groan, he reached his climax. His body trembled and collapsed atop Joy's quivering figure. They lay there, a tangle of limbs and whispered breaths, as the echoes of their passion slowly faded into the quiet of the room.

In the aftermath, Joy's body was heavy with fulfillment and the sweet fatigue of spent desire. Their chests rose and fell in unison, the only sound amidst the stillness, as they both caught their breath. She felt the steady rhythm of Mr. Russell's heart—a drumbeat entwined with her own.

The heat from his body enveloped her, a tender shroud that warded off the remnants of any chill left in the evening air. His breath, now gentle and measured, caressed her neck in a soothing cadence, a stark contrast to the storm of passion that had raged moments before.

Joy's fingers traced idle patterns across his broad back, muscles still taut from exertion, yet yielding beneath her touch. The texture of his skin was both rugged and sublime, and she wondered why she and her husband had never lain together this way. After the bliss had passed. This was the most intimate moment she could imagine sharing with a man, this shared repletion.

She then realized what she had done, how far her conduct was from what was expected of a respectable widowed governess. Joy chuckled softly, the sound dancing in the air. "We have scandalized the saints and shocked the muses, Mr. Russell."

"Let them be scandalized," he whispered back in a low rumble that reverberated within her chest. "And don't you think ‘Mr. Russell' is a bit formal, considering how we are dressed?" His hand swept up the naked skin of her hip and waist, coming to rest on her breast, where he tweaked her nipple.

"I don't know your given name."

"Moses. Call me Moses."

"My name is Joy," she responded. She realized that by morning, she'd likely be on her way, but for the little time they had she would enjoy the intimacy of hearing a man speak her name.

"It suits you. Joy. I'm too heavy to remain here." He rose to his feet and reached for his breeches.

She sat up, looking for the dressing gown she'd discarded what seemed ages ago.

"It's growing late. I had planned to give you some blankets to sleep here, but…would you care to join me in my bed?" He stood before her in his breeches, only the top two buttons holding up the fall, his magnificent torso bared, sweat gleaming in the firelight.

Butterflies stirred inside her, but Joy tamped them down. He'd had his pleasure, he wasn't seducing her again. No longer needing the propriety of separate rooms, he likely was thinking of her comfort in the offer of a mattress beneath her. "Yes, that would be fine. But first…"

A wild notion had entered her thoughts as she looked at his well-muscled form. When would she have the chance to study a man's body as she could his? "Might I be so bold as to request the honor of capturing your likeness?" Her eyes locked onto his as she steeled her nerves. "I wish to sketch you, sir—unadorned and in repose, as vulnerable to my pencil as I was to yours."

A shadow of hesitation crossed the rugged terrain of Moses' face, his eyes narrowing for a moment. The silence stretched between them, taut as a violin string, until it was pierced by his acquiescence. "If that is your desire, Joy," he said softly, betraying none of the emotion that softened his gaze for a fleeting moment.