Judith Ivory by Angel In a Red Dress

Faintly trembling from the rise and fall of her breathing. “ Mon Dieu, Christine —” he murmured.
    He said something more—soft, foreign—as he cupped his palm under a naked breast. His hand lifted, felt the weight of the exposed breast. Christina’s body arched.
    “Ay—” She called out as his fingers gently enclosed this soft curve of her body, possessing it, squeezing, tugging at the nipple….
    Halfheartedly, she raised her hand to his, thinking to pull it away. Yet, somehow, this seemed an impossible effort. His mouth began to plant wet kisses along her collarbone…. She moaned in frustration. If she could have quieted his movements for just a moment…But his dark head bent further. The smell of his hair, clean, warm, filled her senses. And he took the pink tip of her breast into his mouth.
    She let out a half-sob and reached for him, taking hisface into her hands. My God, she had to stop him from such indecent, unearthly pleasure…. But he took her hands and kissed their palms. Heat shot up her wrists like jolts of lightning. And he slipped the last of the dress from her wrists and shifted her around. The low table—full of pots he cleared off with one sweeping clatter—hit her in the backs of the thighs. He bent her backwards. She caught herself on her arms, fell to her elbows. And he pressed forward.
    Distantly, Christina remembered she was trying to stop him, but the reason for her resistance had blurred into a glazed heat behind her eyes. He bent over her, taking her other breast into his mouth. Pleasure spun out on pleasure, darkened. Nothing existed but the feel of his tongue and mouth making their gentle pressure on her bare flesh.
    A soft breeze blew through the greenhouse. It cooled the wetness left behind on the abandoned breast, contrasting this—a mild irritation—with the warm sensations that enveloped the other breast as he covered it with his mouth. A kind of maddening feeling took hold; wanting him to be everywhere, to make her feel warm, liquid in every curve and crevice of her body. She arched slightly, offering her breasts, her nakedness to him.
    He took it. His knee came onto the table, claiming a place between her legs. The weight of his hips came onto her. Christina let her arms slip out. She lay back on the table. She felt herself sinking…melting…. Let him, she thought. My God in heaven, let him. Whatever he wants….
    Then, suddenly, nothing. Nothing at all.
    With an abruptness that left Christina floundering, the man above her became still. The moment stretched out, quiet, vacant. Vaguely, Christina became aware of the wind chimes by the terrace, far off. They clattered beyond the bushes and flowers and trees. While there, in the greenhouse, time itself seemed to have halted.
    Adrien remained bent over her, half on top of her. She could feel his abdomen, alive like a warm animal against her, moving with the rapid rhythm of his heart, his breath. But his chest remained raised. He had turned to look over his shoulder.
    She made a soft moan, “What’s wrong—?”
    He put his hand over her mouth. “Shhh.”
    “What?” She was in a fog of longing, a sea of confusion. What in the world was he doing now?
    “We have company,” he whispered. He took her by the arms, trying to gather her up. But she was limp as a doll. His mouth brushed her ear. “Tonight,” he murmured. He folded up the front of her dress to cover her; a caress, a shiver….
    And this time, Christina heard it too. Evangeline’s laughter. It carried on the wind. It blended into the sound of the odd bits of metal and piping that hung, tinkling, by the terrace steps.
    “Thank you, then,” Evangeline’s voice said, “I’m sure I can find her now.” Then a light little tune. She was singing. Evangeline was humming and da-da-da-ing her way down the path that led to the greenhouse.

Chapter 7
    Evangeline’s voice closed in on them. “Christina,” she called, “Christina!”
    But a voice close to