“You are softer and more vulnerable than anything I’ve ever seen. It’s like touching water.”

There’s something not quite right about that. He shouldn’t want me vulnerable. Or maybe I shouldn’t like him being such a fortress. The thought flits through my head. Then his lips touch mine, and it’s gone.

He takes it deeper this time, using his tongue to dampen my lips, biting me gently, teasing me so I lean forward. His large palm covers my breast, and I moan into his mouth.

There’s a glaring absence of his hand between my legs. I’m still holding up my nightgown. My panties are still wrapped tight around each thigh, but he doesn’t touch me.

When he kisses me again, I bite down on his lower lip.

“I’m still waiting for the third thing,” I say, and I know I’m pouting. It feels almost flirty. A little seductive. Who is this woman? Maybe I am someone men would die to have, right now.

He shakes in silent laughter, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter when his hand slides down my stomach to my sex. He pushes two fingers into the wetness and squeezes them together around my clit. I catch a high-pitched noise in my throat.

His dark gaze meets mine. We both know I have to be quiet.

We both know that I can’t.

Mr. Rochester presses his palm over my mouth. The moan that follows is muffled. He begins a slow and steady pace, fucking me with his fingers, rubbing the heel of his hand against my clit. I gasp and moan into his other hand. My hips rock to meet him, to make the friction harder, but whenever I do that he pulls back. He demands that I follow his rhythm, his pressure. He demands that I follow him in every way, and I close my eyes, yielding to him.

He rewards that with a firmer grip. It’s possession, the way he holds me between my legs. I feel owned by him. Other men might die to have me, but he already does.

My mouth is captured by his hand, so he can’t kiss me. Not there. But he does kiss me on the forehead, on the tip of my nose. Innocent places that are made filthy by the way his hand fucks me without mercy. A kiss beneath his hand, right on my chin. And then one at the hollow of my neck. He puts his tongue against my pulse and licks.

I won’t survive him. It’s too much, too hard, too fast.

Too much feeling after a lifetime of trying to be numb.