The kiss began softly, an echo of the one they had shared in the carriage, but deepened with each passing heartbeat. Her hands, tentative at first, rose to his shoulders. When he drew her closer, she did not resist.
He guided her toward the bed, kneeling briefly to remove her shoes, pressing his lips to her ankle before rising again. She watched him, wide-eyed, her cheeks flushed with color.
“Tell me if there is something that frightens you… something you do not like,” he murmured.
“If… but I don’t think that will occur. Either of those things,” she said again, her voice scarcely audible.
He bent to kiss her once more, his lips moving with unhurried devotion. The ribbon at her shift loosened easily, and when the fabric slid down her arms, he caught his breath. She was breathtaking. Not a goddess carved in marble, but real and warm, her flesh gleaming like gold from the small fire in the dimly lit room.
He touched her reverently, his hands tracing the curve of her shoulder, the slope of her breast. When his mouth followed, she gasped—startled at first, then easing into something else. Something pleasured and sensual. He smiled faintly against her skin, murmuring reassurances between each kiss. Her body arched toward his touch, her response eager and guileless.
He worshipped her quietly, learning the shape of her, the texture of her skin, the touches that made her gasp and those that would make her cry out or moan with pleasure. Every touch, every kiss, every was designed to coax her from hesitation towonder, to lose herself in passion. When her trembling became too much, he soothed her, his words a low rumble against her skin.
He eased his hand along her thigh, slipping between them with a reverent touch. Her breath caught, but she made no move to stop him. Instead, she took a deep breath, exhaling as she forced herself to relax, to open for him. It was the sweetest of invitations, and one he was helpless to resist.
Caressing that tender flesh at the apex of her thighs, finding her slick with need, he kept the touches light at first, gentle and easy as he introduced her to that intimacy. Her response was open, honest, unguarded. Every sigh, every gasp, every arch of her hips as she sought more from him was something to be treasured. He brought her to release with a patience that bordered on reverence, holding her close as her body shuddered in his arms.
When it passed, he gathered her gently, her cheek resting against his shoulder, her breath still uneven. The fire crackled softly, casting gold across her hair and the bare curve of her neck.
She stirred after a time, her eyes lifting to his. “That was lovely… but terribly one sided,” she whispered, the words fragile, intimate.
“Bringing you pleasure is its own reward. But there is more. So much more,” he whispered to her as he brushed his thumb along her cheek, his voice low. “Eliza… are you ready?”
Her lips parted, her eyes luminous in the firelight. “Yes,” she breathed. “I am.”
Chapter
Twenty-One
For a long moment after she spoke, there was only silence. The words still hung between them—fragile, trembling—before Gabriel leaned forward, his breath warm against her temple.
He kissed her again, slow and unhurried, a caress that deepened by degrees until thought itself dissolved into feeling. She had imagined, foolishly perhaps, that such closeness would frighten her. But it did not. Instead, it brought a strange calm, as though she had stepped into a moment that had been waiting for her all her life.
His touch was reverent, every movement measured as though he feared she might break. The fire painted him in gold and shadow; she could see the taut line of his jaw, the gentleness in his eyes. When his fingers brushed her cheek, she turned her face into his hand without hesitation.
He spoke her name softly, the syllables roughened by emotion. And when he kissed her once more, he moved between her thighs. She could feel the hard length of him pressed against her. And then he was reaching down, parting her gently.
Eliza forced herself to relax, to push away any lingering fear and accept him as he eased into her. It was both strange andwondrous all at that same time. And then there was the briefest flash of pain. No more than a second or two, really. And in its wake was only a feeling of fullness, of being connected to him in a way that made her feel both vulnerable and powerful all at once. Because he trembled. She could feel him shuddering against her, struggling to rein in his need.
The world beyond that small chamber ceased to exist. It was only the rhythm of their bodies moving together, of their ragged breaths mingling in the silence of that room. He murmured her name in such a way that it sounded like a prayer on his lips. Each touch built upon the last—slow, searching, certain—until she forgot what it meant to be afraid.
The tension that had gripped her before, that had preceded the stunning and all consuming pleasure of release, began to build again. All she could do was cling to him, wrapping her arms about his shoulders, her nails scoring his skin gently as she arched beneath him. But she wasn’t prepared. How could she have been? Because this wasn’t simply release. It wasn’t simply pleasure and relief all mingling together within her. This was a deep and soul binding connection, something that rocked her to the very foundation of her being, and she was helpless to do anything but let it carry her away. A surrender, yes, but not of will. A surrender of all the loneliness she had ever carried. And in its place, something new—something whole.
He stilled above her, his hips pressed tightly against hers, the heat of his release pulsing inside her. It only amplified her own pleasure, until they could do nothing but shudder together, clinging to one another as sweat cooled on their skin and their breathing slowly returned to normal.
He whispered to her, words she could scarcely remember but would never forget. His name left her lips in a gasp, a plea, a promise. And when he gathered her close afterward, she felt the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek and knew, withabsolute certainty, that whatever had drawn them together was more than chance.
She drifted into sleep within the circle of his arms, her last waking thought a quiet, incredulous joy.
The morning camesoft and gray, with rain misting against the windowpanes. Eliza stirred, blinking awake to find the light spilling across the coverlet, the embers in the hearth still faintly glowing. Gabriel was already awake, sitting at the edge of the bed, his shirt open at the throat, his expression distant and thoughtful.
When he turned toward her, the solemnity in his features softened into something warmer. “Good morning, Eliza.”
The sound of it—his voice, her new name—sent an unexpected warmth through her. She smiled, shyly. “Good morning, my lord.”
“Gabriel,” he corrected gently.
“Gabriel,” she echoed, and the simplicity of it made her heart tighten.
