Without warning, he seized her about the waist and lifted her, bearing her to the desk where he laid her on her back. With insistent hands, he parted her legs and his lips replaced his fingers in giving pleasure to her. Cecilia was bucking and writhing on the table now.
There came a tearing sound, and suddenly, her hands were free. She ripped the blindfold away and lifted her head. Lionel looked up at her without ceasing his lapping. She clamped both hands on his head, burying her fingers in his hair. His tongue moved with deliberate strokes, each one drawing a gasp from her lips.He felt her body quiver beneath him, every tremor urging him on. His hands roamed over her, grasping the curves of her body.
Finally, when they could take it no more, he moved up, positioning himself between her thighs. She arched towards him, desperate for the connection. He entered her in one swift motion, a gasp escaping both their lips at the sensation. He began to move, slow at first, each thrust deliberate and deep. Her legs wrapped around him, urging him on. He picked up the pace, the sound of their bodies colliding filling the space around them. Each thrust was met with a cry from her, her nails digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer, deeper.
Lionel shifted, moving both her legs to the side, changing their angle. “Beg for it,” he growled, his voice thick with desire.
She whimpered, her breath catching. “Please, Lionel… I need you—” she gasped.
He didn’t need to hear anymore. With that, he thrust into her with a new intensity. Her body arched to meet him, her moans louder, more desperate. He grabbed her hips, pulling her against him with every thrust. The sensation was overwhelming. Her fingers clawed at his chest. Their movements were frantic, primal.
He pulled out suddenly, flipping her onto her stomach. “Hands behind your back,” he commanded. She obeyed, her body trembling. He entered her again, this time from behind, as he kept her wrists fixed in place with one hand. His thrusts were relentless, each one harder than the last. His other hand wentaround her throat as he leaned over to snarl wolfishly into her ear. “You like that, don’t you?”
“Yes, oh God, yes,” she cried out, her voice breaking. He reached around, his hand finding the sensitive spot between her legs, rubbing in time with his thrusts. Her screams of pleasure filled the room, raw and unrestrained.
Lionel felt her tighten around him, her cries reaching a fevered pitch. He drove into her, his movements rough and commanding. "You're mine," he growled. "Say it."
“I'm yours,” she panted. “Only yours.”
He thrust harder, his control slipping. Cecilia cried out, again and again, body convulsing and shaking. He gave one final, powerful thrust, and they both shattered, their bodies collapsing together in a heap of exhausted satisfaction. Then, Lionel lifted his head from her and laid his body against hers. The joining of their two naked forms was as glorious as it had been the first time. The world shattered. Time and space ended, and the totality of their existence was their entwined bodies.
When it was over, Lionel lay with his head pillowed upon Cecilia’s breasts. She had her arms about him, stroking his hair. He did not want to move, the softness of her body more than compensating for the hardness of the table on which they lay.
His body felt liquid, his desire sated. He felt utterly vulnerable, exposed but uncaring. If Cecilia was a spy, then she wascommitted to her cause, willing to give the entirety of her being to it.
He could not imagine any woman giving so much unless driven by true desire.
Trust was difficult for him. An unfamiliar concept. But, something was changing. Perhaps he was bewitched. If so, he welcomed it.
A fork in the road stood before him. To lie in Cecilia’s arms and accept her as his wife. Or to reject her once and for all. Reject her and continue his quest for vengeance alone. Something told him that such a lonely, personal quest would destroy him. It would take something of his humanity away, never to return. And would leave him unfulfilled once achieved. But in the same vein, having her join his quest for vengeance against his own blood might put her in harm’s way. Might even destroy whatever they dared to build. The foundations of a marriage birthed on duplicity and fueled by betrayal could never survive. And that was a gross sin he could never forgive himself for.
He was conflicted. For, no matter how he framed this dilemma, greed was the prevalent emotion. He couldn’t allow Thorpe to walk free. He couldn’t allow anyone else to have Cecilia. Not now, not ever. A gnawing feeling clawed at his stomach—a feeling that he might regret the dark path he was treading down. His heart pounded against his ribcage and he swore she could feel it.
“Lionel,” Cecilia whispered after an age of laying in his arms, “I don’t know what the future holds, nor can I convince you that a marriage can be anything but a burden, but if it is to be the case that we must separate some day, then can I make a request? That this dream only end when the scandal is forgotten? And not a moment sooner.”
He raised his head to face her. Seconds later, he crushed his lips against hers fiercely. “So, what would you like to do first?”
“So soon?”
“Of course,” he chuckled, pinching her cheeks at her astonishment. “We hardly have forever. I shall make your time at Thornhill immemorable.”
A flicker of anxiety passed through her at his words, the implication of their fleeting time together sinking in. But she left it there for now, at the back of her thoughts. “Hmm. A tour of Thornwood, perhaps? I have only ever seen the view from my bedchamber window and it looks a magical place.”
He kissed her again. “Your wish is my command.”
CHAPTER 16
Cecilia whooped as her white mare, Summer, leaped the low hedge and stretched its neck to race across the field beyond. Lionel was ahead, as he had been for the entire ride. His gray stallion, Thor, was larger than her mount and as heavily muscled as its rider. He looked back at her, grinning at the sight. Her eyes were streaming from the gale of their passage, and her bonnet, secured around her neck by a ribbon, was bouncing in the wind. Long, curling locks of red hair flew like a banner. Lionel’s own dark hair streamed like the mane of his horse. He looked like no English gentleman that Cecilia had ever come across. On horseback, the pain in his legs did not encumber him. He appeared like a Tartar prince, galloping across the Russian steppes intent on pillage and plunder.
Cecilia grinned in return as Summer began to gain on Thor. She may be of slighter build but that meant she was lighter and bearing a lighter rider too. Her stamina was beginning to tell on the big gray. Summer’s nose was drawing level with Thor’s tail as they followed the line of a tall hedge that bordered the far side of the field. Lionel pointed ahead and to the right.
Cecilia looked and saw a hill with a cluster of trees on its summit. Lionel steered his horse in that direction and she followed. There were sheep up there but they scattered in fluffy alarm at the thunderous approach of the riders. She felt a pang of remorse over frightening the poor creatures but supposed that simply walking over to them would probably have elicited the same response.
Finally, Lionel drew his rein at the top of the hill and Cecilia reached him moments later. She wore skirts that she had cut and sewed especially to allow her to ride astride the horse. A pair of pantaloons or breeches like Lionel would wear would have been ideal but she daredn’t go that far from convention yet. Instead, the skirt of her dress, pale gray today with a bodice of yellow, sat on either side of the saddle, as did her modified petticoats. Beneath those, she wore a laundered pair of Lionel’s undergarments. That was a secret known only to him and her. They were large on her and felt very odd as a garment, but they served to protect her modesty while mounting or dismounting.
She drew Summer alongside Thor and the two stablemates nuzzled each other affectionately. Lionel leaned from the saddle to steal a long kiss from her too.
“Magnificent,” he breathed. “I have never seen a finer rider. Is that Arthur’s influence again?”
