“Thank you for finding me,” she told Lucien. “And for saving me.”
“We all need saving sometimes,” he said.
Sweetly floral notes filled the air, warring with the scent of smoke she realized must still be emanating from their discarded garments. It seemed a miracle they had escaped the burning, badly damaged warehouse together. A miracle they were both relatively unscathed. A miracle for the protective strength of his body all around her, his worshipful touch and tenderness soothing away the horrors of the day.
“Who saved you?” she dared to asked, eyes still firmly closed.
“You,” he said simply.
No one had ever said something so deeply moving to her, so personal, and she knew what such an admission must cost Lucien. She sat up in the bath and turned in his arms. Everything inside her came loose. The fear, the terror, the pain, the hope, the joy…all spiraled into one, effervescent sensation. Gently, she cupped his beloved face, stubbled in whiskers, committing it to memory. Their gazes locked and held.
“I love you, Lucien,” she told him, because she could not keep the words to herself any longer.
They were bigger than she was, huge and demanding, needing to be spoken.
His mouth was upon hers in the next breath, moving tentatively at first, then with greater hunger. The kiss turned carnal—lips and tongue and teeth and desperation. She sucked the fullness of his lower lip. Hours ago, she had faced the looming prospect of her own death, and now, she felt so very alive, with the mouth of the man she loved on hers. With his big, powerful body surrounding her, with their breaths mingling, their tongues moving languidly together.
Later, she would worry about consequences. Tomorrow, she would remember all the reasons why they could not be together. She would worry about the disparity between their social stations. Today, she did not want to fear. Today, she only wanted to be the woman who loved Lucien West, Duke of Arden.
Their kiss deepened, and she was ravenous for him. Perhaps it was the shock and the trauma she had endured. Perhaps it was simply the freedom of admitting her love to Lucien. Hazel could not be sure. The reason did not matter. Only the want did.
Her hand glided through the silken water, and she found him, thick and erect. His deep groan echoed in the tiled expanse of the bathroom. She gripped him, pumping his shaft. The tenderness inside her splintered, mingling with savagery. With the need to claim and be claimed. Deep inside, she hungered to be filled.
Hazel broke the kiss, losing herself in his verdant gaze. She was breathless, and his mouth was puffy from the ardency of their kisses. His dark wavy hair was wet, just beginning to dry. He had never been more gorgeous.
“I want you,” she told him, not bothering to mince words. “Now.”
He clenched his jaw. “I promised my sister I would not defile you in her house, damn it.”
She was determined, her hand stroking him with greater intent beneath the water. He grew firmer. His cock was a thing of beauty, and she wanted it inside her.Just one more time, whispered her heart. What could be the harm?
“Your sister never has to know,” she said.
“Bloody hell.” He took her wrist in a gentle grip and moved her hand away, before standing suddenly. “I am attempting to be honorable, Hazel. You have suffered so much today, and I will not be a rutting beast.”
Hazel looked up the impressive expanse of his body, taking in every sinew, every muscle. Water rolled down his broad chest and flat abdomen, down his thick thighs, dripped from the end of his rigid length. Entranced, she rose to her knees.
“I see no beast here,” she told him, and then she took him in her hand again.
She wanted to taste him. To pleasure him as he had done for her. If she never had another chance after today, she would not squander this one. Tentatively, she touched her tongue to the tip of him.
His quick inhalation sliced through the stillness of the air from above. “Hazel.”
She ignored the warning in his tone. Tilting her head back so her gaze locked with his, she took him into her mouth. She hummed her approval deep in her throat. An answering ache pulsed to life between her thighs.
“Fuck,” he ground out.
The leashed desire in his proper baritone spurred her on. She took him deeper, wanting more of him. His fingers were in her hair, cradling her skull. His hips moved, and he thrust into her mouth. Allowing her instinct to guide her, she ran her lips down his length, swirled her tongue over the tip of him until he moaned, then took him in her mouth again. He surged into the back of her throat. She withdrew, catching her breath, and flicked her tongue over him once more.
“No more.” He caught her arms, pulled her until she stood before him, dripping and naked as he was. “You are enough to tempt a saint.”
But there was no censure in his gaze. Tenderly, he helped her from the tub, then stepped out himself, before toweling the both of them dry. When he had finished, he kissed her long and hard, then took her hand in his.
Wordlessly, he guided her into the guest chamber. Hands linked, they made their way across the plush carpet and fell onto the bed together. She kissed him as he rose over her, settling himself between her spread thighs. His fingers dipped into her folds, parting her, petting the bud of sensitive flesh, and sending wild sparks of desire shooting through her.
Her nails dug into his shoulders. Her hips were moving restlessly, and this time, she did not want patience. She did not want prolonged, tender lovemaking. All she wanted was Lucien, deep inside her.
He slid a finger into her channel, testing her readiness. She bowed from the bed. It was as if every sensation within her had been heightened. Making love with him had always been a revelation, but this was a celebration. It was life and love.
