“I am not brave,” she denied, tears studding her lashes as she met his gaze. Her distress was palpable. “If I was, I would have taken a stand against him that first day. I would never have allowed him to control me.”
He thought of the girl she must have been, terrified and young, running from a father who beat her. Changing her name. Finding her own path.Christ, he could not fathom it.
An overwhelming surge of emotion hit him then, right in the chest. In the heart.
He didn’t think. He lowered his head. Kissed those tears. Stole them with his lips. Licked up their salty misery. He wanted to take away her pain. To thieve her fears. To hold her in his arms and keep her safe from her brother. Safe from all the world, from anyone who would do her harm or bring her sadness. To chase away her grief.
To keep her here with him.
Always.
That was a dangerous want. A ridiculous need. It made no sense.
But it was there, beating inside him. He pulled her closer, his arm still around the soft curve of her waist. She felt so right. Johanna fit against him perfectly. As if she belonged. As if she had always been meant to be tucked into him, right there at his side.
“Felix,” she whispered.
His name, that was all.
His undoing, that was everything.
He could not exist for another second without claiming her lips as his. When their mouths met, it was different from their last kisses. This kiss was gentle and soothing, two people lost in a maelstrom, seeking shelter and solace. Seeking each other. He went slowly, not opening his lips at first. Just pressing their mouths together, absorbing the silken heat of her, breathing in her breaths.
He ran his nose along hers, and somehow, his hand had come free of hers and found its way to her face. He caressed her cheek, where she was smoother, her skin as luxurious as velvet and every bit as soft. She made a helpless sound of need, and it sent him over the edge.
His restraint shattered. So, too, his control.
His fingers sank into her hair. Pins rained on the settee around them. He did not care. His mouth opened over hers with an almost savage insistence, but she answered him with a sigh. She opened for him, her tongue sliding against his. She tasted sweet, like the cocoa biscuits that were Verity’s favorite. He had requested them for breakfast that morning, hoping it would cheer her after all she had endured the night before.
ButGod, he did not think he would ever be able to consume one bite of them himself without thinking of Johanna. Without his cock going rigid in his trousers as it was now. One sip from her lips was all he required, it seemed, to become a ravening beast.
Because now, he could not stop. She was kissing him back with a desperation to match his. Her arms twined around his neck. And she was pressing nearer to him, her body wrapped around his until she was almost in his lap. The thought of her in his lap was enough to make him more rigid. His ballocks drew tight.
He wanted to haul her atop him, her thighs bracketing his so she was open to him. He wondered if her cunny would be as soft as the rest of her, if it would be wet, if she would taste just as sweet. And somehow, he knew she would. He imagined her skirts pooled around them on the bench of the settee, opening the fall of his trousers so he could slide into her hot sheath.
But he could not do something so depraved.
Could he?
No, said his rational mind.
Yes, said the rest of him.
The base animal within him, the one who had wanted to consume Johanna whole from the moment he had first laid eyes on her when she had commanded the stage at the Crown and Thorn, overtook him. And he was helpless to stop.
He pulled her into his lap in truth, never breaking their kiss. She went willingly. Easily. And she knew what he wanted, it seemed, because she wanted it, too. She straddled him on the settee, her skirts trapped between them. In his fantasy, he had not realized how voluminous they were, how the layers of her petticoats and silk and satin would become an impediment with which he needed to wrestle. But wrestle with them he did, until they were no longer a mountain pinned against him but a great, billowing waterfall.
One of his hands sank deeper into her luxurious golden curls, grabbing a handful in a gentle grip to angle her better for his kisses. The other went beneath her skirts. He skimmed over the warm curve of her hip, denied her flesh by her lacy drawers.
Until he reached the split.
Nothing could have prepared him for that first touch. He ran his fingers over her slick seam, parting her folds. She was wet, so damn wet. He groaned, wanting to taste her there, to slide his cock home. Not yet. For now, this was all he dared take. All he wanted her to give.
He found the plump bud of her sex and circled it with his forefinger. Johanna cried out, thrusting herself into his hand, grinding against him as if she could not get enough. He circled her again, then worked over her with firm, quick strokes. All the while, he continued to kiss her, swallowing her broken cries as the pleasure he gave her made her increasingly mindless.
She rocked against his hand, thrusting as if they were making love.
He broke the kiss at last, and urged her head back, wanting to watch her face. He slicked her dew back down to her opening, abandoning the greedy flesh he had been torturing. Holding her gaze with his, he slid a finger inside her.
