He pulls back, looking deep into my eyes and then he kneels up and tugs his sweater and his shirt over his head.
I reach up and swim my hands over the hard planes of his body, wanting to commit to memory every ridge and every muscle. His eyes drift shut as if my touch is electric and then he captures my hands in his, kissing each palm gently, before pinning them down onto the mattress above my head.
I think he’ll keep them there but he doesn’t, he strokes his hands down my wrists, over my arms and down my body, making me squirm in pleasure because his touch has always felt so good.
“You’re so beautiful, Briony,” he says. “So beautiful. I sometimes find it hard to believe you’re real.”
I can’t help giggling at that. “I’m real, Beaufort. Very real, and I’m right here with you.”
He shakes his head in disbelief and then scrabbles at the waistband of his pants, yanking them away and taking his briefs with them. Then, gently, slowly, with great care, he lays his body on top of mine. It’s warm and heavy, and I sink further into the mattress, loving the feel of his weight on top of me. I hook my hands around his neck, scratching my nails into his scalp, and bring his lips to mine once more.
We kiss like this for what feels like forever – slowly, languidly, exploring each other’s mouths until we’re breathless and needy.
Despite my earlier words, he’s careful with me – much more gentle than he usually is – rolling his body with consideration and grinding his hips into me with restraint. It’s so different from how things are between us usually. None of that angry, raw passion.
This is something deeper, something more intimate. He holds my gaze in his as he makes love to me, showing me with his body, just like he did with his words, how much he cares about me and how much he treasures me.
Although it’s different, it’s just as good, and soon I feel the pressure building inside me, like water against a dam. I say his name, and then I come – and all that pleasure breaks through.
It’s incredible, really. Only moments ago I was in the most pain I’ve ever experienced in my life – far more than the pain of being electrocuted by the Madame or by Henrietta; far more pain than the time Odessa and her gang had beaten me half to death. That lightning strike was excruciating.
But now, I’m floating in bliss and ecstasy and an indescribable pleasure.
My eyes never leave his all the way through my orgasm, and he watches me intently until finally the same pleasure swims across his face too. His rhythm falters; he jerks into me, grunts loudly, and then I feel that familiar flood of warm liquid between my thighs – one I’m beginning to love just as much as the feel of him inside me.
“I love you,” he whispers, kissing me again.
And we stay like that, entwined in each other, not wanting to move.
And I could almost forget, almost forget that there’s a pain in my heart.
But I can’t.
Chapter Six
Briony
Beaufort dresses me up warm in about ten layers of pajamas and sweaters and insists I remain in his bed. For once, I see no point in arguing. I won’t be winning that row and I do need to recover if I’m to find Fox.
However, he does allow me visitors – Fly and Clare. They come pushing into the room and despite the scowl from Beaufort, I’m jumping from the bed and flinging my arms around both their necks, letting out a garbled sob of relief.
“You’re okay!” I squeak.
“Of course, we’re okay,” Clare says, disentangling herself from my grip and straightening her wonky glasses. “Screech bats are easy to deal with if you know their weakness.”
“She was amazing,” Fly adds, “I’d still be in that grotto if it wasn’t for her.”
“It was you who got us through the tunnel,” Clare insists, smiling up at our tall friend, before focusing her attention back on me. “But how about you, Briony? Thorne said you were hurt.”
“Struck by lightning,” I say sheepishly, hooking my arms through both of theirs and dragging them to sit on the edge of the bed. “I have lots to te–”
But I don’t finish my words because a giant white wolf comes charging into the room, straight at me, knocking me backward onto the mattress. Before I’ve even had a chance to register what’s happened, he has me pinned to the bed with his heavy front paws and he’s dragging his tongue up and down my face in between panted gasps.
As I protest in anger and attempt to wriggle free, Dray transforms back to his human form.
Clare squeaks. “Oh my stars, he’s naked!”
Dray ignores her, a huge grin spread right across his face, a face covered in grime and dirt, sweat dripping down into my eyes. He’s kneeling on his hands and knees, caging my body beneath him, his hands pressed to my shoulders.
