For the next few weeks, for however much longer I stay on this island, I want Lord Westmore plastered to my body non-stop. Want him first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Want him to mold my body to his, so that when I inevitably move on, I can stillfeelhim—
“Am I hurting you?” West pulls me up off his shaft and cups my face, so tender that it steals what’s left of my breath. “Maddy? Are you crying?”
“No,” I lie, swiping at my eyes with my forearm. “It’s, like, a gag reflex thing. Or whatever. Don’t make it weird.”
“But—”
“West.” I grip him tight in one hand, squeezing a little too hard. He sucks in a deep breath, his chest shifting above me, but doesn’t react otherwise. “I want this. I really, really want this. Now are you gonna let me make you come or not?”
He frowns down at me, still unsure, so I play dirty. I lean forward, keeping steady eye contact, and rub the head slowly over my mouth like I’m putting on lipstick. The tip of my tongue darts out, but only enough to taste and tease. Not enough to get him all worked up again.
Another deep breath; another heave of his muscled chest. Does West know how good he looks in those shirts and waistcoats? Does he realize how they accentuate his broad shoulders and trim waist? Is he deliberately giving half the staff a vest fetish?
“Maddy,” West grits out. His eyes are still narrowed with concern, but his hand slides back into my hair. “Are you sure that—”
“Mm.”
My hum vibrates against his shaft as I take it deep into my mouth. Hand pumping, tongue stroking, breathing steadily through my nose, I force myself to live in this moment once again: West’s woodsy scent, his salt-clean taste, the heat and vibrancy of him sprawled in his chair, every muscle tensed to lunge for me at any moment.
Why fret about the future when I can focus onthis?
Why miss this man before I’ve even gone?
And why torture myself with impossible thoughts—of things like older, wealthy,experiencedaristocrats falling for nobodies like me?
Sure, I’ve been a nomad for all my adult life, but the thing is, no one has ever much cared whether I stayed or left. It’s easy to pick up and keep moving when there’s nothing keeping you tethered. And it’s never bothered me before, but suddenly…
Suddenly I want someone to care.
Someone to keep me close, and worry about whether I’m safe. Someone who could feel like home.
But I have no idea how to inspire feelings like that in another person, let alone someone like West, so I settle for making him jerk and thrash and curse up at the ceiling. It may be my first time, but hey, it’s not rocket science. And when he taps my shoulder in warning, I shake my head slightly and ignore it, then drink down a hot gush of West’s desire for me. My toes curl in my hiking socks, and my belly quivers with satisfaction.
I want it.
Every ounce that this man will give me.
Nine
West
We fall into a rhythm of sorts. A steady, torturous rhythm of seeking each other out in the grounds or the halls of the manor, then tumbling against tree trunks or bookcases in a desperate embrace.
A rhythm of swapping secret glances when I duck into Mrs Ainslie’s kitchen while the staff is there for their meals, pretending to need a snack when really it’s another glimpse of Maddy that I’m hungry for. Every time she smiles at me, shy and blushing in public, I want to snatch her up in my arms and kiss her for all the world to see.
Most of all, we meet every night in my study after midnight, the fire burning lazily in the grate, its heat nothing compared to the inferno scorching my insides. A large part of me is relieved that Maddy never feels the need to dress alluringly for our nightly encounters—that she always taps on my study door while bundled up like the Michelin man against the cold. She’s comfortable with me, not trying to seduce and impress, and I treasure that fact.
Almost as much as I treasure the press of her soft body against mine.
Her lips parting on a sigh, her breath tickling my chin.
The little noises she makes as I spread her out on my desk and worship her like the goddess she is, my research notes crinkling beneath her bare ass.
Maddy is a goddamn fever dream, and I burn up with each kiss, each touch, each moan. These secret nights spent together in my study are like one long hallucination, and cold dread eats at my gut whenever I picture them coming to their inevitable end.
“Yes,” Maddy hisses tonight, her fingers twisting and tugging at my hair. She’s perched on the edge of my desk, her bottom half completely nude, bare feet propped on the arms of my chair. I’m bent forwards, trying to bury my whole fucking face in her pussy. Eating her like a starving man. “Oh god.West. Yeah. Just like that.”
Goosebumps prickle across my back beneath my clothes, as they always do when Maddy moans my name.
