I love him.I hadn’t said the words to shut him up or make him forget about Hindley and the evil things he’d done in his book. I said them because every syllable rang true inside me, and every fiber of my body begged for the fire of his passion to engulf me.
The words unleashed something in Heathcliff – if this was what his monster was capable of when stoked with love and kindness instead of cruelty, then how different might his story have ended if he hadn’t been denied so much. He ravaged my mouth with his, rendering me completely senseless, lost to his violent devotion.
His hand pawed at my dress, dragging it up my hips. Someone could walk in at any moment. But I didn’t care. I had Heathcliff. We belonged to each other and it felt like my entire life had been waiting for this moment. I needed Heathcliff inside me, right now.
Clearly, Heathcliff had the same idea. In seconds he had my skirts up around my torso, tearing my panties away. He clawed at his breeches, popping off a button in his haste. It ricocheted off the toilet stall and skidded out of sight. Heathcliff yanked down his breeches, pressing his hardness against my hip. “Bloody stockings,” he muttered, fighting to roll them down over his rigid cock.
I slashed the thin silk with the edge of my nail, tearing a hole wide enough for the head of his cock to poke through. Heathcliff’s dark eyes crinkled as he laughed. “Now who is the feral one?”
“They don’t call me Mina Wilde for nothing.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him close, pressing together our beating hearts.
After rolling on a condom, Heathcliff leaned his weight against me and lifted my arse in his hands. I wrapped my legs around him and clamped my thighs tight. The hilt of his sword jabbed against the back of my thigh. He found my opening, sliding inside me. I gasped as he claimed me, body and soul.
We found each other in the storm of our love, driving rain and hard hail and winds that tore at our skin. Heathcliff said with his kisses what he could never utter. His monster rushed boldly to the surface, pushing out through his skin, and Heathcliff and the monster became one, and they were fierce, and storm-tossed, and utterly beautiful.
My Heathcliff.
Heathcliff reached up with dark fingers to cup my face, dragging my lips to his. “Mina, I love you,” he cried out, slamming his cock inside me.
Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I remembered Ashley telling me to never believe a bloke who uttered those words during sex. The haze of endorphins was bound to make people go a bit loopy.
But when that bloke was Heathcliff, and his dark eyes were filled with storms that matched the tempest inside me, and a corner of my father’s letter jabbed into my chest, I knew Ashley was wrong.
“I love you,” I whispered back.
Heathcliff’s body shuddered. He held me close as his orgasm claimed him. We came together in a shower of sparks and rage and fireworks.
Even when he’d pumped himself dry, he remained inside me, holding me against that wall as if it were the only thing tethering us to earth. An electric charge buzzed through my body – the aftermath of an incredible orgasm, but something more, something deeper. From the way Heathcliff’s eyes bore into mine, he felt it, too.
“Whatever souls are made of,” he whispered, “yours and mine are the same.”
Chapter Seventeen
Heathcliff and I cleaned up and straightened our clothes as best we could in the bathroom. I peered out the door, looking in both directions. People wandered past the end of the hall toward the breakfast buffet, but no one headed toward us.
“It’s safe.” I slipped out and held open the door. “Come on.”
Heathcliff walked out, using his handkerchief to hide where the button had popped off his breeches. “These bloody clothes don’t leave anything to the imagination.”
“Nope, and I’m glad of it,” I smiled, pinching his bum. “Let’s go.”
“There’s my Mina.” Heathcliff offered his arm, and I took it. My thighs made a pleasing tingling sensation as they rubbed together, reminding me of what we’d just done. I’d had to throw my ruined underwear away.Going commando in a Regency dress – this might be the most punk rock thing I’ve ever done.
Raised voices echoed down the corridor. A crowd milled at the entrance to the breakfast room. I stood on tiptoes, trying to see over them. Professor Carmichael stood with Alice near the back of the crowd, and I dragged Heathcliff over to them.
“What’s going on?” I whispered.
“It’s fantastic. That Gerald character walked right up to Professor Hathaway and accused him of plagiarizing his work.”
“Possibly you shouldn’t look quite so gleeful,” Heathcliff murmured. Professor Carmichael rearranged her face into a concerned expression.
“Of course you’re right. I’d hate for this to come to blows, especially with ladies present. But it couldn’t happen to a nicer person.”
Heathcliff sighed. He dropped my arm and shoved his way through the crowd, ignoring the yelps of protest from ladies as he tossed them aside. I followed him, grateful I’d chosen to wear my Docs again this morning.
We reached the front of the crowd and for the first time could see the scene unfolding. Gerald and Hathaway glared at each other from opposite sides of the buffet. Christina stood behind her father, tugging on his sleeve in a pitiful attempt to calm him down. Hannah and the two other goth girls stood behind Gerald with their arms folded and fierce expressions on their pale faces. Hathaway smirked at Gerald, whose skin burned as dark as the tomato sauce swirls decorating his plate.
“Why don’t you tell them all, Hathaway?” Gerald was saying. “Tell all these people who worship you that your entire life is a lie. I don’t know who you’ve got writing your books and speeches now, but you should probably fire them because your last book had more holes in it than Hannah’s fishnet tights. All I know for a fact is that it cannot possibly be your own words.”
