Joelle’s voice from the vintage shop flashes in my ears: ‘Oo-er, looking for something to spice things up in the bedroom?’
My chest tightens, and I take a step back from the bed.
‘Are you still happy to stay the night in here?’ Dain says, a frown knitting his brow. ‘We could go to your room instead if it’s too much?’ He looks so worried and unsure that my heart goes out to him.
I give my shoulders a firm mental shaking.Don’t be naive, Lizzy. He had a sex life before he met you, as you did with Klint, and he’s not getting all het up over that. He wantsyounow, not Joelle, and that’s all that matters.
‘No, no, it’s fine. I’m just stressing about my thesis at the moment, worried that I’m not going to be able to do the topic justice. It’s a heavy subject.’ I give a short laugh and push my hair back from my face.
‘Would a neck rub help?’
‘It might.’
Dain places his lamp on the nightstand, and a sensual, cosy lit nook is created within the curtains. He crawls lithely across the bed, moves a few pillows, and leans against the black velvet studded headboard. ‘Jump up,’ he says, patting the space in front of his long spread legs.
He’s not kidding. The bed is so high off the ground I have to do a kind of inelegant flying leap. I land in his lap, giggling, and come face to face with the Brontë sisters on his nightstand.
The three of them are posed in a black-and-white print in a small elegant silver frame. I should say, thesupposedBrontë sisters.It’s never been proven that the photo is of them because, as far as anyone knows, they never had any photos taken; and there’s been no mention of this photo or any others in their letters or documents. But some people are adamant that it is for no other reason than theyfeelit’s right. It’s calledLes Soeurs Brontëbecause the original photo had “Londres - Les Soeurs Brontë” written on the back.
‘Do you think it’s really them?’ I whisper to Dain, as if they can hear me.’
‘Iknowit’s them ...’ Something about the way he says it so decisively makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
I gaze at the striking woman with the unusual sanpaku eyes who they say is Charlotte, and she stares back at me.What isn’t he telling me?
But I know better than to ask. Dain is a closed book when it comes to spilling secrets of the past.
He gently lowers the photo so it’s face down on the nightstand.
‘Why did you do that?’
‘There are going to be things happening in this bed that I’d rather the Brontës didn’t see.’
Chapter 23
There is always a ‘but’ in this imperfect world.
(Anne Brontë,The Tenant of Wildfell Hall)
Naked and kneeling, I grasp one of the carved bedposts with sweaty hands as Dain, head nestled between my legs, licks lightly up and down my inner thighs. He’s been teasing me, making me beg for his tongue ...
The evening has turned into a sexy game of cat and mouse to get the other person as close as possible to climax without them actually climaxing. Reader, it’s delightfully delicious.
I especially enjoyed Dain’s ‘neck rub’, sitting cross-legged between his thighs as he pressed sensual kisses along my hairline while one hand crept into my bra and the other craftily unzipped my jeans to finger me. He almost made me come but withdrew in the nick of time, with an evil chuckle, leaving me craving so much more.
Oh, so you want to play dirty?
Flushed and fully aroused, I turned and wrestled him back onto the pillows so I was lying on top, looking into his dark-brown eyes turned almost black with the pupils blown.
‘Was that little game in your spicy scene, huh?’ Tugging impatiently on the ruffled collar of his shirt, he helped me unbutton it, and I spread it wide to reveal his delectable muscled chest. Unable to resist, I repeatedly flicked his pink nipples with my tongue.
Dain grunted in pleasure and hardened against the top of my thigh. ‘Yes. But Azalea was wearing a corset, and I had to stop writing as the scene got totally out of hand or, should I say,in hand.’
I grinned, imagining him writing with one inky-fingered hand while simultaneously jerking off with the other. ‘Indeed. So what exactly was going on in that head of yours to make you lose it?’
‘Um, I was imagining you on your knees under the table doing ... things ... to me.’ He squirmed, and his bulging crotch jutted pleasantly into the apex of my thighs.
‘Ah, so I’m guessing you’d like me to re-enact thosethings?’ I murmured, slowly unzipping his jeans. Dain nodded, his eyes now black as night. As I exposed his erect cock, he gave a low guttural moan, watching as I wetted my lips with my tongue; and the game was on again.
