“You’ve got me.”
“Don’t stop,” she begged.
“Never.” She was close to her peak. Her hands clutched my hair and my shirt—right over her mark. Her hips stuttered. I rocked against her once, twice, three times before she cried out into my shoulder with a shudder.
One by one her fingers unclenched and her breathing slipped back to normal. I slid my hand free and straightened her gown, then tucked both legs over my waist.
It only took a minute, perhaps two, before the carriage stopped outside her house. The convenient timing was morethan a little suspicious, and I wouldn’t have been shocked to learn that the driver had gone around a time or two.
Celine was still flushed and tired, and she whined a bit when I jostled her. But she stepped willingly out of the carriage.
I was forced to rip off my great coat and hang it awkwardly over an elbow in front of me while I valiantly strode into the house, her arm in mine.
Thirty-Five
CADIEUX HOUSE, LONDON - JUNE 17, 1816
CELINE
Under threat of death,I could never explain how I ended up pressed between my bedroom door and William, his trousers shoved down and my gown rucked up. And for the life of me, I could not care. I could die, right here, in his arms, with him moving inside me and it would be worth it.
He was everywhere, everything I could see, taste, smell, feel. Oh, how he felt. Moving against me, with me, for me. Everything I gave him, he returned tenfold. Every kiss, every caress, every touch, every thrust, he was a man possessed, starving, and I was his for the taking.
Raking my nails down his back just made him groan and the onslaught between my legs harder. And his strength, so deceptive and so damn erotic.
This wasn’t sweet or gentle. It was hot and hard and desperate and loud, so loud. The door rattled against the frame. Great rasping gasps broke free. The groans and grunts and whimpers, the slickness between us, it was all a symphony of lust.
The man was a prodigy, a savant, a revelation. And then he pulled his lips off my neck, cupping my cheek with one hand until I met his gaze, hips never missing a beat. There it was, his heart in his eyes.
“Love this. Love you.”
I bit my lip to keep from screaming it to him, the world, the heavens. My head slammed back against the door with a painfulthunkas we crashed over the peak together.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Awareness returned slowly, first the bite of copper from my bitten lip, then the pull of hair caught in the door, the plop of tears dropping from chin to breast, the racing thump of his heart beneath my ear.
The heart I was about to shatter.
With a great shuddering breath I willed back the tears, determined that he know them as nothing other than perspiration. It was certainly not an implausible excuse, here on the floor before the door where we had collapsed during our little deaths. His legs must have given out. Mine were no more functional.
That was good. As long as I couldn’t move, I couldn’t do this. This terrible, unbearable thing that made my chest hurt and my stomach revolt. This thing that would confirm every one of his worst fears. That would make him hate me.
And keep him alive.
He slipped the pins out of my hair, one by one. And I loved him. The row of dress hooks popped open. And I loved him. The petticoats and stays fell by the wayside. And I loved him.
I loved him. And everything I feared was coming true. Even now my lungs protested every inhale with a sharp, disgruntled stab and the knot in my throat was so thick I couldn’t have swallowed if I tried.
He was going to hate me.Ihated me. But if he knew, if he had the slightest idea, he wouldn’t leave. He would stay and he would try to defend me, and I would be left with another grave to visit.
He guided me up, supporting me with cool hands clutching the backs of my thighs. Still kneeling at my feet, he pressed cool kisses to my stomach. Not now. Not tonight. I was wrung like a sponge; I couldn’t manage it. Not tonight.
I pulled him to his feet, ducking his gaze, distracting, evading, dancing away. I led him to the bed where he shucked the wreckage of his clothing and curled up behind me.
Flipping over, I found my rouge mark still covering his heart, a bit smudged now but no less vibrant.
His arm banded about my waist, pulling me in tighter.
