Following the instruction of her hand in my hair, her stilted movements, and her whimpers, I was fairly certain she was closing in on release. Finding herself ever closer to that peak where she would collapse into a beautiful heap in my arms. I slid one finger, two, into her channel where she welcomed me eagerly.
Her whimpers and moans were gaining in frequency and pitch, and her fingers tangled in my hair were hovering on just the right side of painful. Not that I would have complained. That would have required stopping and I had no intention of doing that, possibly ever.
Sooner than I hoped, her core tightened on my fingers with a keening gasp. Her back bowed and her thigh shook by my ear. It overtook her with such a suddenness that I froze, unsure if it meant what I thought it might. Seconds, perhaps minutes later, she collapsed into the covers, boneless.
Indecision clouded my mind once more. I did not know the protocol for this. I knew I wanted to keep going, to drag her up and over the crest again and again until time ran out.
Before I could revel too far in my discomfort, she tugged at my hair once more, this time purposeful. Following herinstructions, silent or otherwise, had served me well thus far so I followed my map back up. If I took detours to see my favorite sites once more, Celine certainly wasn’t complaining.
Twenty-Nine
CADIEUX HOUSE, LONDON - JUNE 16, 1816
CELINE
He prowled up my body,cat-like in his grace. It was without a doubt the single most erotic view of my entire life. This man, all sharp, lithe, corded muscles, with chiseled cheekbones shining in the candlelight from my offerings, slid up my form with an expression that very much said he was not finished feasting.
I would not soon forget it.
His lips found mine and all I could taste was me. All the tentative softness was gone, in its place a worshipful confidence. Well-earned confidence—I wasn’t certain my legs would regain feeling ever again. That was perfectly all right. I was never leaving this bed anyway.
When he pulled away for the benefit of my breathing rather than any particular desire to do so if the heat in his eyes was any indication, I wiped away the last of my spendings from his lips. He caught my wrist in a tender gesture and pressed a kiss to my pounding pulse.
“Who… are you?” I panted.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve just killed me. I am dead. This is heaven. I thought you said you had little experience.”
“I do. That was the first time I’ve done that.” He had never… How?
“You’re a savant… Also, you live here now.”
“Already live here, love.”
“In this bed. I’ll tie you here if need be.”
His answering smile was infectious, and he pressed a gentle kiss to my nose. “If ’m tied to the bed, what’ll I eat?” His hand found my entrance at the exact moment he finished the sentence, leaving absolutely no doubt of what he intended to eat.
Summoning all the strength I had managed to regain after he wrung it from my body, I curled a leg around his hips without warning and rolled him over onto his back.
As he lay prostrate before me, I caught his hands and pinned them above his head before he could regain my newfound control.
Dipping down, I pressed a kiss, nearly as gentle as the ones he’d bestowed on me, to the gray-green bruise marring his ribs, just below his heart.
His eyes burned blue in response, that shade where flame met candlewick and was just as bright. Brighter even, when paired with the affectionate crinkles at the corners of his eyes. The crinkles I was slowly coming to realize were reserved for me. For when I did something he found charming, or amusing, or arousing, or loving. Those crinkles were at their best when I did something that made him feel loved—like right in this moment.
If there had been any doubt of his feelings for me, that look would have banished them. No one could adopt that expression of awe, reverence, astonishment, and wonder without the sentiment behind it. Surely men looked upon angels with less adoration.
It was a heady thing, being the recipient of such an expression. It filled me with a confidence I hadn’t known in so long. I hovered over him, just out of his reach, curtaining us beneath my hair.
Teasing him, I brushed my lips across his—a breeze rather than a kiss. He made a valiant effort to chase my lips while still abiding to the shackles of my hands around his wrists.
His upper arms strained against my pitiful bonds, tensing and releasing in the most intriguing of ways. I had no idea that all ofthiswas underneath those stodgy woolen waistcoats and scratchy linen shirts. He shifted slightly under my perusal, drawing my attention back to his impossibly warm eyes and unbearably soft lips.
I settled back onto my knees and released his wrists. The movement brought me in perfect alignment with the hardness threatening to escape his trousers. A stark reminder of the fact that, while I was more than sated—though rapidly regaining interest—he had not been.
I braced myself, my hands on his cool, slate chest. Careful to avoid the bruises earned in defense of me, my fingertips ghosted over wiry, corded muscles, divots, and peaks, each just as sharp and steep as his cheeks and jaw. He tensed and relaxed in rhythm beneath me, clearly desperate for more but unwilling or unable to ask for it.
