The admission cost him. It showed in the clench of his jaw. Before I could respond, Oliver put his hand on my shoulder.
“Time to check my vitals?”
“Yes, of course.” I folded the dish towel and set it on the counter, hating that our evening was coming to such an abrupt end.
Kiernan’s arm grazed mine as he brushed past me. I couldn’t tell if it was an accident or intentional.
“I’ll not forget you called me a scoundrel,” he whispered before disappearing in the opposite direction. “Sleep well,” he called out behind him.
I didn’t.Sleep, that is.
After making sure Oliver was stable and settled, I retreated to my room, but being alone only made things worse.
My desire had become unbearable. My body ached with it, and the hunger only sharpened with every passing minute. Nothing I tried made it go away. Every time I tried to sleep, I could feel Kiernan’s warm breath on my neck and hear him whisper in my ear.I’ll not forget you called me a scoundrel.
God, what was wrong with me? Why did him simply teasing me make me want to beg him to fuck me?
I changed into sleep clothes and got in bed. Tossing and turning didn’t help. I couldn’t focus on my book, so I finally gave in.
My hand slid beneath the covers, beneath the silk of my nightgown, and I exhaled slowly as I reached between my legs. I knew how to chase pleasure, how to bring myself to the edge and over it. No man had ever managed it—I’d had lovers, competent and attractive men who’dtried their best, but my body had never surrendered to anyone but myself. I’d learned to fake what was expected, to act satiated. I’d had lovers who complained I was distant, friends who said I was hard to read. I’d taken both as a compliment.
I’d assumed I simply wasn’t wired for passion. That the consuming desire other women described was an exaggeration or a fantasy.
Being here told me how wrong I was. What would it feel like to surrender? To let someone else hold the reins, make the decisions? The thought should have repulsed me. It didn’t. It made my thighs press together and my breath come faster.
Tonight, I needed the release.
Oliver’s face surfaced first, and the image felt safe and expected. I let it form—his gaze darkening with desire, his mouth hovering above mine as he whispered my name. This was a fantasy I could control.
My fingers traced slow circles as I imagined his weight pressing into me, his lips tracing a path down my throat, and his breath hot against my ear as he told me how beautiful I was, how long he’d ached for this. The pleasure built steadily. I arched into my own touch and let the images sharpen—his hands on my breasts, his mouth onmy flesh, his body covering mine as we rocked together in the darkness.
Then the fantasy changed. The hands on my skin changed. They were rougher, more demanding. The image was Kiernan now.
I hadn’t called him forward. He’d simply appeared, displacing Oliver as if he belonged there. His hand fisted in my hair, tilting my head to expose my throat. His mouth descended not in a kiss but in a claiming. His teeth scraped my pulse point as he growled,“Mine.”
The pleasure sharpened. I tried to return to the safety of fantasy-Oliver, but my mind refused. It craved Kiernan.
The image dissolved and reformed. I was somewhere else entirely. Kneeling. Stone beneath my knees. My head bowed, my hands in a position of surrender.
I thought of a book I’d found in an airport years ago, the cover garish enough that I’d hidden it inside a magazine. The story was about a woman on her knees. A man commanding her surrender. I’d told myself I was reading it out of boredom, that it was absurd—who would actually want that? But I’d read every page before tossing it in a bin after the flight ended.
I allowed the fantasy to continue. A hand gripped my chin and tilted my face upward. Then the voice blendedwith Oliver’s, both of them issuing a single command that brought me to the edge of release.
The fantasy fractured, and I stared at the ceiling. My chest heaved, and my body trembled. I’d been imagining two men at the same time, commanding me together, and my body had responded with a surge of desire so intense it terrified me.
I pulled my hand away and rolled onto my side, curling into myself. The overwhelming desire remained, but I couldn’t bring myself to finish what I’d started.
A sound from outside my room cut through my restless haze, and I sat up when I recognized the creak of Oliver’s door hinges. Footsteps passed my room, quiet and measured, the tread of someone trying not to be heard. The clock on my nightstand showed half past midnight.
Where was Oliver going at this hour?
I considered following. My hand reached for the covers, ready to throw them off and pursue him, but I didn’t. Whatever he was seeking, he needed to find it alone. Or perhaps I was simply a coward—afraid that following him would lead me somewhere I wasn’t prepared to go.
I rested on the pillows, listening for any sound of his return. The castle was quiet around me. I told myself Iwould wait ten minutes. If there was no sign of him, I’d go after him.
The seconds ticked by slowly, and moments before I was about to get up, I heard footsteps, then a knock at the door. I crossed the room and pulled it open.
Oliver stood in the sitting area of the suite. His face was pale and slick with sweat, and his hands shook at his sides. He looked like he’d seen a ghost—or become one.
