His gaze became distant. “I did just that, actually. I lashed out. The likelihood that I destroyed my relationship with all three of them, including my sister, who I’ve been closest to, is almost one hundred percent.”
She cupped his cheek. “Oh, Silas. I know better than most how much it hurts to walk away. Even when you must. But you shouldn’t compromise who you are for whatever scraps of affection someone dangles on a string for you. I think you know that from experience as much as I do.”
He smiled, though there was little pleasure in the expression. “Do you know why I came here tonight?”
She returned the smile. “I imagine you wanted to fuck the pain out, make it go away. Pour it into me as passion until there was nothing left but pleasure streaking through you?”
His eyes widened. “That’s exactly it.”
“Then I’d suggest you put me on a settee or a chair or the floor and bury yourself in me until that happens.”
She grasped his lapels and pulled him in. This, at least, she could do without risking any part of herself. That was better for both of them. She couldn’t forget it.
* * *
Silas dug his hands into Arabella’s hair and then his mouth was on her, hard and heated. She took the heavy need of him without argument and arched against his chest. What she had suggested, what he had intended by coming here, was already working, for pleasure burrowed through his veins like molten lava. It muted some of the pain.
Of course, talking to her had done that too, releasing some of the pressure that had been building in the wound for decades. Her empathy and understanding had been a long-needed balm.
But no. He pushed that thought away and focused on this now. On backing her across the room toward the fire. She’d mentioned settees and chairs, but when she’d said the floor, that had sounded rough and animal and perfect for his mood. There was a rug in front of the fire and he tugged her down onto it, covering her as her arms came around him.
He reveled in the silkiness of her locks, tangled now but no longer bound up in the twists of rags she had in them when he entered the room. He kissed her, deeper, harder and she opened to him without hesitation. Opened her mouth, opened her legs so he could wedge between them with his hips as he pressed into her.
She arched against him, sucking his tongue, rubbing her pelvis against his. She knew exactly what she was doing, what her role was in erasing his emotions and memories. She played it to perfection.
Her hands clenched against his back, gripping at his shoulders, sliding down his spine so she could cup his backside and grind him harder against her. He moaned against her lips because he could already feel the heat of her even through his trousers.
He wanted to feel it even more.
He rose up onto his knees and shrugged out of his jacket, ripped his cravat in his haste to remove the propriety his family had earlier required. It felt too stifling now. She caught his hands as he moved them to his shirt buttons and shook her head.
“Easy,” she murmured, and unbuttoned for him.
Easy. Yes, she made this easy. He let out a shaky breath as he pulled his shirt over his head. She stared up at him, swallowed hard and then gripped the edge of her flannel dressing gown and simple nightshift, tugging them up around her stomach to bare herself from the waist down.
He shuddered at the sight of her, sprawled on the carpet, legs open, half naked. It all felt so out of control and animal.
“Stop thinking,” she ordered, reaching out to flick the buttons of his fall front open, freeing his cock. She dragged her fingers along the length. “Stop thinking and just take what you need.”
“And what about what you need?” he choked out, shocked he could be so coherent when she was touching him.
She wrinkled her brow as if she didn’t fully understand that question. “Silly boy, I needyou. Don’t you think I’ve been aching for you for two days, since that last time you were inside of me in the carriage?”
His heart was pounding at that declaration. He tracked her hand as she took it away from his cock and instead slid it down the apex of her body, between her legs. She spread herself open a fraction and circled herself lightly. “Arabella?—”
“Don’t you think I’ve been touching myself to thoughts of you ever since, longing for you? Put yourself inside of me and see how slick I am. Feel me rise beneath you and pulse around you because there is no way that I won’t come the moment you grind against my clitoris.” She arched against her own fingers and her breath became shaky. “Do it, Silas. Use me. And know I’m using you just as much.”
“Shit,” he grunted, and took himself in hand so he could align to her entrance. He thrust hard and found she was correct, she was wet and hot and ready for him. With that permission gained in every way, he lifted her hips slightly, cupping her against his lap, and then he took.
Thrust after thrust, he took. He was hard and fast and angry. He took her withangereven though it wasn’t directed toward her. She matched him with every stroke, her pupils dilated, her body twisting with pleasure. He reached between them to stroke her clitoris and her fingers joined his. Together they worked her as he took and he felt her legs shaking around his hips, saw the tension enter her face as he brought her closer and closer to the brink.
When she fell, her body gripped him in long waves, squeezing in time to his thrusts as she cried out and shook. He rode her as long as he could, lengthening her pleasure alongside his own until he could no longer stand it. Then he withdrew and spent against his hand, against her thighs.
“Fucking hell, Arabella,” he moaned, and collapsed over her on the rug, his mind empty for the moment, just as he’d wanted it to be.
She smoothed her hands along his bare back, tracing little patterns there. Their panting breaths slowed together and at last he rolled away onto his back to stare at her ceiling.
He’d been with a great many women in his life. He’d experienced a great deal of pleasure. But somehow it was nothing like this, nothing like her. And it would be easy to dismiss that as merely a byproduct of her experience as a lover. Or her knowledge as a courtesan, able to make a man dance on her string.
