Lost in her, Nathaniel existed only in this moment. His body existed only to bring her pleasure—and to burn.
If he had a hand to spare, he would press it against his unruly cock. But he could not bring himself to let go of her.
Instead, he ignored his own hunger, the fire that had threatened to explode out of control when she’d gone to her knees before him and put her lovely lips around him—no. He couldn’t think of it. Even the memory was too much.
Bess cried out, her hands coming up to cradle his head and hold him against her. Nathaniel realized he’d become frenzied, that he’d buried his face in her softness and was using lips, teeth, tongue as though he would devour her.
But far from shrinking away in fear, Bess squirmed in the chair, unashamedly tilting her hips and pressing at his head to direct his efforts where it felt best for her.
Nathaniel groaned and felt his shoulders go loose and relaxed. He let her use him as she willed, reveling in it, in the way her fingers clenched in his hair and her thighs shook and began to rhythmically tense and release as she climbed to her peak.
He sucked and licked and stroked her through it as her cries took on a frantic edge and her heels drummed against his back. He kept going, sunk in it, drowning in her, as she crested and went stiff under him, her body locked in the rigid throes of release.
Immediately, Nathaniel lightened his touches, nuzzling her softly and bringing her down slowly. But still he kept his face pressed to her warm, fragrant flesh and tried not to think about the moment when she would be done with him.
The floorboards bit into his knees. His back cramped a bit from hunching over. Her skirts were bunched around his head; he could do nothing but breathe her in and pet at her sides and hips and buttocks, whatever he could reach.
He never wanted to move.
If he was gentle while she was over-sensitized, if he did not press her too hard, perhaps he could stay here for longer, or even make her come again—but no, she was stirring, sitting up.
Her hands stroked through his hair, catching a bit on the strings that tied his mask.
She urged him back, away from her, and Nathaniel reluctantly went. Lips buzzing, he licked them with a tongue that felt slightly swollen, catching the last honey-salt traces of her as he sat back on his heels.
His cock was an iron bar between his legs, heavy and aching. He spread his thighs to give it room but otherwise ignored it.
Moonlight slanted across her masked loveliness, turning her English rose beauty into something mysterious. Bess’s indolent sprawl in the chair spoke of intense satisfaction, a tipsy faerie queen surveying her most devoted subject. Her eyes were heavy-lidded; a smile curled up the corners of her lips.
“I have not felt anything like that in…so long,” she breathed, sliding bonelessly from the chair and into Nathaniel’s lap without warning. His caught her instinctively, an unbearably soft, warm armful of woman.
Her shapely buttocks made contact with his erection, sending a jolt of agonizing pleasure through him. He willed it down.
He’d seen a way to salvage a scrap of his good intentions.
If Nathaniel focused on giving her pleasure, while taking none for himself…yes, it would hurt, but that was only pain. He knew well how to withstand that.
He didn’t know if he had the strength to withstand the pleasure of being inside her.
And perhaps by leaving that one bridge uncrossed, he would be able to meet his own gaze in the looking glass tomorrow morning, knowing he’d taken nothing from Bess. That he’d gained nothing through trickery and obfuscation and the decadent rules of The Nemesis, other than his own self-inflicted torment.
With that in mind, Nathaniel gathered Bess close and stood, knees protesting. She laid her head on his shoulder and he carried her to the bed, marveling at the way she didn’t tense at all. As though her body trusted his on a deep, intuitive level.
As though she knew he would never let her fall.
Chest feeling too small to contain his pounding heart, Nathaniel placed her on the bed and stood staring down at her. Bess stretched against the pillows, a sinuous twist of her body that made a cold sweat break out along Nathaniel’s spine.
Could he do this, after all? Be with her, without taking her? Perhaps it would be best if he simply left now, while he still could.
But it was too late for that the moment Bess opened her eyes and smiled up at him. He stood stock still at the side of the mattress, limbs locked, and her lips pursed as she took him in.
“Are you coming to bed?” She smoothed the bedsheets beside her with a quick, nervous gesture.
“I should not.” Nathaniel hated the coarse rasp of his own voice, hated the way he loomed over her, casting his shadow across her face so he could no longer even pretend to guess at her thoughts.
He stepped back, away from the bed, and she sat up.
“Wait! Don’t leave.”
