“I don’t know,” she breathed. The truth. She knew only that she didn’t want him to go.
“What do youwant?” he demanded softly.
“I don’t know how to say it. In the waterfall you... you—” She could not finish.
“If you mean to tease me or trap me, have mercy. Please. You feel—so—good.” Each guttural, raspy word washed over her like a warm, gentle wave. “How can you feel so good?”
Yes,she marveled,how can I?Her body hummed.
“Am I hurting the abrasion on your neck?” he asked.
She thought of this. She felt only tingles and warmth and pleasure on her neck. She felt tingles and pleasure everywhere. She shook her head.
“May I touch you?” he rasped.
“Pleasetouch me.”
“May I touch all of you?”
This, she had not considered. Ryan Daventry had never been kissed, and the thought of a handsome prince/horseman/fiancé touchingall of herhadn’t been something she’d expected to consider. She allowed her body to decide. “Yes,” she said.
Gabriel let out a feral-sounding moan and rolled off of her. For a second, she thought she’d said the wrong thing. He’d been pressing against her, and now he was gone, and it was too dark to see. But she heard the sound of two heavy boots hitting the floor, felt the mattress depress near her knees and felt the coverlet being peeled back. Cool air moved in, and she let out a little gasp. Beside her, the mattress shifted.
“Oh,” she whispered, her heart pounding like it would knock down the walls of this cave. A shimmer of anticipation tingled up her body. She gasped for breath.
Lowly, he whispered something in French, the words too fast for her to interpret. And then his hands were on her thighs, grasping her through the nightshirt. He skimmed downward, massaging as he went, until the fabric ended and he touched bare leg. He rubbed lower, taking care around the wound; and lower still to clasp her ankles. He squeezed her heel and massaged her feet, tracing the arches, circling each toe and then sliding back to her leg. It was like in the water but firmer, more lingering. The water had made his fingers slide, but here there was a friction that allowed him to dig in. After a fortnight of travel from Guernsey, a day on horseback, and their flight through the rain, his hands felt heavenly.
“Vous êtes belle,” he said in French. This translation she knew.You’re beautiful.She wanted to laugh, she wanted to tell him that she’d prefer he not speak if he must tell her lies, but it felt too good to protest. He was bathing her without water; fizzy, tingling sensation dripped from his fingers and radiated across her skin. She descended into warm, shimmering pleasure.Her consciousness narrowed to his hands, strong and thorough and sure, working their way up her legs in deep, probing strokes. She said nothing, and thought nothing, and very occasionally moaned a vague, “Oh.” She lay before him, half languid, half coiled in anticipation, and simplyfelt.
When his fingers nudged the hem of the nightshirt, he stopped, his breath coming in heavy pants. Ryan let out a whimper, frustrated with the pause.
“There you are,” he rasped. “Like the waterfall.”
“More?” she whispered, emboldened by the darkness—emboldened by the threat of him moving away.
He let out a growl and continued his assent, his hands now above the nightshirt. She missed the warmth of his fingertips but reveled in the new sensation of rough fabric scraping her skin. He dug in more deeply, massaging the muscle, exploring the shape. Vaguely, Ryan became aware of his progress so very far up her leg; he’d reached the apex of her thighs. If he continued on his current path, he would surely brush up against—
“Oh,” she gasped, a wave of pleasure rolling from her core.
He’d flattened out his hand across her belly and slid it downward, scooping her sex with his open palm. Pressing in with the heel of his hand, he cupped her, setting off a delicious burn that made her mind go blank.
“Oh!” she called again. The shape of his large hand through the cotton of the nightshirt, the pressure—these became the titillating answer to a question she hadn’t known her body was asking. It was an upwardjourney to the very heart of pleasure. They’d not reached the destination—she knew this somehow—but the journey had begun, and she wanted tofly.
He pressed more firmly now, cupped her tighter, stoking that mind-erasing burn. Every twitch of his hand set off a jolt of pleasure that took her breath away. Ryan shoved to her elbows and blinked, trying to see him, but the blackness endured. She saw only sparks and twinkles of sensation glowing behind her eyes.
“Gabriel,” she panted, “it feels... it feels—”
He muttered a French curse, cutting her off, and lowered himself—actually, it was more like hefell—on top of her. One moment he’d been kneeling, then she heard the curse, then the hard, heavy weight of him was stretched out on top of her.
She dropped back on the pillow, reveling in the pressure, the closeness, the smell of him. His hand slid from between their bodies, replaced by a thick, hard ridge that nestled exactly, perfectly in the hottest part of the burn between her legs. Ryan whimpered and pushed up, seeking the hardness.
“What are you doing?” Gabriel whispered into her hair.
“I don’t know,” she whispered back. “I’m doing nothing. For the first time in perhaps a very long time, I’m doing nothing at all.” It was true. The darkness had collided with days of fatigue and weeks of worry, and that collision was reason enough to give in. To simplyfeel. To indulge in the incredible thrill of him wanting her, of him indulging her; worshiping her body and giving her pleasure. Making her forget. And no other indulgence would be quite as thoroughlyeffective as this, part forbidden, part mindless, part transporting, all pleasure.
“I could stop,” he breathed, although the words sounded like he could not, in fact, stop.
“No,” she gasped, it was the last thing she wanted.
