“Truly, I am not very good. In fact, Ruben has said I am very, very bad.”
“I don’t care. Please.”
He did as she asked, his cheeks ruddy with embarrassment or pleasure. She didn’t know which. She watched as he settled himself more comfortably on the bed, cradling the guitar with a gentleness that she adored. He tuned the instrument with care, muttering something about how he would have to buy new strings soon. She resolved that she would buy him enough to last him all year. And then, finally, he began to play.
He was right. The tune he played was simple, but it was so perfectly beautiful that her heart melted. It had a lightness to it, almost whimsical, but beneath it were bass notes that lingered. He thrummed a steady beat of longing. She pressed her hand to her heart as she listened.
It didn’t go on long. She knew when he returned to the beginning and played the first strains again as a kind of chorus. And if he missed a note, she didn’t notice. He fumbled a bit with his injured hand, but that made it all the more special somehow. And when he was done, she looked at him.
“That was wonderful. What were you thinking about when you wrote it?”
He let his guitar settle into his lap. “You,” he finally said. “I have wanted to play that for you since I wrote down the very first note.”
She didn’t think it was possible for her to love him more. Now she discovered a deeper well of emotion for him. These new feelings weren’t based on the safety he provided, but in simple appreciation for how he had expressed himself. Pure emotions set to music, and she wished she could give him something equally beautiful, equally personal. But she had nothing left of herself to give. It was all his already.
“Will you play more for me?” she whispered. “Anything you’ve written. Everything.”
“If you like.”
“Please.”
So he did. While she lay on the bed beside him, she listened in bliss as his music surrounded her. He played the things he had written, and when he thought she was sleeping, he played more. Random tunes, snatches of melodies, it all came from him, and she drank it in. And when he finally stopped, she stretched where she lay beside him. She put her hand on his arm and pulled him down.
“Please,” she whispered when he bent near. “Please let me love you.”
His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her, and his hand stroked across her brow as gently as he had stroked his guitar. “I can deny you nothing.”
Then he kissed her. She stretched up to him as he pushed down. Their mouths met, their tongues connected, and she played with him as best as she could. She tasted him. And she loved him so much her eyes teared up with wonder.
“Diana?” She saw confusion in his expression and fear. But she touched his cheek.
“You don’t understand what it is like,” she whispered. “I pushed all my feelings so far down that nothing touched me. But you do. You smile at me, and they come bubbling up. You touch me, and my will disappears. And now I am cracked so open that I feel everything.” She shook her head. “That’s not right. I feelyou. And I cry because you are so beautiful.”
His mouth opened in surprise. She stroked her fingers across his brow and whispered her words because they were so full of meaning she could not say them with a full voice.
“I love you,” she said.
He stilled, his face poised above her. And then a shudder went through his entire body. A tremble that began in his hands until it flowed through both him and her. And when it was done, he was kissing her. His mouth was on her brow, her nose, her mouth, and down her neck. A frantic press of desire everywhere he could reach.
She met him as best she could. She reached for him with equal hunger. And when she could not kiss his skin, she tugged at his clothing, demanding he remove it.
He obliged, stripping out of his waistcoat and shirt with speed. She did the same, yanking at the ties of her dress until she could push it aside. She’d long since discarded her cloak and shoes, but now she wanted nothing between them. He was bare to the waist long before she was. Thankfully, he helped her strip away her corset and lifted off the rest. Her stockings remained, but she would not take the time for those. Not when she could kiss him again. When she could stroke her hand across his chest and feel his breath catch as she caught her nails on his nipple.
He pressed her down to the bed, feasting on her breasts as she pushed her hands into his hair. And while frenzy built in her blood, she tugged at the buttons of his pants.
“All of you, Lucas. Please. I want everything.”
In case it wasn’t clear enough, she stroked her hands across his cock, outlining it through his clothing. She pressed against the tip and rolled the heel of her hand up and down him. He hissed at what she did, and in the end, he pulled back far enough to do as she bid. He shed his clothing while she waited. And when he stood before her, she grasped his cock where it stretched toward her, thick and proud. She worked it as best she knew how, and then he gripped her hand and firmly peeled it away.
Their gazes met and held. If there was a question in his eyes, she didn’t understand it. He simply stood there—a naked man in full arousal. His muscles were taut, his body in its prime, and she felt a surge of lust so strong that it took her breath away. She still had the ability to form words. No breath, but her lips shaped one word.
Please.
He released her hand and abruptly stepped to his desk. With quick movements, he opened a drawer and pulled out a French letter. She watched as he put it on, then returned to her. She straightened, letting her hair fall away from her breasts, as she bared herself to him. She watched as his eyes fixed on her face, then her breasts, then her sex. His nostrils flared, and she slowly spread her knees. The air was thick with the scent of their desire, and she licked her lips, telling him without words that she wanted it as much as he.
Then he abruptly leaned down and grabbed her legs, curling his hands beneath her knees. With a strong tug, he pulled her to the edge of the bed and stepped between her thighs. She wrapped her legs around him as he bent down over her. Then finally, wonderfully, she felt the tip of his cock press to her wet opening.
“Yes,” she said as he pushed inside her. A little, the barest of penetration. He was braced on his forearms above her. She had her hands on his shoulders and her body arching toward him, urging him on. But he didn’t move, and she whimpered in frustration. “You are the most difficult man ever!”
