“She does?”
Miss Finch stepped forward so that Evander was forced to release her. Then she turned around and looked up at him. Her expression was compassionate, it was real, and her eyes looked at him as that portrait did: they saw the true him, as he had started to see himself.
“She sees it, Your Grace,” Miss Finch said, reaching forward and taking his hand. “Just as she knows that it is real. Maybe shedoubted it once, maybe it took her some time to accept, but there is no denying it. You are that man.”
“Miss Finch… are you actually agreeing with me for a change?”
“Like I said, I only disagree when you are wrong. So often you are…” She laughed softly and took his other hand. “In this instance, even I cannot doubt the truth of your words.”
They held hands before the portrait. They looked into one another’s eyes. Alone, truths bared, Evander could feel the distance between them close fully.
For a while now, he had refused to accept what he wanted. His feelings for Miss Finch, as confusing as they were, allowed him to avoid and deny their truth. Desire. Attraction. Lust. These were easy to focus on, and he forced himself to believe that was where it started and ended between them.
Now, however, as he looked down at her, as he saw her beauty, as raw as it was, and as he felt his own feelings laid out and exposed, he knew finally what he wanted. A simple thing. A most obvious thing, also. What he wanted was Miss Finch.
Based on how she looked up at him, she wanted him just as much.
Evander did not ask for permission, as there was no need. His eyes flicked to Miss Finch’s soft, pink lips. She nodded once, and he leaned down and kissed her fully on the mouth.
She breathed him in as they started to kiss. He pulled her forward, their bodies pressing. While he wanted to ravish and devour her like a starved animal, Evander resisted that urge at first. Their kiss, while passionate and intense, was soft and gentle and spoke of the feelings that were brewing between them.
It might have ended there. Maybe it should have. That kiss was the final step they needed to take to prove how they felt about one another, and if it was just a single kiss, it might have been more meaningful and real.
However, Evander was only so strong…
I am sick of waiting… of denying myself… of not giving in to what I know we both want.
He let go of her hands and took hold of the side of her face. He held her as if he might never let go, his mouth opening, Miss Finch’s doing the same, and their tongues lapping and licking and dancing back and forth as the passion grew.
A growl escaped Evander’s lips as the kiss grew in intensity. A whimper came from Miss Finch. Her hands found his waist, she gripped tight, and he knew then that even if he wanted to stop, she would not let him.
Blood coursed hot through his veins. His body was set alight. The heat built between them, rippling across his skin and bursting from his crotch so that he had never been more aroused in his life.
Soon, Evander’s hands started to move down her body. She wore a light gown, and his hands roamed over the top, squeezing her soft waist, running his hands along her back, moving them next to cup her ample breasts and pinch her nipples above the fabric.
She gasped, pulled away, but then latched onto his face and moaned.
His hands wrapped her buttocks and squeezed as he pulled her into his crotch. Evander was already engorged, and he wanted her to feel how much she aroused him. Her body was shaking, and from her lips escaped moans and whimpers of pleasure. He continued to kiss and devour her, enjoying her taste as if it was his last meal.
Only… it wasn’t going to be enough.
As they kissed, as their bodies reacted as if they had both caught fire, Evander’s mind moved back to what was almost two weeks ago now. He remembered how he had teased her with his fingers, how he had made her moan and beg him for more. He had liked the control that gave him, the power too, a sense of being that was rare where Miss Finch was concerned.
He wanted it again. He wanted to own her completely.
Just as I want her to know that she is mine…
With great effort, he tore his lips free.
“Wha…” she gasped as she tried to follow him.
“The stool,” he said as he looked down at her. “Bring it here.”
She frowned. “The stool…”
“Bring it here,” he said, releasing her fully. “Now.” The look he held her in gave no room for argument, and for once, Miss Finch did not try.
Her legs trembled as she crossed the room to collect the same stool that she had sat on for her portrait. She carried it back, her skin flushed, her entire body shaking with nervous anticipation.
