“Camellia,” he breathed against my skin, my name almost pained with a grief I did not understand.
His hand slid from my waist, his fingers brushing my nipples through my dress. I sucked in a breath, the sensation sending hot pleasure through my body and tension coiling between my thighs.
Do it.Take what is mine,the voice demanded.
His hands worked the laces on the front of my dress expertly, my breast freed from their confinement. Cool air caressed my hardened nipples and his mouth closed over one—the warmth of his tongue contrasting the temperature so sharply that I shivered. A whimpered moan escaped me as his teeth grazed one, then the other, teasing and giving each equal affection.
His hand moved down my waist, gathering the hem of my dress to my hip, revealing exposed skin beneath.
I held onto the vine in one hand, my other trailing to the front of his trousers, wrapping my fingers around the hard length of him that pressed against the fabric. He groaned against my breast, a curse escaping his lips as I stroked him slowly.
He parted my thighs, fingers slipping into the wet heat pulsing with a need I had been unaware of until he touched me. He stroked and teased until my breath became shallow and broken, my pulse raging like wildfire pumping through my veins.
He slid one long, elegant finger deep inside, then another, moving until the pleasure was unbearable. I cried out, and his mouth immediately found mine again, swallowing the sound to keep as his own.
“You must be quiet,” he murmured against my lips, his fingers leaving me before his hand shifted between us. Fabric rustled, then he maneuvered our position, leaning against the wall and lifting me against him.
The thick length of him pressed against my entrance, teasing for the briefest moment before he filled me so completely that the air left my lungs. He stilled, waiting for the tension in my body to ease before he began to thrust, his hands firm on my hips as he buried himself deeper and deeper until the pleasure built to an unbearable sensation.
I clutched the vine in my fingers, nails digging into the soft flesh of the tendril, my other hand gripping hisshoulder as I begged him to ease my torture. “Please… Please, Nicholas…”
His tongue tangled with mine in response, a deep guttural moan exhaling from him. His hand slid between us, his thumb finding my need and stroking as he drove himself harder and deeper inside me. I moved against him, desperate to mold our flesh and entangle my decaying roots to his so that we bloomed beautifully as one.
I shattered. Wholly and completely. My entire body breaking and trembling as wave after wave of ecstasy filled my veins. I cried out his name, clinging to both him and the vine for dear life, his own release following.
My companion exhaled its own pleasure as my fingers stroked silk-soft petals.
His mouth found the curve of my jaw, trailing kisses along the line of bone. “Is this what will bring you back, Camellia?” he breathed, the words so soft I was not sure he had spoken at all, each one reaching for a place in me my mind refused to let him touch.
His lips grazed the velvet and the intimacy of the gesture nearly undid me. Tears pricked my eyes as I pulled away, unable to bear the thought of his reaction if he were to discover what the ribbon concealed. He released me without struggle, setting me on my feet, my injured ankle screaming in protest. I stepped back and smoothed my gown into some semblance of order. The loss of his warmth left me shivering violently, the cold rushing in to fill the space where his body had been.
“I am sorry,” I said breathlessly, my hand coming up to cover the ribbon protectively. “I cannot—you cannot—”
The haze that had overwhelmed my mind cleared with his absence, and I realized with mortification what I had done as I looked down at my other hand. He followed my gaze as he adjusted his own clothing.
The vine hung between my fingers, tiny luminescent white blooms tangled around it. Evidence of my crime glowed softly in the darkness and haloed around me.
His expression was difficult to read in the mausoleum’s gloom. Concern, confusion, hurt, and something calculating moved across his face in quick succession, each one swallowed before I examined it fully.
He reached for the specimen, frowning as he unraveled it from my grip and shoved it back into his coat pocket.
The voice screamed with a raw fury that filled my skull with such volume I nearly staggered. Rage and frustration and desperate need all tangled together into a sound that felt like it would crack my skull open.
NO! Take it! I need it! TAKE IT! IT’S MINE!
I pressed my hands against my temples, trying to contain the pressure, to silence the shrieking that only I could hear. My breath came in short gasps, my vision blurring at the edges.
“Camellia.” His voice cut through the chaos, concern evident despite his careful control. “What is it?”
I shook my head, unsure whether I was offering him an answer or simply trying to clear the voice’s continued assault.
“We need to leave,” he said quietly. “You are soaked through and freezing. We must get you warm before—” Whatever he said was cut off by the voice’s continued rampage inside my head, battering against the confines of my mind with such violence I was barely able to form coherent thoughts.
Dr. Ambrose moved to the door, checking that the path was clear. The rain had lessened to a light drizzle, misting in the air around us.
He turned back to me. “Can you walk?”
My ankle throbbed with each heartbeat, swollen and useless, but I nodded, unable to speak.
