But she was jealous.
There was that hope flaring again. When one was completely done with a lover, jealousy did not remain. If she truly meant what she’d said to him she should have no cause to care about what he did, or whom he saw. She cared. Cared very much.
Quickly, Iain saw to the latches and locks. They were all secured. Climbing the stairs, he felt a measure of peace run through him. Tonight was the night. He would wait no longer. Could not wait any longer.
Opening the door to Elizabeth’s chamber, he stepped inside, heard Maggie’s gasp, saw her eyes go round with shock. It was all very improper, but Iain had never been a gentleman in the true sense of the word. Besides, Elizabeth was no child in need of protection. She was a woman, and whatever happened here was between them.
Maggie seemed to understand that.
“Tell him to leave,” Elizabeth demanded. Maggie opened her mouth to repeat her mistress’s orders when Iain effectively put a stop to them.
“I’m done running, Elizabeth. Done with waiting for you to hear me out. Done with the way you pretend you don’t want me.”
Maggie’s mouth gaped open, her gaze darting between them. She was obviously torn between her duty to Elizabeth and the way his eyes pleaded with her to leave him alone with her.
“I don’t want you!” she thundered.
“The hell you don’t. You were seething with jealousy tonight over nothing more than my conversation with a lady.”
“A lady? Ha! She is the furthest thing from a lady.
I’m quite certain,” Elizabeth sneered, “that when one looks up the definition of lady in the dictionary it does not say, ‘a woman of loose morals who betrays her marriage vows by sleeping with other women’s men!’” She paused, the enormity of what she’d said finally sinking in. “I mean, that is to say…”
Iain took a few steps to her, glanced at Maggie, who took no time in deciding it was prudent to leave them alone. When the door closed behind her, he saw Elizabeth sag.
“Is that how you see me, Beth?” Christ, his voice sounded as if he had eaten glass. “Am I yours? Your man?”
She whirled away from him, rubbing her hands on her arms. “Go away.”
“Is that truly what you want?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve never lied to me before. I always depended upon that, Elizabeth—your honesty. It was one of the only things in the world that I could.” Her back stiffened, and he saw her internal struggle.
Elizabeth was a strong woman who had never needed to hide behind half truths and lies.
“The lady in question is not my mistress. She never was. She was a means to an end, a way for me to gain access to the House of Orpheus. She truly was Brethren business.”
“I don’t care what she is to you.”
“You cared tonight, Beth. Your every thought was clear on your face.”
“You may have her, with my blessing.” “I don’t want her. There is only one woman in the world I desire, and she’s standing right here. You want me, Elizabeth. I’m yours. I’d give my soul for that, you know. To be yours once again.”
Wrapping his arms around her, he held her, his chest pressed into her back, his face buried against the soft flesh of her shoulder. He felt her weaken, accept his embrace.
“Aren’t you tired of fighting this, Beth?” he asked.
“These feelings aren’t going away, they’re just growing deeper. Harder to resist. I’ve acknowledged the truth.
Isn’t it time you did, as well?” She clutched at his arms, her body trembling.
“Just one night, Elizabeth, let us put the past behind us.
No recriminations. No judgements. Let us just be together as we both want. We’re both so tired,” he murmured as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “So damn tired of trying to outrun feelings that will never let go, never fade.
There is nothing left to be done, my Beth, but to run to them—to each other. Not from each other.” His mouth moved over her shoulder, up her neck, till his lips were caressing her ear. “Let’s just fall into bed and make love to each other. Forget everything except you and me and what we want.”
“It would be so easy to do,” she whispered, her ire leaving her. “But the night will end, and the dawn will come, bringing with it more troubles than what we already have between us.”
“I will leave before the dawn. The discussion we must inevitably have can wait. Let this be one night of pleasure. You want that, Beth. I can feel it in you. You want that again.”
She turned in his arms, her fingers touching his face, traversing his cheeks. Her mouth was trembling. “I won’t even make you answer, Beth. You can hate me in the morning, if you’ll only love me tonight.” He captured her, swept her up in his arms, kissed her deeply, tasting her, walking back with her toward the bed while he cupped her cheeks in his hands and ravaged her mouth with hot, openmouthed kisses. Her tongue touched his, returning his kisses, matching the ferocity of them, the hunger.
No words were said, but there was a mutual acceptance. An urgency between them as he laid her onto her bed and stretched out beside her. That urgency could not rob him of this night, the pleasures of Beth’s body.
Tonight he would be relentless in pleasuring her. He’d been nothing but a boy when he had made love to her that long ago summer. He was a man now, she a woman, and he wanted to love her slowly and endlessly, with all the skill he possessed. For some reason he wanted to show her what sort of lover he could be to her, as if that was somehow the key to keeping her at his side, though he knew it was not. It had never been just about sex for Beth. There had been so much more….
Removing his coat, he flung it to the floor. Next came his shirt, which he hastily pulled over his head. Then he kicked off his boots, before focusing on Elizabeth’s gown and the pale mounds of flesh that escaped from her bodice.
“Your arm,” she said quietly, and he stilled when her fingertips found the gauze wrapped around his biceps.
“It won’t stop me, Beth.”
“Does it pain you?”
“No, not like the pain of being deprived of you.” Lowering his head, he caught her lips and kissed her slowly, opening her mouth, angling his over hers with lazy kisses and licks. “Not like the pain in my heart when you ask me to leave. Don’t ask me tonight, Beth,” he murmured, his blood drumming heavily in his veins as he looked down at her. “Please don’t.”
Her fingers stroked his arm as she turned her head, her mouth grazing the gauze with a soft kiss. “I won’t.” His fingers were shaking as he pulled at the buttons, revealing her slowly. He smoothed his palms over the creamy flesh that was pushed up by her corset.
Skin as pure as moonlight, he thought as he watched his hand move over her. Her hair had come undone, spilling loose around her, as black as ink against the cream coverlet.
He exposed her slowly, took his time to run his hands over her, heightening her response, listening to her little moans and mewls as he touched her with his fingers and lips. He undressed her slowly, savouring each sigh, each arch of her body, the sight of gooseflesh creeping over her skin, the sound of her garments sliding away from her body and falling to the floor.
When she was at last naked, he knelt over her, his knees on either side of her thighs as he skimmed his hands along her body, lovingly tracing each curve, the rise of her belly, the roundness of her hips, the beautiful lushness of her breasts. Her fingers were clutched in the bedcovers, and he pulled her hand away, and up, where he kissed her fingers, nudged them open and kissed her palm.
Beth…Beth… He whispered her name in his mind, unwilling to break the spell that surrounded them with any sound. He did not want to hear his voice; the only sounds he desired were the soft inhalations of Beth’s breath, her sighs of pleasure, the brush of his body and hers as he loved her.
She was beautiful, so perfect. He wanted to sit back and feast his eyes on her, sear her into his memory, lying like this, waiting for him.
His hand cares
sed her body, capturing her breast, palming her, and he watched her back arch into his hand.
He tasted her, suckled her nipple, laved it as he pleasured her other breast, rubbing her nipple with the flat of his palm, watching as a pink flush kissed her cheeks and chest. Her legs spread restlessly, inviting him in—beckoning him.
Behind his trousers his cock throbbed, ready for release. Ignoring it, he caught her breasts in his hands, brought them together, played with them for what seemed like forever until he wrung the most erotic moan from deep in her throat.
“Iain.” It was a plea. Such a beautiful sound, his name on her lips.
His gaze devoured her, followed the length of her leg to her ankle, where he picked up her foot, nuzzled the delicate bone, then slowly kissed his way up her calf, to the inner curve of her thigh. Opening her wide, he draped her calf over his shoulder, studying her glistening core, saw that the mirror in the corner of the room afforded him an unimpeded view of what he was doing to her. He saw her face, her eyes pressed shut in anticipation. Her mouth parted when he blew hot breath over her core. Her hands covered her breasts, pulled at her nipples when he parted her and stroked his tongue over her. Light at first, then firmer, deeper, more possessively, until she reached down and gripped his head, holding him to her.
How perfect they looked together, her the angel, him the hedonist. She was moving her hips, coming up to meet him, and he watched in the mirror, unable to close his eyes or look away. If only Beth could see this. How right this was.
Her orgasm was quiet, her hands clutching for purchase, but he slipped out of her reach, held himself above her, watching her expression as she came, and as he sank himself so deep inside her. Her moan made him shudder, made his own flesh flicker with goose bumps as the sound wrapped around him.
Lashes fluttering, he studied her, the way her body took him in. His rhythm was measured—all for her pleasure. To coax another climax from her, but with him deep inside this time. He would stay there forever, time suspended, with him overtop her, her arms flung above her head, his hand holding hers together, pressing them into the bed as he worked and thrust over her body, bringing her up yet again, wanting to see her shatter and cry out this time, unable to control her climax.
SHE WAS DYING, she knew. She had never felt such pleasure. The way Iain filled her, stretched her, then retreated, was nothing like she had ever felt before, not even all those years ago when he had laid claim to her body. He knew how to touch her, how hard to thrust, when to roll his hips, when and how to angle himself so she could not only feel him inside her, but rubbing against her clitoris, brushing, sensitizing. The fiend knew how to make her agony last, how to suspend it until he would allow her to reach out for it and surrender.
The room was quiet except for the rhythmic squeak of the bed and Iain’s hurried breaths overtop her. It was dark in her world, her other senses dulled by the pleasure.
She wanted to touch him, to feel his presence beyond the penetration of his body. He was with her, but there was a distance between them, a space where words and touch, taste and smell should have been.
He was insistent now, his thrusts harder, forceful, claiming—branding. She forgot her worries and concentrated only on him, the connection of their bodies.
He was grunting, his pace purposeful, his fingers biting into her wrists as he held her arms above her head.
He was looking down at her, at her swaying breasts, the place where they were joined. She felt the heat of his gaze there, watching, and she arched, felt her climax build.
And then he slowed, rolling his hips, rubbing against her clitoris, stimulating her until she found she could match his rhythm. She wanted to hear him call her name, to discover some sound of satisfaction from him, but he was too intent upon her pleasure, and she was soon lost to it.
“Again,” he growled, after she had already started to tremble a second time. Her legs were shaking, and her core ached in a mixture of pleasure and tenderness.
She couldn’t; no more. She was exhausted, her body shattered. But Iain wanted more. He was determined, and he sat up on his knees, lifted her, wrapped her legs around his waist and set her astride him, impaling her deeply.
“No,” she begged, clinging to him, unable to bear more. But his hands were on her bottom, supporting her, showing her the way.
“Yes.”
He did all the work, just made her hold on to him as he breathed against her, his hips and thighs rising up off the bed as he pushed deep into her body. Her breasts were pressed up between them, and Iain caressed them with the bristle on his chin. With his tongue, he found a nipple and sucked as he rocked against her.
There was no sound when she peaked the third time.
She couldn’t utter any noise, and Iain was silent. Taut as a bow, but silent as the night as he pushed her back down onto her bed and loomed over her, thrusting hard once more before pouring himself inside her.
With a great gasp he finished, and rolled off to the side, silently gathering her up in his arms and holding her against his chest. The pounding of his heart against her ear was the only sound she could hear.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
HIS CHEST WAS HARD, the skin slick with their sweat. His scent wrapped around her, a musky aroma, the taste of salt and Iain. How beautiful it was to lie upon him, her cheek nestled against the hard muscle, the feel of the Brethren Guardian brand pressing against her lips.
Lazily, he raked his fingers through her hair, lifting and combing, brushing it back over her shoulders. His breathing had at last returned to normal, but immediately began to grow again when she exhaled content-edly and stirred atop him. Beneath her lips, his nipple began to harden.
He said nothing, the silence stretching into something long and slightly uncomfortable. If Elizabeth were…normal, she would cross her arms over his chest and rest her chin on her hands, staring up at him, studying him in the afterglow of their passion.
But where she was, it was silent and dark, and she had no inkling of what expression he wore, what thoughts were reflected in his eyes. A terrible image came to her, of Iain lying in her bed, looking down upon her with a smug smile of satisfaction that she had surrendered, and he had won.
If only she could see him, reassure herself that it had been the right thing to do to give in to the needs of her body—her heart. That he was looking at her not with pride that he had won the battle, but with tenderness and warmth, and appreciation for what they had shared in her bed.
But she was lost, she realized—trapped in a dark oblivion from which there was no escape. His silence only made it more unbearable, and she was left to think of all the things that came to her mind—his women, lovers who were skilled and beautiful. Women who could at least see him. Who could look down upon him and know the results of their efforts. She couldn’t even do that, and Iain, it seemed, would not give her the words she so desperately needed to hear.
Self-pity. How she despised it. She hadn’t wallowed in it in years, since she had thrown her last handkerchief aside and wiped the last tear from her cheek. But it was back with a vengeance, with a depth of feeling that rocked her, that made her irrational and terrified.
She was grieving, she realized. Quite horribly, too. The loss of her sight, the loss of Iain, the feelings of despair she had never allowed free, but had bottled up and hid from. Suddenly the grief came crashing down upon her, the memories assaulted her, the words that she had never spoke to him rose up and choked her. She was in another place, the distant past. Elizabeth felt her mind fracture from her body. She was another person, a frightened, confused young woman who used discipline and control to avoid the feelings. The pain.
“Beth?”
“Don’t call me that!” she shrieked hysterically. Good heavens, she needed to get ahold of herself, but something was wrong. She couldn’t…couldn’t seem to find herself in the onslaught of memories, the grief for the past, the trauma of his betrayal—a trauma she had never wanted to experience, so she had buried
it and never acknowledged her grief.
And here it was, pressing down upon her in her black, silent prison, and she couldn’t see what he thought of her—of what they had done. She dare not ask him, for his answer would be witty and sensual, belying any of his feelings, and she could not see the truth in his eyes, to know if he lied to her, mocked her. If he thought her amusing. She would never know if he had been as lost as she in their lovemaking.
Shimmying off him, she flung his hand away from her. Her breasts were swaying, she could feel them, and she had never felt more exposed, more hideous than now, naked, vulnerable because she could not see him—could not hear him, or sense his thoughts and feelings. He was so good at hiding, at masking himself from her, and she could not do the same.
Everything she had wanted to say that day came rushing to the forefront. She’d been too much of a coward to do so. She’d never demanded to know why, even though in her heart she knew the answer.
She didn’t like what she was becoming—that young, hurt girl he had abandoned. But she couldn’t stop it, or the feelings. She must not let him know, let him see the pain he had caused her.
“Get out.”
The sheets rustled as she stumbled from the bed, her palm fruitlessly searching over the rumpled pile of bed linens. She needed to get out of her room, the chamber that smelt of him, reeked of the pleasure they had shared.
She could feel his eyes upon her, dissecting her, unmasking her, and she railed inside, so out of control, so senseless now in her rage, her impotence, her blindness.
And still he lay there watching her struggle. Enjoying watching the angel descend to earth in humiliation and a great tumble of pride. She closed her eyes, relieved at last to find her robe. She had no clue if it was inside out or not, and she didn’t care. He could laugh at her and she would not care, just as long as he left her to weather this strange mood that was making her feel as though she were drowning in a gale.
“Talk to me, Beth.”
His words spread goose bumps on her flesh, like rip-ples in the water after a stone is skipped across its still surface. That voice…it beckoned and lured, and she dared not trust it, trust herself. Not with the way she was feeling, so out of control, nearly insensible with pain.
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