Persuasion

by Owner

  import. Not only that, she did not have the courage.

  It shamed her to admit that to herself, but it was the truth. And it would

  have been worse, were she to start lying to herself about her capabilities.

  Perhaps another time, she would be able to speak to him of the true

  circumstances behind their meetings, without the fear that he would soon

  after cast her asunder with hate in his heart.

  Gulping at the thought, she turned her face against his and pressed a kiss to

  his lips. Sighing as he began to explore her mouth with his own, the delicacy

  of that particular joining making a shiver course over her flesh and set alight

  a tingle of goose bumps.

  With a shaking hand, she reached for his and placed it against her breast.

  The bottom curve of each breast was covered by her petticoat, but the top

  half was bare and the feel of his slightly callused fingers against her skin was

  incredibly exciting.

  He touched her gently there, almost tickling her and heightening the

  sensitivity of that already delicate skin. Suddenly, his arms grasped her legs

  and simultaneously supported her back as he heaved them both out of the

  armchair and spread them in their regular position before the fireplace.

  His hands tore at the petticoat to release her willing flesh and he was soon

  throwing it aside to bare her entirely to his aroused gaze. She licked her lips

  and watched as his eyes followed the movement. The highly charged

  moment had her back arching against the floor, which in turn had her

  breasts shifting with a movement his hands sought to capture.

  She shuddered at the touch. “More,” she whispered.

  Dorian laughed gruffly. “I should take you upstairs. You deserve more than

  the floor. Especially if you have been ill . . . .”

  “I care not. I want only you.”

  “That does not matter. I also want only you, but you deserve a feather bed

  to lie upon, the warmth of my bedchamber . . . not the cold floor of my

  study!”

  “It matters not to me, Dorian. I want you pressed against me, warming me,

  not the heat from a hot brick in your bed!”

  She could see that her breathy words affected him. “You truly are unique,

  my love,” he whispered.

  Lily's heart almost froze at that moment. My love?

  Oh God, how she wished she were.

  How she wished she could shout from the rooftops and damn society to hell

  that this man was hers and she was his. How she hated that bastard

  blackmailer for pushing her into a situation where she found her soul mate .

  . . only to simultaneously ruin her future.

  God, she hurt. She stared up at him with wounded eyes. “I love you, Dorian.

  Never forget that. Please,” she whispered, spying his confusion.

  He smiled. It was strained. “You say that like this is the last time. The

  Season does not end for six weeks or more.”

  She shrugged and stretched the truth. “I visit when I can, Dorian.”

  “Ah. Then we should make this night memorable, should we not?”

  Lily sighed and then softly smiled. “Please. Let's.”

  He grinned and slipped his hands over her body, running them from the

  curve of her waist to the cusp of her hips where he curled his fingers about

  her upper thigh and slowly, with a wicked smile, urged her legs apart.

  She complied, willingly and welcomed him between them. The sensation of

  fabric against tender skin was surprising, it had feelings of exhilaration rush

  through her, at the realization that he was fully clothed and she quite, quite

  naked.

  Heady, was the word she sought.

  Unbelievably so.

  A shudder rushed through her and with seeking hands, she reached for him,

  only resting when they were tucked about his neck and pressed him close to

  her.

  “I should make you beg after abandoning me this morning. I wouldn't be

  surprised if I accidentally flashed my buttocks at Hague, my butler!”

  Lily couldn't help it, a laugh escaped her throat and as it permeated the

  sound waves, she was surprised at its sultry nature. Was that how she

  sounded to him?

  The thought was not displeasing.

  She reached down to grab at the discussed buttocks and grinned. “Lucky

  Hague,” she whispered saucily and pealed into laughter again as his ears

  turned pink.

  “Minx. I do believe that you should be punished!”

  His mouth dropped down to hers and within seconds moans were escaping

  her throat. She couldn't help it. She couldn't contain them. His tongue

  tangled with hers, and, together, they fought a duel. Their mouths ate at the

  others, their tongues challenged for domination, their teeth nibbled and bit

  to punish . . . she began to pant as a heady excitement charged through the

  atmosphere and had the small hairs at the back of her neck standing upright

  to attention.

  She shuddered.

  And almost as though they were joined by kinetic energy, he too quaked

  atop her.

  He stilled and tugged his mouth from hers. For endless moments, he stared

  down at her. Their eyes met, clashed and warred as they sought the truth

  from one another. The honest to God truth of emotions that were too

  precious to even discuss.

  Suddenly, he jumped up and left her uncovered to his gaze. She did not

  mind and slowly rolled her hips against the floor, watching as his speed

  quickened and trousers went flying and buttons soared into the air as he

  ripped himself free from his clothing.

  When he practically dove upon her, she laughed up at him only stopping

  when his fingers slipped between her thighs and began to strum at the

  nubbin that rested along the central line of her body.

  Her eyes flared wide before they sunk to mere slithers and her lips parted as

  she sucked in hissing breaths. He stared down at her, his gaze triumphant

  and so powerfully male that she submitted to his dominance eagerly.

  Her moist sex welcomed him happily, his fingers slid in the juices of her

  pleasure and that in itself heightened her exultation. She shivered as his

  slippery digits edged about the nubbin of her desire until every part of her

  was on the cusp of something marvelous, of something heavenly.

  When his fingers stilled, she stared up at him blearily. There was a

  possessive stamp on his face. She had thought this her punishment, as he

  had so earlier described it, but it wasn't. What it was, she did not, in all

  honesty, know. It was deep and intense and meaningful and her heart

  literally quivered in her chest at the sight of it.

  She wished to the Gods that she could have this, experience this every day

  for the rest of her life . . . but it was not to be.

  The thought had her closing her eyes.

  Suddenly, they were jolted open as his member pressed against her

  entrance and slowly but surely began to possess her, fighting the natural

  resistance of her body, pushing through the tight confines of her still-

  innocent sex.

  Together, they shuddered, when the very essence of his masculinity

  possessed every inch of the very essence of her femininity, leaving no part

  of her not branded by his touch. Not a spare inch of him wa
s not scorched

  by her own molten heat.

  His hips began to thrust, slowly at first. Slowly, so that her tissues dragged

  against his and that she could truly experience the feeling of utter

  penetration, of him touching her so deeply that she would never be able to

  forget him in her innermost self.

  Then, as arousal strummed her body and pleasure had her wriggling against

  the floor, he began to move faster. There was no time to recall the touch of

  a sword slowly being sheathed . . . this was so much more intense. Each

  thrust had her gasping, had her back arching from the floor as she needed

  him to touch her harder, faster, deeper.

  “Dorian!” she cried out blindly as he clutched at her legs and changed their

  position so that the bottom curve of her spine still rested on the floor but her

  hips were arched upwards to accept even more of him.

  At that moment, she thought she would die. Had she thought him as deep as

  physically possible before? Now, now, God, she felt as though he were

  touching her throat.

  Her legs tightened about him instinctively as his hands moved from their

  hold there and down to touch her breasts. The nipples eagerly perked

  upwards; glad to see the master who could strum their sensitivity to heights

  previously unknown as though they were an instrument, through which

  marvelous music could be played.

  He tweaked and pinched at the nubbins as his hips slammed into hers and

  all the while, their eyes were joined. Perhaps that was the most intense part

  of it. The knowledge that he could touch her so intimately and yet it was not

  as intimate as the looks they were sharing. As the emotions that were

  passing between each other.

  Indeed, she knew for a fact that he saw the culmination of her pleasure

  before her body did from the look in her eyes so intense was their

  connection!

  When her climax shot through her with the power of a gale, she clutched at

  him both intimately and with her arms. She dragged him down and begged

  for his seed, begged for him to claim her in the most primal way possible.

  The pressure of his body against her torso had her arching in reaction, the

  deep sensations merely enhanced the echoing waves of shattering exultation

  that pounded through her limbs.

  Her ears whooshed with a silent wind, her eyes were blinded with a rainbow

  of colors, her sense of taste and smell were filled with the scent of his skin.

  It was merely enhanced when his seed powered into her depths. As he sank

  against her, resting his head upon her chest and ultimately dozing within her

  embrace, Lily knew that she had never felt so close to home as she did at

  this exact moment in time.

  Chapter Eight

  There was something almost ironic about the fact that this time when she

  was prepared for her blackmailer to be sharing her coach home, he wasn't in

  fact there. That she was alone . . . well, it was almost anti-climactic, and it

  further enraged her. Her teeth ached from the tension in her face and her

  jaw felt almost like iron. She had been so ready to finally demand some

  answers and now she wouldn't be receiving any.

  Not tonight, at least.

  Indeed, as she'd accepted the hand of the footman and had allowed him to

  help her into the carriage, Lily had been prepared to tear into the bastard

  who was forcing her into such a distressing situation and scold him with her

  hatred as soon as the door had been closed.

  Indeed, she'd long to yell at him, to ask him how he could have done this to

  her? How could he have so easily destroyed her life and all without having

  known her?

  But now, she couldn't. She wouldn't have the chance to hear from him and

  that was more difficult than she imagined.

  Lily knew that she wasn't perfect and had never shown any pretense in

  suggesting that she was, for it would have been a bed of lies were she to

  infer anything of the like. But she did not deserve this, she knew that much.

  She was flawed. She made mistakes, grievous ones that at times, had hurt

  others. But it was never intentionally, never with vindictiveness in her heart.

  For it wasn't in her nature to be as malicious as the man who had so cruelly

  ruptured any hope she had for the future. Who had, in one hand, shown her

  who her soul mate actually was and then, taken him away with the other.

  She was like every other human being on this earth. Be they from a high or

  a low rank. She made mistakes as did the rest of the human race, but Lily

  did not, and had never, deserved a punishment of this nature.

  It simply wasn't fair, she thought on a gurgled sigh.

  And yet, unfortunately for Lily, she was not a babe whose rattle had been

  snatched out of her hands.

  Lily could not sob and cry and scream her rage. She had to simply sit in the

  carriage, her hands curled into the cushions, white and tense from the anger

  she was trying to contain, as she rocked, unawares, back and forth to calm

  herself.

  The fact that her anger could not be spent was more detrimental than she

  could ever imagine. Something about tonight, something about their

  conversation . . . it felt almost final when it should have been the beginning.

  Her stomach cramped at the thought, but it was how she felt regardless of

  whether or not she actually wanted to feel that way!

  Love. It was an emotion she had only recently come to understand, and,

  from her short experience with it, Lily knew that she and her mother were

  fabricated from the same mold. Before, she had pitied her mother and the

  loss she felt, been saddened at the loss of her mama's spirit. Now, now she

  understood.

  And Lily knew that were she to lose the love of her life, as her mother had,

  then she too would react in a similar fashion.

  To lose the other half of one's soul . . . it was more than devastating. It was

  so destructive that Lily respected her mama all the more for having

  survived. To love in this way was not pleasant, was not easy, but it was the

  way of it, instant, instinctive, and intensely absorbing. There was no

  escaping it, no dodging this particular blow. And while it had the makings of

  an ending to a Brothers Grimm fairy story, she could only hope it was to the

  contrary, that her love was not thrown back at her, that he accepted her

  warts and all and loved her enough to share his life.

  It seemed like hopeless conjecture, but a woman could wish, could she not?

  When she had spoken of love to Dorian earlier on, her words had come

  directly from her heart. They hadn't been a speech she'd constructed to

  follow her blackmailer's orders. Seduction was one thing, but actually lying

  to the man who owned a half of her soul? No. She simply couldn't do that.

  And so, as she'd stolen away into the night, literally ripped herself out of his

  arms for to leave had been so painful, anger had rushed through her. Anger

  and distress and rage for what she should have and what in reality, she had

  been given.

  Her eyes stared at the carriage wall and she wished to God that she had the

  right to demand the coachman turn the damned vehicle around and blatantly

 
walk into Dorian's house. Be legally his and free to declare to the ton that

  she was his as he was hers. To say freely that she was his wife and he, her

  husband and damn the consequences.

  But she couldn't.

  She had to love him and leave him.

  Love and leave.

  Lily shook her head at the thought and was jolted as the rocking carriage

  came to an abrupt halt.

  Suddenly, a sensation of utter desolation and deflation overcame her. She

  sank against the cushions and waited for the door to the coach to open and

  her nemesis to jump in.

  Nemesis. She pondered the word and decided that it fit perfectly. For what

  was he if not her enemy? Although, if her mythology was correct, Nemesis

  had been the goddess of vengeance. Perhaps, ergo, she should be classed as

  Nemesis, for she fully intended to learn of her blackmailer's identity and put

  him through the hell he had forced her to endure.

  Uncertainty washed through her. Her rage was at a climax and yet, now that

  she shared this tight space with a man who had the potential to commit

  murder, Lily felt like a coward for not jumping forward and attacking him

  with her bare hands.

  Did he not deserve to be treated thusly?

  He did indeed and yet she did not have courage to do anything of the like.

  Instead, Lily said nothing as he jumped in and settled opposite her and

  hesitated over answering him at all, when he spoke.

  “You were there longer tonight.”

  Finally, after silence seemed to reign in the tiny confines of the carriage and

  an uncomfortable abyss seemed to open between them. "Yes. I would not

  have believed that it would cause you any concern! Is it not after all what

  you most want?” she spat.

  He tsked. “Calm down. It was merely a question, Lady Lily.”

  She flushed. "It was not simply a question. Your mind is filthy and no doubt

  loaded with insinuations that mine cannot even begin to comprehend! If you

  wish to ask me something, then ask. I cannot stop you. But do not hedge! It

  is most irritating,” she hissed.

  “It seems you have grown claws, my lady,” he said dryly.

  “You are quite fortunate that in the literal sense I have not. If I did possess

  claws then you would indeed be blind at this very moment. Either that or

  your lifeblood would be spewing out of hundreds of open wounds.”