by Shana Galen
“You like that?” he asked, his thumb circling the hard flesh.
Lila couldn’t answer, didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to think about what he did to her.
“Let’s see if you like this.” He bent his head so she saw only the top of his hair. She felt his warm breath on the skin of her breasts and then something light flick across her nipple. She jerked, and when she settled, it happened again. His tongue, wet and skilled, circled her hard point, laving it until she was all but mad with the desire for more of his touch.
Just when she would have cried out from frustration, he took her nipple in his mouth, sucking hard on it and rolling the bud over his tongue. Lila moaned and arched, offering her other breast for the same treatment.
He obliged her, using his thumb on her well-used flesh, now swollen from his lips. When he pushed her back on the bed and came down on top of her, his arms braced on either side, she didn’t protest. Outside, the rain pattered on the roof, and the wind lashed at the boards on the windows. Inside, Lila was wrapped in her own storm.
He didn’t love her, but she could only describe what he did to her with hands and mouth as loving. He was gentle and thorough, responding to every mewl, every tensing of her body, every quick gasp. She wanted the pleasure he’d given her before again and again. His knee parted her thighs and pressed against her core so he rocked against her, and she, wanton now and beyond caring, moved her hips in the rhythm he showed her.
Finally, with a curse, he drew back and yanked her nightgown down to her belly. He lifted her hips and stripped it from her, leaving her naked before his gaze. He still wore his trousers, and her gaze dipped to the hard bulge where his manhood pressed against the material. Would he take her now?
“Not yet,” he murmured, notching her chin up so she looked into his eyes. They were so dark, she was almost lost in them. His knee nudged her legs open, and that she resisted. She was already so exposed. Lila felt herself blush at this removal of her last vestige of modesty.
“Let me see you, Lila,” he murmured, kissing her lips, then her chin, then her cleavage. “You’re so beautiful.”
She didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but she couldn’t resist the way his hands stroked her thighs or the way his mouth moved against her skin. She allowed him to part her legs, then closed her eyes as his gaze dropped and he looked at her there.
He looked for what seemed a long time before his fingers inched higher, touching the sensitive flesh just where she most needed him. He parted her folds and pressed one finger against her opening. She could feel the wetness there, was embarrassed by it, but he made no comment, merely circled her, teasing her, and coming closer and closer to the bud she desperately wanted him to stroke.
She opened her eyes and met his gaze. What she really wanted, she realized with horror, was for him to put his mouth on her again. But instead of complying, he continued to tease her with light touches, all the while watching her face for her reaction.
Lila closed her eyes again, squeezing them tightly, forcing herself to say the words. “Your mouth,” she whispered. “Please.”
He made no response, his fingers still stroking her, creating a slow building heat that made her want to squirm. Finally she opened her eyes and looked at him.
“You’re killing me,” he said, his voice rough. “I want you almost more than I can take.”
“Yes,” she said, understanding what he meant. Her entire body hummed, and she felt more alive than she ever had. And yet it wasn’t enough. There was still more, still something she reached for.
“You want my mouth on you? You’ll have it, but first I want to slip inside you.”
She frowned, uncertain of his meaning until his finger drifted down and slid inside her.
“Oh,” she moaned, not expecting the way her body clenched around that single finger or the way she pushed against it, wanting him to move deeper inside her. Instead, he slid out, then back in again. Lila’s breath came in loud moans as he continued his torment, skating up to glide the wet finger against that small, sensitive nub. But just as her body strained for release, he inched back inside her, this time with two fingers. Lila’s hips arched, and his thumb circled the wet nub.
She was dizzy, her head spinning. There was nothing but Brook—his eyes, his hands, his presence. She never wanted this to stop, and yet she all but sobbed with the need for release. When he finally pressed her toward it, she could hear herself murmur, “Yes, yes.”
“Look at me, Lila,” he told her. “I want you to see me when you come.”
She opened her eyes, her gaze on his. With his hard body burnished by the firelight and lit up by flashes of lightning, his muscles tense from the control he exerted, and his eyes dark with desire, he was nothing short of a Greek god. She would have done anything he asked at that moment.
His thumb pressed against her, and her hips bucked. With a scream, she fell into pleasure, fell into his dark eyes, fell into oblivion.
Even in her stupor, she could see the way his eyes warmed, the way he relished her pleasure as he might his own. Lila, who had for years rarely thought of anyone but herself, wanted to give this back to him. She wanted to give Brook the pleasure he’d given her.
The waves of sensation began to recede, and Lila relaxed slightly. But Brook surprised her by bending. With one of her legs crooked over his shoulder, opening her wider to him, he pressed his mouth against her.
His tongue entered her, stroking the spot his fingers had made sensitive. Lila called his name, arched for him. Even as her body resisted the onslaught of more sensation, she welcomed it. And then when she thought she could not take more, his lips found that delicate bud, and he teased and licked and sucked until, with a cry that rivaled the booms of thunder, she tumbled over the precipice once again.
Thirteen
She slept. She’d all but sobbed out his name before her eyes had closed and she’d drifted to sleep, sated and spent. She hadn’t bothered to pull the covers around her body, which suited him just fine. She had the most perfect body he had ever seen.
Her legs were shapely, her hips flared, her breasts fit perfectly into his hands. She had pale pink nipples that darkened to dusky rose when he stroked and licked them. The dark hair between her legs parted to reveal skin the color of a delicate orchid. He could have admired her all night, but that would not ease the throbbing in his cock. Instead, he covered her and brushed her hair back from her forehead.
Then he rose and walked to the one-paned window, letting the cool air seeping through the glass subdue the worst of his ardor. The storm that raged outside was expected. The feelings churning inside were not.
He hadn’t expected to want her so much. He’d had beautiful women in his bed before. After he’d been knighted, he’d had quite a few beautiful women in his bed. He’d become more selective in his bed partners after he’d rescued the brother of Viscount Chesham and became a hero. He did not relish being used by women seeking to gain status or entertain with gossip.
Lila was beautiful, but no more so than other women he’d known. And yet he struggled to contain the desire he felt for her more than he’d ever had to with any other woman. Was it her innocence? Those wide eyes and that furious blush?
He wanted to be gentle with her but could not resist making her scream with need for him. She’d sobbed his name before falling asleep.
His name.
He’d liked the sound of it on her lips more than he liked to admit. He’d liked the way she looked at him when she climaxed, like he was the only man in the world.
He didn’t quite know what to make of this possessiveness. She was his wife, and that made her different. Brook had never thought much of the institution of marriage. His mother and father’s marriage had not made the state of matrimony particularly alluring. Even as a child, it had been clear to him that his mother only tolerated his father out of a sense of duty.
His father had been an honorable man who had treated his wife with the respect owed
to a countess, but he hadn’t loved her. Brook had never once seen them so much as touch hands or exchange endearments, not even when they hadn’t known he observed them. They were in private just as they were in public—cold, formal, and aloof. When Brook came of age, he’d often wondered if his father had a mistress. Dane and he had discussed it, and his older brother thought the earl had not. This was no surprise, coming from Dane, who almost never stepped outside the lines Society had set for him.
Brook often stepped outside the lines. And now, with Lila, Brook was uncertain where the lines had been drawn. He wanted her, but how much was too much? How much desire was dangerous when he knew she was the kind of woman who could so very easily crush him if she caught the first glimmer of softness?
But perhaps he was being unfair. He had changed. Why couldn’t she also have changed? What if her recent actions—apologies, nursing him, cuddling stray kittens—were indications of who she really was? What if the spoiled, selfish girl had grown into a kind, thoughtful woman? If that was the case, might his desire evolve into something more?
Brook had turned away from the window to watch the rise and fall of her shoulders as she slept. Now he turned back, pushing the battle between his cock and his brain out of his mind for the moment.
Trees swayed in the wind and the rain poured down in sheets. Thunder shook the ground and lightning illuminated the fields beyond. He could sympathize with man or beast caught in the weather tonight. The wet roads and deep mud would keep his nosy neighbors away for the next few days.
Unfortunately, even if the weather had been ideal, he could not depend on his neighbors’ charity. He hadn’t had time to plan this escape and had been forced to leave without adequate provisions. With two, no—he glanced at the cats curled up by the fire, the mother watching him with one eye open—five mouths to feed, he would need to take action as soon as the rain cleared. He didn’t like leaving Lila there alone, even for a few hours.
He could take her with him.
But he had no horse, and that would mean walking several miles. He could only imagine how volubly she might complain at being forced to walk any distance.
But if Beezle came when he was away, she’d be dead.
Ridiculous to believe Beezle would find them, could find them, but Brook had learned that sometimes the ridiculous was possible.
She woke before him in the morning. He felt her stir and her body stiffen when she realized he slept beside her. He wondered if the reaction was surprise or distaste. She was attracted to him. He could see that plainly enough, but then he would have sworn she’d been attracted to him, even in love with him, all those years ago.
And she’d broken his heart.
He could feel her patting the coverlet, searching for her nightgown. He could have told her it had fallen to the floor on the other side of the bed. Unfortunately, she would have to go around him to leave the bed, and if he didn’t move, that meant she had little choice but to wait for him to wake or crawl over him.
She pushed the covers back and inched closer to him. Realizing she would have to go over him, she edged down the bed, so as to go over his legs. But just as she straddled him, he opened his eyes.
He must have enjoyed torture because the sight of her pained him. She was glorious with her tangled hair and her long, naked limbs. If she’d positioned herself a little higher on his body, he could have stripped the covers away and taken her. Brook was thankful for small mercies and for a moment to tamp down his lust.
But he wouldn’t allow her to escape. Instead, he caught her around the waist before she could scamper away and settled her on top of his cock. Unfortunately, the coverlet was between their bodies, but her gasp of protest made it clear she felt him beneath her.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Let go of me. I want my night rail.”
“And I want you exactly as you are.”
She moved her hands to cover herself, which made him smile considering what she’d allowed him to do the night before. She’d covered her breasts, and so he slid his hands up the silky skin of her thighs until she lowered her hands to cup the place between her legs. Brook moved one hand to her belly and watched the shiver ripple through her skin. Her nipples darkened to rose and hardened.
He slid his hand higher, fondling her full breast and plucking at her nipple.
“Stop,” she whispered, her voice a plea. “I can’t—I don’t want this.”
“Don’t you?” He moved to her other breast, bringing the nipple to a hard point. “You don’t want my touch or you don’t want to want my touch?”
“I don’t want to want it.”
She hadn’t lied, which he could appreciate.
“Then I’ll stop,” he said, removing his hands and slipping them around to her back. He took her hair in his hand and pulled her slowly down, until she was poised over him. Her breasts were inches from his lips, her nipples so close he could have darted his tongue out and touched them. He released her hair.
“Walk away, if that’s what you want.” His lips brushed her breast as he spoke. “I won’t stop you.”
She hesitated, and he held his breath.
“But if you prefer to stay,” he said after a long moment, “I will take your hard nipple into my mouth and suck it until you cry out with need. Then I’ll slip my hands between your legs, into that slick, hot place, and stroke you until you come apart. Your choice.”
She still hesitated. Then she rocked back, and he thought she would dash away. Instead, her mouth came down on his, the kiss so hot and unexpected, all the breath was knocked out of him. He kissed her back, his hands in her hair, her bare flesh brushing against the skin of his chest. She kissed his lips, his jaw, his neck. Brook clenched the bedclothes to keep from flipping her over and taking her when her small tongue tickled his ear.
She was an excellent student, and she’d soon become the teacher if he didn’t take control.
Hands on the swell of her hips, he slid her body over the hardness of his cock until he could feast on her breasts. When his hands slid down to cup her between the legs, she was his.
He did exactly as he’d promised and was rewarded when she arched above him, riding his fingers with abandon. She was more seductive than the highest-paid courtesan, and Brook knew he would struggle to give her up.
Sometime later, they’d dressed and broken their fast with the last of the bread from Mrs. Spencer’s basket. They’d given the last bit of broth to the mother cat, who had escaped outside with her kittens, probably to hunt for mice or birds. A chill wind blew, but the rain had gone and the sun shone from a cloudless sky. Brook couldn’t have asked for a clearer sign that he should travel to the posting house.
After he’d helped Lila—who had turned shy and quiet again—dress, he’d gone to the hook where her pelisse hung and handed it to her.
“You’ll need this and a bonnet.” He glanced at her valise, stowed in one corner. “If you have boots or a scarf, put that on too.”
She set down the cup of lukewarm tea she’d made earlier. It was truly horrible, but he’d drunk it quickly and made a mental note to take charge of any cooking from then on.
“Why?”
Brook donned his greatcoat, turning the collar up and feeling about in his pockets for gloves.
“We haven’t any provisions. I must go to the posting house and buy what we need.”
Lila stood. “But we haven’t a horse.”
“We’ll walk.”
Lila sank back down. “Exactly how far is the posting house?”
Brook shrugged. “Far enough. We’d better leave now if we want to be back before dark.”
“I remember that posting house,” Lila said, lifting the teacup once again and holding it close. “It was at least six miles. I am no great walker. You shall have to go without me.”
Brook placed his hands on the table and bent close. He’d been prepared for this, and he understood her reservations. He would have left her behind if he could.
/> “Put on your pelisse, your bonnet, and your gloves, and be ready to depart in five minutes.”
Far from being intimidated by his threatening pose, Lila appeared annoyed. She set the cup down with a thunk and rose to face him. “No.”
With that, she sauntered toward the fire, holding her hands out for warmth. Oh, what he wouldn’t have given to walk away and let her fend for herself for a few days. That would teach her to tell him no. Knowing Lila, he’d return and she’d have the entire cottage refurbished and a full staff at her beck and call.
He couldn’t take the risk Beezle might come for her. He couldn’t risk that a vagrant might spot the cottage and seek shelter from a rain shower. She was unprotected there, and he would not leave her. Nor would he stay. As an investigator, he often discovered useful information just listening to others talk. If anything or anyone unusual had been seen in the area, the locals would remark upon it. A visit to the posting house was his best chance of finding out if Beezle or anyone else who might prove dangerous was in the area.
Brook would have preferred to stay indoors and woo Lila back to bed, but he hadn’t stayed alive in the most dangerous holes of London by doing what he wanted instead of what he should. His side had healed, the food was all but gone, and the weather had cleared.
It was time.
He’d been silent for several minutes, and Lila peeked at him over her shoulder. She undoubtedly thought her display of pique had dissuaded him. Quite the opposite.
“Darling wife,” he said before she could turn back to the fire.
Her back stiffened and she rounded on him. “Do not call me that.”
“You misunderstand.” He spread his hands as though in supplication. “This is not a request I make of you; it’s an order.” He placed his hat on his head. “We will leave in”—he made a show of checking his pocket watch—“three minutes now. Either don your warmer clothing, or I’ll drag you out in that.”
