She battled it back down, focusing on the feel of the man atop her, his lips tracing their way down the center of her spine, his tongue laving each ridge as he made his way downward. She breathed slowly, picturing Niall laid over her, his body like a shield against the world, his lips a balm to her agony. There was nothing to fear, not with him handling her so carefully, his mouth both urgent and gentle at once.
With a sigh, she let her body sink into the mattress, her eyes closing behind her makeshift blindfold. Again, she surrendered, letting herself revel and feel. He kissed along the curve of one buttock, then lapped at the sensitive skin where it met her thigh, causing her core to clench with longing.
“Niall,” she whispered, unable to lie still as he went on torturing her, skimming his lips down the back of one leg, before coming back up the opposite one. “Please … I want you inside me.”
He pushed her legs apart, bending them so that she lay with her hips raised and the lower half of her body bowed to the bed. His breath tickled her mons as he held her thighs in an iron grip, holding her open for him.
“Not yet.”
She couldn’t find the words to protest, because then, his mouth was on her, hot and searching. He suckled at the exposed inner flesh of her quim, his hands pulling her thighs even farther apart—until the tendons in her legs cried out in protest, her entire body singing with sensation. Even the strain on her shoulders and the slow stretch of her taut thighs brought her alive, the discomfort mingling with the pleasure of his tongue flicking her clit to make her entire being thrum with feeling. He suckled at the little bud until she screamed into the coverlet, burying her face amongst the bedclothes to muffle the sounds. Then, he was slipping a finger into her, and then another, the different angle offering a new sort of pleasure. She rocked back into him, mindlessly rolling her hips and seeking the second climax hovering just out of her reach.
“Is it enough, or do ye want more?”
She arched and groaned, clenching in desperate need. “More!”
He withdrew, wrenching a frustrated cry from her as she swayed toward him, seeking out that deep, delicious penetration. He gave it to her, only this time, the tip of his first finger—slick with her juices—came up against her rear passage while the others slid back into her cunt. She gasped, her entire body tensing at the tentative press at the tight hole of her arse. Still, Niall persisted, gaining an inch, then another, sinking his finger into the previously untouched entrance while steadily stroking inside her cunt. She breathed and swam in the foreign sensation—slightly painful, but also frightening, delightful, filthy, and a hundred other things at once. Before long, he’d lodged it all inside her, taking up a steady rhythm, his thick fingers filling her so fully and completely, she could hardly bear it.
“Do ye like being filled this way, Livvie?”
“Yes,” she whimpered, forcing the word out between heavy breaths.
The pressure and tension of oncoming climax was building again—stronger and faster than before, stealing the air from her lungs. The power of it would surely kill her, the pounding spasms tearing through her with vicious force. She shook and groaned, the stroke of him in both passages at once heightening her finish in a way she’d never thought possible. He did not ease his touch as he had the first time, driving deeper and harder into her the more she moaned and shivered. He refused to back down until she’d dropped back onto her belly, her extremities limp, her entire body sapped of strength. And even then, he did not pull free of her until the final flutters of her second climax—and what she felt certain might have been a third on the heels of it—had died away.
A moan of regret surged from deep within her chest at the emptiness she felt once he was gone, her channel throbbing and aching, her rear passage still tingling from his invasion. A sense of calm washed over her, suffusing her with a vibrant glow, even as the blindfold kept her submerged in darkness. She might have floated away, falling into a sound sleep, if not for the deep yearning that would not abate until she’d had him completely. Her cunt still clenched and throbbed for want of his cock, and he’d nearly driven her to begging.
Finally, he took hold of her hips and raised her up onto her knees again. Her legs trembled, but she remained how he’d placed her, using her arms to steady herself. The sound of rustling clothing made her lick her lips, her need now a palpable force thrumming through the air between them. She could swear she felt Niall’s desire, as well, a tangible thing tangling with hers between their bodies, the two just begging to be made one.
His weight shifted on the mattress, and then, the head of his cock touched her slick opening, blunt and wide. She shifted to attempt taking him in, but one of his hands grasped her hip, holding her still. She huffed, her patience now paper-thin. He took his time entering her, groaning as her channel opened to him, letting him in and clasping him tight. The sting of his invasion only lasted a moment, her body recognizing him, opening to him more readily than it had before.
He paused once he’d buried every inch in her, his thighs resting against hers, his pelvis snug against her arse. A hand stroked down her back, resting between her shoulders with a gentle push that had her stretching her arms out farther, tilting her hips up and arching her back.
“Niall,” she gasped when he began to withdraw, the slow drag of his cock against her inner walls sparking her need back to a roaring flame in an instant.
His breath quickened, both hands now taking hold of her hips as he drove into her over and over again, the force of his body colliding with hers increasing until she felt as if that hard length of him stroked through her entire body. She felt him buried deep within her channel, in her belly, in her heart which beat at the same rhythm as his thrusts.
“Christ, ye’re magnificent, mo gradh,” he groaned, his movements becoming less precise as he lost his hold on control.
He was driving into her harder and faster, the hands gripping her buttocks now trembling as he propelled her back into each surge of his hips.
“Tell me how it feels,” he urged. “I need to hear it.”
“Please don’t stop,” she cried, encouraging him by matching his pace, throwing herself into the moment. “It feels … God, it feels so perfect, Niall.”
He grunted, seating himself inside of her and staying lodged deep as he parted her buttocks, delving a finger back into her rear opening. The heat and stretch of it was increased tenfold with his cock already inside her, and she practically swooned from the dizzying sensation. He took his rhythm back up, his cock withdrawing when his finger plunged into her arse, then pulling out when he filled her cunt. It was too much, threatening to overwhelm her until she swooned in a dead faint. Nevertheless, she urged him on, aware that the final climax loomed just ahead, and that this one would be the one to end all others—the one to annihilate her senses the way she had wanted, so that she could feel him and only him.
She had not thought her body could take another, but it responded as readily to Niall as it always had. When rapture came, she opened her mouth on a scream that never emitted. The sound lodged in her throat, burning and simmering as she shattered, the spasms of her cunt around him strong enough to rob her of breath. Her heart might have leapt right out of her chest for how it thundered against her breastbone. Niall thrust in and out of her at a pace that drove her into the mattress, her body going limp once again. He followed her instead of bringing her back up to him, his body stretched out over hers, heavy and solid. The black world before her eyes swirled with bits of color and light, her body washed away in a raging hurricane of unfettered release. The climax went on and on, swelling and growing with each stroke of his cock inside her. He gathered her against him, arms holding her tight as he panted and groaned and drove himself toward his own end.
Burying his face against her shoulder, he muttered a string of oaths as his body jerked atop hers, the heat and wetness of his seed flooding her in a rush. She lifted her hips to keep him lodged deep, sighing and weeping at the sensation of spiritual,
elemental release following on the heels of her physical one. She could have floated to the heavens if not for Niall’s heavy body laid over hers, the feel of his breath rushing against her neck keeping her grounded.
As he eased himself from inside of her, she moaned, this time with a deep-seated satisfaction. Her arms and legs ached, her wrists chafed from being tied together, her inner channel now throbbing from use instead of need. Yet, the rest of her remained surprisingly still, her belly calmed, her trembling ceased.
His arms enfolded her in a tender hold, and she was being lifted, moved to lay against the pillows. She shivered when his body left hers, wondering if the fire had died down, but not concerned enough to ask. She was dizzy with euphoria, weak with satisfaction, and more content than she’d been in days.
The mattress dipped when Niall returned again, and a cold, wet cloth touched against her mons. She sighed, her head lolling to the side as she fought against drowsiness, wanting to be present for even this—the careful cleansing of her quim and inner thighs. When he had finished, he removed the cravat from around her wrists, then the stocking blinding her. The moonlight encircled him like a halo, white light clinging to the tips of his dark hair. Cupping her face, he took her lips in another kiss, this one tender, slow, and languid. It only drove her deeper into this place of bliss and fatigue, making her feel as if she could curl up into the shelter of his body and sleep for days.
It seemed he wanted her to do just that, because then, he turned her away from him to rest on her side before coming up behind her, one arm holding tight to her waist. The coverlet fell over them, and she could no longer cling to consciousness. So, she surrendered, finding comfort in his embrace as the entire world fell away, allowing her to sink into a deep and dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
livia paced the drawing room nearest the front door, hands clenched tight behind her back. The house was unbearably quiet without Adam, Daphne, or Niall filling it, with night fallen heavy outside and the unbearable wait making each minute creep by with maddening slowness. Daphne and Niall had managed to slip from the house before Adam had, off to meet Bertram’s victims at the home of the Bellinghams. Adam, who had been too distracted to think of anything other than this night’s meeting, had not noticed. He seemed intent only on murdering Bertram in cold blood, shunning food or drink or conversation as he sat about brooding, his eyes distant and dark.
He intended to meet Bertram in The Mint, a slum as far from the West End of London as could be, where they might go undetected. Lord Fairchild would arrive expecting to be paid his asking price, but Adam would give him a bullet through the heart instead. Little did he know that Daphne would be there, lying in wait for them both along with the magistrate and a handful of Bow Street Runners. Bertram would be informed of the charges being leveled against him and taken to the gaol. From there, they would await a trial.
The plan seemed foolproof. Daphne had thought of everything. Niall and the escorts of the other women would go along for protection. There was nothing she could do but wait for them to return—Daphne and Niall happy because they’d succeeded, Adam stone-faced and furious that they’d gone behind his back. However, her brother would calm once he was made to see reason. He would understand that it was better this way, for Bertram to be publicly tried and executed for his crimes. This was the best way to protect everyone involved while ensuring the guilty party got what he was due.
Despite knowing that from this night forward, Bertram could never harm her or anyone she loved ever again, Olivia could not squelch this feeling deep in her gut … a feeling that something was not quite right.
She could not describe it, but as she glanced at the ormolu clock ticking away on the mantle, she realized that they ought to have returned by now. It could not possibly take this long to confront and take a man into custody … could it?
The clatter of wheels outside nearly made her jump out of her skin, its closeness and speed both relieving and alarming at once. She dashed to the nearest window and peered out into the night, eyes wide at the sight of the hackney coach rolling to a halt before the front steps. The door flew open, and Niall jumped down first, the gas lamp directly overhead illuminating his drawn face and bloodstained hands.
“Oh, God!” she cried, a hand flying up to her pounding heart.
She calmed only a bit when she realized the blood was not his. She pressed a hand to the windowpane, wanting to call out to him. Her heart leapt into her throat as he turned to dash down the lane, leaving the hackney door open for the other occupants.
Adam came next, a bundle wrapped in a dark cloak held tight against his chest. His face was wild with panic, his long legs propelling him swiftly to the front steps. The head in the crook of his arm lolled, falling free of its hood to reveal a mass of auburn hair and a face that had gone far too pale.
“Daphne!” she wailed, running out into the vestibule to meet Adam as he barreled through the front door held open by a footman.
Even in the dim lighting, Olivia could make out the overabundance of blood staining Daphne’s gown and cloak, all of it originating from her shoulder. She’d gone unconscious and lay limp in Adam’s arms, though Olivia could hear her harsh, labored breathing. The woman just barely clung to life.
“What happened?” she demanded, accepting a lamp from a footman and falling into step beside him to light the way.
“She was shot,” he said, hurrying to the stairs.
Clutching at her dressing gown and nightgown to keep from tripping over the hems, she followed as fast as she could, her shorter legs making it a struggle. “Shot? By whom? Where is Niall?”
“Gone to fetch a surgeon,” he said before his voice lifted to echo through the entire house. “Maeve! Maeve, come quickly!”
They reached the landing and flew down the corridor, only to find Maeve coming from the opposite direction with an armful of linens. She cried out at the sight of them, losing hold of her laundry. The white cloths fluttered to the floor as she stumbled to a stop.
“Good Lord, what has happened?” she cried, wringing her hands and approaching with tears in her eyes.
“She’s been shot,” Olivia told her as Adam stormed into the room, intent upon Daphne alone. “Niall’s sending for a surgeon. We will need those linens, hot water, more light, and … and … perhaps some spirits. Something for the pain.”
She did not know what else could be done. As far she knew, all laudanum had been banned from the house, and a bit of whisky or brandy might be all they had on hand. Daphne would need it. When she awoke—if she survived—she was going to be in a tremendous amount of pain.
“Right away,” Maeve replied, before turning to dash back down the corridor.
In her haste, she forgot the linens, so Olivia set her lamp on the nearest table and went to retrieve the cloths, certain they would need every single one. When she entered the room, she found Adam seated on the bed beside Daphne’s prone form, one of his hands wrapped tightly around hers.
“Goddamn you, you stubborn thing,” he growled. “Don’t you dare die. Do you hear me? If you die, I’ll never forgive you.”
Olivia’s chest ached at the sight he made, his distress clear despite his stillness and stoic face. No one knew him better than she did … no one knew how deeply he must care for this woman if he would allow himself to give a damn whether she lived or died.
She hurried to light a fire, not bothering to wait for a servant. They needed to illuminate this room so the surgeon could see what he was about when he arrived. In the meantime, they would do what they could for Daphne. They owed her as much for all she’d done for their family, almost losing her life in the process.
Once the fire roared to life, Olivia came to the other side of the bed and began freeing Daphne of her cloak. Adam seemed incapable of anything other than holding her hand and threatening her life should she decide to die on him. The irony of such a threat was not lost on her, but she supposed it was his way of letting Daphne know he care
d.
“How did this happen?” she asked, gingerly working the cloak from under Daphne.
The coppery tang of blood flooded her senses, niggling at her grisly memories and threatening to bring them back to life. But she swallowed past the lump of fear in her throat and choked her own reactions down, forcing them deep into her belly. This was no time for her to go falling apart. Her hands remained surprisingly deft as she freed the other woman of her cloak.
“Bertram,” he ground out from between clenched teeth. “The bastard pulled a gun … refused to allow himself to be arrested. When confronted with his crimes, he turned into the sniveling little shite I’ve always known him to be. The gun … he pointed at me before I could draw my own pistol. It was aimed right at my chest … he would have shot me.”
Olivia paused in the midst of brushing Daphne’s hair back from her face and neck, glancing up at her brother. Her throat constricted at the thought of him being carried into this house with blood pouring from his chest—perhaps lifeless and without breath. Just imagining it made her want to weep.
“Daphne saved you,” she whispered.
Adam shook his head in disbelief. “The idiot. She threw herself in front of that gun … she saved my life, but she might have doomed herself.”
Maeve arrived then, with two other maids on her tail. They came bearing bowls and buckets of hot water, more linen, candles, scissors, and two bottles of spirits. Olivia accepted the scissors from one maid while the other began lighting tapers and settling them around the room to offer more light.
“She can survive this, Adam,” she assured him while cutting Daphne’s garments away from her body. “She is a strong woman. I think she has proven that by how steadfast she has been in tolerating you.”
He gave a dry chuckle at that, but did not bother to deny how obstinate he was.
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