by Maisey Yates
“Surely you must like something specific.”
“Everything you do. Everything you are. That’s what I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” The admission poured from deep inside of her. From deep within her soul. And she couldn’t be embarrassed.
“You are too easy on me, I think. I think you should perhaps make me grovel. I think you should perhaps make me beg.” He leaned in, pressing a hot openmouthed kiss to her neck.
“I’m the one that’s about to beg,” she said, her voice breathless.
“There’s no need. I am at your mercy,” he said, “your willing slave.” He kissed a line down her neck, down to the curve of her breast, his breath hot across her sensitized nipples. Then he traced the outline of one tightened bud with his tongue before sucking her in deep. She gasped, arching up off of the bed, sensation shooting through her like an arrow, hitting its target unerringly.
“You are very sensitive,” he said, his voice rough. A smile curved his lips. “And do not ask how I know you are particularly. I simply do.”
She had not been about to ask him anything, if only because she felt as though her voice could no longer form words. Her brain certainly couldn’t muster up the amount of cells required to say anything. Indeed, sentence formation was beyond her. He had transformed her, transformed her into a creature of feeling and needing. Who could do nothing but simply wait for the next sensation to bombard her.
Still, she managed to speak. “This has only made your arrogance worse, I hope you know.”
“I am a terrible trial to you,” he said, a smile curving his lips. “I can see. But I feel you enjoy my arrogance.”
He transferred his attention to her other breast, repeating the motion that he had done with the first, sending another direct shot of pleasure straight through her system. She shifted, parting her legs, rubbing herself against his thigh, seeking some kind of release from the pressure that was building inside her.
“So impatient,” he said.
“I am,” she panted. “If you could kindly move a little bit faster.”
“I only have this one chance to make a memory of our first time again. If I never get my memories back this is all I will have. I intend to take my time.”
He licked and kissed his way down the tender skin of her stomach, moving to the vulnerable flesh on her inner thigh before sweeping his tongue right through her slick folds. She cried out, sensation racking her body, wave after wave of release shuddering through her. And when it was over, she was panting, shaking and ready for more. Ready for everything.
“Leon,” she said, feeling desperate. “I need you.”
“I’m not finished,” he said, lapping at her again, his fingers teasing the entrance to her body.
“I want to explore you,” she said. “I want… Everything you did to me I want to do to you.”
She wanted to taste every masculine inch of him. To glory over the way he was made. To revel in a fantasy long awaited. Come to scorching life finally, at long last.
“No. It is my turn.”
And before she could protest he worked a finger deep inside her, continuing to tease her with his wicked tongue as he did. This sensation, the penetration was new for her. She loved it. Loved the feel of having him inside her. He added a second finger, stretching her gently as he continued to tease her clitoris with his tongue.
He couldn’t know that she needed this. That she needed this introduction, this moment of preparation. And yet somehow he seemed to sense it.
Pleasure built all over again, and she found herself close to the edge once more. Needing him. Needing all of him.
“Not enough,” she said, panting.
“You want me inside of you?” he asked, his voice slurred as though he had finally had that drink he’d been craving for more than a week. As though she were the alcohol that he had so long desired. As though he was drunk on her, on her body. On desire.
“Yes,” she said.
He rose up, positioning himself between her thighs, kissing her lips deeply as he tested the entrance to her body with the blunt head of his arousal. She braced herself, tensing her muscles involuntarily as he thrust all the way home. Pain lanced her, sharp and unexpected. She had known it might hurt a bit, but this was more than a little pain. But then, Leon was more than just a bit of man.
She clung to his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin as she tried to catch her breath. He just stared at her, his dark eyes inscrutable, unreadable. He flexed his hips, and she feared that he would pull away. Instead, he pushed back inside of her, groaning as he did.
And then they were lost. In need. In this intense, primal desire that had overtaken them both.
Pain was forgotten. Nerves were forgotten. Everything was forgotten but her desperate bid for completion. She ran her fingertips over his back, down to his strong muscled butt, back up again, sweeping over the square line of his jaw, the deep grooves around his mouth. She tilted her head to the side and kissed his neck, scraped her teeth along the tendon that was held so tight, that betrayed just how desperately he was clinging to his control. Just how close he was to losing his grip.
She could feel his muscles begin to tremble, could feel him growing closer to the edge. His own loss of control snapped hers. She cried out, arching against him, a deeper, more profound orgasm rocking her as her internal muscles tightened around him.
He thrust twice more. Hard, intense, a growl on his lips as he found his own release, holding her tightly against his body when it was all finished.
She was dazed. Storm-tossed. Completely and utterly at the mercy of what had just taken place between them. She could hardly remember her own name. And for one hysterical moment she imagined that was how Leon must feel. Wiped clean. Fresh. Remade.
There were worse things than being remade with him.
“Your ribs,” she said, suddenly remembering that he was injured. She moved her hand to touch his side and he caught hold of her, his dark eyes clearer now, his expression intense.
“Tell me,” he said, not moving from his position on top of her, his fingers like iron around her wrist. “How is it that my wife of two years was still a virgin?”
CHAPTER SIX
HIS WIFE WAS a virgin. There was absolutely no question about it. At least, she had been up until a few moments ago. What he didn’t know was why.
She was beautiful, and he was incredibly attracted to her. More than that, he had married her. It made no sense at all. Although he supposed it didn’t make any less sense than any other part of this situation they found themselves in.
A sense of cold dread filled his stomach and he turned toward her, his heart pounding hard. “Did you not want me? Did I force myself on you just now?”
“You know you didn’t. I said that I wanted you.”
“Then how is it we had never consummated our union?”
Rose looked as though she was going to curl in on herself. She moved away from him, sliding beneath the edge of the blankets, disappearing completely beneath them. “You were the one who didn’t want me.”
“How is that possible?”
“I don’t suppose it matters how it’s possible. Only that it is. And even knowing that, I said yes to you while you couldn’t remember how little you wanted me. In real life—whatever you want to call it—Leon Carides does not want Rose Tanner. You didn’t know that. I did.” She reappeared, her face peeking out from beneath the blankets. “I’m sorry.”
It took him a moment to process the words. It was taking him time to process all of this. “You are my wife.”
“You keep saying that like it means anything, but believe me, Leon, it has meant nothing to you over the past two years.”
“I want it to.” He didn’t know where the certainty came from, but he felt it all the same. Bone-deep and as re
al as anything. He had no memory, that was true. And it meant he counted on these feelings. They were all he had.
“You might not. You might not when you remember why you didn’t in the first place.”
“Why didn’t I?”
“I don’t know,” she said miserably.
“Start from the beginning. Why did we get married?”
“For the house. This house. For the company you run now. And for my father. He was dying, and you were like a son to him. He loved you, Leon. And he wanted all of this to be yours. I think… I think it brought him a lot of joy to know that you would be the one taking care of me. There was no one in the entire world that he trusted the way that he trusted you.”
Leon’s stomach tightened. Because to hear Rose tell it her father had trusted him, had cared for him. And he had done…what with that? He had married his daughter as a formality. And then had… Rose had said much about how he often went out. The thought made him feel sick.
“Rose,” he said, his tone grave. “When I go out what is it that I do?”
She didn’t answer immediately, her expression mutinous. “You like to drink.”
“What else?” he asked, his voice scraping his throat raw.
“You like… You like women.”
Pain lanced his chest, his brain, his ribs. Everything. “I have been unfaithful to you.”
“We don’t have a conventional marriage. As you can see now you have never touched me. Not before this. You kissed me on our wedding day and that was it. And you told me… You told me that it didn’t have to change anything. I think the offer stood for myself, as well. I think you expected I might go out and find a lover. But you are my husband, Leon, and I couldn’t—”
Of course she couldn’t. Rose was too sweet. So young, so innocent. He was older, harder. And he had no idea why he was the way he was. All he knew was that with everything a blank slate inside of him, without the built-in excuses, without the baggage, he was disgusted with himself.
He had been given this gift. This woman. This wife. And he had treated her with nothing but neglect.
“I want to do better,” he said finally.
“What?”
“I want to do better for you. Better for us. We have a chance to change things, to make a new start.” He shook his head then, his words tasting wrong in his mouth. “I suppose I have that chance. You remember everything. You know exactly who I am. You know exactly what I’ve done to you. And it seems the simplest thing in the world to ask for forgiveness when you can’t remember your sins. I don’t deserve it.”
“Leon, I should’ve told you from the beginning about our marriage. But… It didn’t seem…” She was blinking back tears now, and he hated that he was making her cry. He had a feeling he had done so more than once. “I think I didn’t want you to know because I was hoping this would happen. But that was manipulative of me.”
“I’m not angry. Not at you. I married you to get this house, to get your father’s company and to placate him, and what did you get?”
“Well, if we divorced after five years, I got the house.” She swallowed. “But I imagine you would have wanted us to stay married so that everything would stay with you, too. Marriage is different when you aren’t exactly living as a married couple. I think for you that’s never been an issue.”
“It is an issue to me now. And I’m not angry with you. How old am I, Rose?”
“Thirty-three,” she said.
“Ten years older than you.”
“That doesn’t—”
“And answer me this—when you married me what did you expect would happen?”
Color flooded her cheeks and she turned away from him. “Well, frankly, I imagined that something much like tonight might happen on our wedding night.”
“So I did not tell you that I intended to live my life as a single man until after you had already made vows to me.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Then I feel you have only been trying to claim what you rightfully are owed. And I think that we need to try and fix this. Together.”
“What about when you remember? What about when things… What about when they go back to the way they were?”
“I won’t lose these memories just because I gain the old ones. I can’t imagine anything on earth changing what is between us now.” He reached out, brushing his thumb over her cheek, over her impossibly soft skin. “How can I ever go back to living in the same space as you without wanting to touch you all the time? How could I possibly return to other women’s beds when yours is the only one I want to be in?”
And then he leaned in and kissed her, and they did not speak for the rest of the night.
* * *
Leon appreciated the fact that his doctor had ordered him to sit out in the sun a few hours a day so he didn’t end up with vitamin deficiencies, but he would much rather be in the house than sitting out on the terrace.
In the house with Rose, naked in his arms as he brought her pleasure again and again.
He was insatiable for his wife. For this woman he’d never touched before his accident. A woman he’d married and left a virgin.
He frowned. He could not understand why he’d done that. And the questions… It was concerning. Because at this point he could not imagine holding her at a distance. He wanted to hold her right up against him, skin to skin, at all times.
He was obsessed with her.
He looked out at the view of the lush grounds of the estate. He had this home. He had Rose. And yet he was never here. He had never touched her.
Instead he had gone out and slept with other women.
The idea sent a lash of shame streaking through him like the crack of a whip. Hot. Painful. But somewhere beneath the self-loathing was…concern.
Why? Why hadn’t he touched her? Why had he held himself back?
“How are you feeling?”
He turned in his seat and saw Rose standing in the doorway, wearing a flowing dress with a flower pattern, teasing him with just a peek of long slender leg.
It was easy to push his questions and concerns to the back of his mind when he could see her. As soon as he saw her he wanted to push her dress up past her hips and bury his face between her thighs.
It was preferable to thinking.
“Well,” he said. “I can dress myself now anyway.”
A wicked light danced in her blue eyes. “I would rather undress you.”
Heat flared in his gut and he pushed his previous concerns down even further. “I am glad you think that way, agape.”
She stepped out onto the terrace and he began to push himself into a standing position, a dull pain shooting through his midsection as he disturbed his injuries.
“Don’t,” she said, holding her hand out. “Just sit. There’s plenty of time for…touching later.”
He frowned. “I want to touch you now.”
She extended her hand and he gripped her slender fingers in his, a flash of lightning hitting him low and hard. “How’s that?”
“Not enough.” Never enough. How would it ever be enough? He might never have all the answers to who he was. But he had her. She was his beacon. His touchstone.
She smiled and it moved places inside of him. It hurt. As though heat was touching ice for the first time.
“Leon…”
“Why history?” he asked.
“What?” she asked, blinking.
“What made you decide to major in history?” If he couldn’t strip her naked, he would convince her to reveal herself in other ways. She was all he had. She filled his brain, his body, his soul. There was nothing else, and he wasn’t even certain he cared.
Why should he make an effort to know himself, in all his filthy, broken lack of glory, when he could know her?
>
“Well, I like research,” she said. “And if you research the past you can accomplish a lot of it in…silence. Reading. Exploring the basements and attics of old houses and libraries.”
“You like to be alone?”
She frowned. “I like time to think. And…questioning texts is much…safer than questioning actual people.”
He had a feeling she applied that to more than just history.
“Is that why you never said anything to me?” he asked. “About my behavior?”
She looked away from him, her pale throat contracting as she swallowed hard. “We married for the company and for the house. It never seemed…”
“That is not the only reason,” he said, his voice growing rough. “I know it wasn’t.”
He could not have been blind to his attraction to her. And his attraction wasn’t new. He was confident in that.
“It was as far as I knew,” she said, her tone stiff. “For you anyway.” She softened on that last part, and it made his chest ache.
He did not deserve her. He was certain of few things but that was one of them. “I do not think that’s the case.”
But there was something. Something that had held him back from her. Something that had kept her a virgin, and kept him away as often as possible.
Part of him wanted to know.
Most of him simply wanted things to stay as they were. Because here and now, he had her. He never wanted to let her go.
* * *
Everything went perfectly over the next few weeks. And if Rose felt a small amount of disquiet, ever present and ominous, resting in her chest, she did her best to ignore it. Leon was… He was the most caring, solicitous man she had ever known. And the sex… Well, that was much better than anything she had ever imagined she might experience. It was incredible. He was incredible. There was so much passion between them it was impossible to imagine things had ever been cold.
She felt like a newlywed. After two years.
It was a strange experience, one that made her feel like she was floating through her days. She wasn’t unhappy about it. Not in the least.
