by Conkle, Gina
“Peace?” He laughed, the harsh sound echoing in the tower. “My father died when his ship, the Sussex, sunk off the coast of Africa…the month I was born. He was an East India Company man, ironically a third mate and an adventurer. According to Mr. Dean, my father never intended to marry,” he finished bitterly and shut the door.
He was no different than his father, a man of adventure, even serving as third mate. The parallel was uncanny.
Faint light from the upper floor crowned Livvy’s head. She was beautiful and healing in the dank, unlit entry. They were supposed to be on the verge of an illicit interlude, yet the air changed. His admission left him icy and raw. No fire could warm his bones. The gentle slide of Livvy’s hand on his arm did more to assuage the ache than any comforting words would.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“I should apologize to you. Talk of death isn’t romantic.”
“You don’t need to woo me.” She paused, her smile widening. “I’m the one who chased you down tonight, remember?”
Their voices were barely above a whisper. The passion diminished, but he couldn’t argue with what replaced it—a tenderness, endearing and affectionate. Was this what happened when friendship forged its way into deeper waters? He could think of other places for her to touch, but if he said so, it’d be crude…a thing that never bothered him in the past when he was on the verge of coupling with a woman.
Livvy deserved better.
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Come. Let’s see if we can save the night.”
Holding her hand, he led her up the narrow stairs behind him. Shoes scraped stone. A new thrum pulsed inside him, not so frantic and needy but no less heavy in his loins. Livvy’s bare hand folded with his, the intimacy a treasure. There was no need for empty promises or false flattery. Livvy was his friend. She already knew the truth about him.
It was all very…comfortable.
They breached the upper floor, both eyeing the lone bed near the window. Rumpled sheets invited them to make a bigger mess. Embers glowed in one fireplace, the sole source of heat. He marched to the hearth and bent to stoke a fresh fire.
“Don’t. The smoke. It might alert others.” Furtive lashes dropped over Livvy’s eyes.
Others. Meaning her family, secure in the belief that she was dancing country reels and taking a much deserved respite in the Sheep’s Head. He rose from the hearth, his gaze shifting to the floor. He’d stood near this spot and assured Mrs. Halsey that her daughter’s honor was safe with him.
Tonight, he’d plunder it.
Livvy set a hand on the back of a chair and toed off one boot. “We’ll keep our clothes on for warmth.”
“A practical solution but less satisfying,” he said, dropping his hat on the table. “I’m sure you’d prefer skin to skin.”
Livvy’s laugh was skittish. “Skin to skin. Yes, of course.” Her boot landed with a thud.
Slipping free of his coat, his palms were damp and limbs stiff. He could be blundering his way through his first time with a woman. Livvy was no better. She fumbled with her cloak’s frogs under her chin, filling the room with aimless chatter.
“I’m acquainted with the buttons on your waistcoat. Thirteen of them…but the bottom four are undone. The ninth button…it’s near your…placket.” She glanced at that part of his breeches, her fingers shaky.
“Livvy…” He squeezed her hands and held them high on her chest in a gentle grip. “Our friendship will be as true as ever.”
Her eyes shined, big and brown. They stood together in the cold dark room, letting uncertainty wash over them. Being with Livvy sated him, the stillness of breathing the same air, of pleasant conversation, and the knowing. Only the deepest friendship gave that gift. No doubt, he wanted to slide between her thighs, but being with Livvy was its own kind of satisfaction. And, she needed gentling. Her heart fluttered a rapid tattoo under his hands. Lust had given way to tender nerves. She trembled. Gone was the confident woman who accosted him on Plumtree’s northern road.
He released her hands and set them at her side with care. It took all his powers of concentration to unhook her cloak. The silken frogs were slippery in his fingers.
“You’ve unmanned me.”
“I have?”
“I’m as nervous as you. This is a night of firsts.”
She gulped, her eyes rounding. “I, I—”
“Shhh.” He touched her lips. “It’s not every day friends engage in sexual congress. No matter what goes on here, you are my friend. I value that more than anything.”
Livvy fell against him, wrapping both arms around his waist. “Oh, Jonas…”
He cupped the back of her head and held her close. Their bond defied explanation. To call her a friend was inadequate. She was the childhood companion who never required a favor returned. She was there, always had been, wide brown eyes taking him in, her heart listening, caring. The gap between their ages had never mattered. They were the odd, youthful friendship in Plumtree that shouldn’t have made sense. Yet, the connection thrived.
“Livvy, we—”
“Don’t say it.” Big, glossy eyes stared up at him. “Don’t say ‘We don’t have to do this’.” Feminine fingers went to work on his waistcoat. She freed one button and then another, the effort jerky. “I wanted to be the one you kissed that day you left.” Her voice thinned with unshed tears. “I know I was only fourteen, but it should have been me. Not Elspeth.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat. His absence these ten years hurt her deeply.
She was fierce, undoing his waistcoat buttons. Copper brows knit together. Her breaths came in fitful huffs. He didn’t fight her. Orange light traced Livvy’s head, catching the bright auburn hues of her bound hair. His waistcoat undone, she started on his placket, words rushing out of her.
“All these years, I had hardly any news of you.” Livvy’s hands grazed his erection tenting his smalls.
Air gusted out of him and he grabbed the back of a chair. Heat flooded his abdomen. His stones twitched and his tongue refused cooperation for the mad rush inside him. He should say something to redress his brash exit years ago, but the faster Livvy toiled to free him of his smalls, the less he could form coherent words.
Her frantic hands yanked up his shirt. “I thought you’d write to me at least once.” Lips quivering, she sniffled softly. “But, you never did.”
He drew her close. She sobbed against his chest, fisting his shirt with both hands. Years of separation and sadness, of loss and wondering poured out of her. If tears could tell a story, Livvy wrote hers against his chest. Each warm drop mended her heart while it tore apart his. Holding her racked him. He wanted her, desired her, and yes…he loved her.
His knees buckled. The truth thrashed him. He blinked at the dim chamber, looking but seeing emptiness. Everything hazed. His mouth wouldn’t work.
Grim facts were clear…he was piss-poor at speaking his heart.
Sensations swamped him. Words failed him. He needed Livvy. To feel her. To taste her. Tipping her chin high, he planted the softest kiss on her mouth. It was all he could do. He coaxed sweetness from her, his lips brushing hers, a whispery touch meant to soothe her and heal the storm inside him.
“Oh, Jonas.” She breathed his name. In it was contentment, the future, and a sultry promise.
Dipping low, he sucked on the plump center part of her upper lip. A taste, a nibble…a deeper suck. She moaned, swaying into him again. Welcome friction rubbed the tip of his cock, the pleasure a white hot shock to his brain. Her homespun breeches, the wool and the wooden buttons rubbed his skin. Separation was agony. He needed to seat himself inside.
He gripped her backside with both hands and hoisted her up. Livvy yelped into his mouth, wrapping her legs around his waist. They didn’t break their kiss. Mouths pressed hungrily. Tongues touched. He walked, carrying her to the bed.
“Your clothes,” he mumbled into her mouth and kissed a trail to her ear.
“My clothes.” Livvy shivered when his lips played with her lobe. “We should slow down.”
“No,” he rasped.
Her fingers bumped between them. She didn’t rush. She giggled when he nipped her earlobe. When his mouth ran into her formidable cravat, he growled his frustration.
A nervous titter spilled from her. “There is no rush.”
“I think there is.” He bit the cravat’s tie and yanked it with his teeth.
Livvy inhaled a hiss of sound. The mannish waistcoat parted. A cambric shirt covered her. The cravat loose, he searched for her shirt’s opening at her neck. Touching her throat calmed him. He dragged his splayed hand from her throat, to her collarbone, to the top of her chest, careful to memorize her shape. Livvy’s bare skin calmed him. This was only her neck and the top of her chest. She could be the tonic a sick man prayed for. Life-giving. Sustenance of the best kind.
What would happen when he touched the rest of her?
When he thrusted into her, her naked body writhing beneath him?
His body tightened painfully at that picture.
Breasts jostled. Pale thighs clenched his hips. Her brown eyes with their slight, exotic tilt watched him under heavy lids.
Livvy removed her coat and let it drop to the floor. “I’m counting on you to keep me warm.”
“I can do that.”
He lifted the hem of her shirt and tucked it under her chin. Whalebone stays cinched her. His hands spanned her ribs. Slowly, he dragged his thumbs down the whalebone, tracing the ridged lines until he landed on bare skin. No shift. This was nice. He tested the curve of her pelvic bones, following the dip into the waistband of her breeches. Her skin pebbled wherever his thumbs touched.
Livvy hissed, her shirt hem slipping free of her chin. Hands shaking, she wrangled the shirt in one hand, her the lacing of her stays with the other.
“Let me,” he said, brushing her hands aside.
Milk white breasts spilled over the top of her stays. He tugged the ties, working the top three tiers with impatient hands. The lacing parted and he had to stop. The valley of her cleavage showed between the lacing. He stared, slack jawed. Full, inner curves pressed inside the stays…firm and round moving each time she breathed.
He had to touch.
One finger slipped past the ties inside her stays and traced a pale curve.
“Your skin is finer than velvet.” He was awestruck. He had to explore the inner part of her breast again and again to assure himself of the truth—Livvy was made for his touch.
The texture of her skin, the softness…
And this was one finger on one breast.
She watched him, fascinated by his hand inside her stays. The garment slumped lower on her torso until two pink-brown nipples popped to view.
“Well, hello.” He grinned, his gaze locked on those two points.
The greeting was worthy of a cad. Base and obscene. He should be romantic. Instead, he honed in on the coin-sized peaks. With both hands, he twirled the tiny tips between his thumb and forefinger in barely-there circles. Breast play was an art form he’d not perfected. He liked them. Big. Small. Full and round. Or a slight curve the likes of a small dumpling. But, this was Livvy he was touching, pleasuring, if he went by her moans.
Her head was lax, tipping to one side. He kissed the exposed skin, breathing her warmth and the wash of clean rose-scented soap on her neck while his fingers circled her areolas. The tender nipples had turned a shade of raspberry.
“I could do this all night,” he said and dropped a kiss on her breast.
Livvy shuddered, a high, thin wheeze hissing from her. Her mouth went slack and a blissful hum tripped out of her again. She gaped at him. Tried to focus but her eyes were dark pools. Livvy grabbed the bottom of his waistcoat. Skin around her eyes tightened. Her face flushed and she breathed faster. Was she on the verge of finding her pleasure?
Her brown eyes begged him not to stop.
“Good, isn’t it?” He gloated. He couldn’t help it.
“Uh-huh.”
She was his puppet and he was the marionette master…all managed from gentle circles on her nipples. His erection poked out of his breeches. He itched to be skin to skin with her, to see if the rest of her body was velvet textured, but Livvy was right. The tower was cold. They would warm each other the best they could with hot sex.
His sluggish circles on her nipples spread wider. Ripe breasts, firm as Christmas pudding flushed a shade of pink.
“Livvy.”
She moaned. His hands feathered higher up her chest to her collarbone.
“Livvy.” He hooked a finger under her chin, calling her out of her sensual trance. “Your breeches. Push them to your knees.”
She licked her lips and tried to focus on his face. “You don’t have to stop.”
“I won’t.” He chuckled, a sense of control seeping into his limbs.
Livvy unmoored the wooden buttons on her placket. He wouldn’t be surprised if she counted the number she wore too. Coppery strands of hair fell wildly around her face. She stood with a boot on one foot, a plain stocking on the other, her languorous eyes feasting on him. Not once in unbuttoning her breeches did she break eye contact.
It was potent. More than sexual congress about to happen. A primal thing.
Livvy was laying claim to him.
He didn’t have to touch the seam of skin between her legs to know she was ready.
Cloth rustled. He glanced down and laughter rolled through his body. “Only you would be saucy enough to wear a man’s smalls.”
Could a man have it any better? Intimacy and humor with a woman. Another sign of the rightness of being with Livvy.
A satisfied smile broke her sex-hazed stare. It eased the corners of her eyes and lit up her face. “Doesn’t every Englishwoman wear smalls with her breeches?”
He pulled the string holding up that intimate garment. “A question to haunt many a man, I’m sure.”
She was a sight. Breeches down to her knees. Slender, naked thighs lightly muscled and pale in the unlit room. Shirt pulled up. Breasts peeking over her stays. And a dusky spot in the middle of her untied smalls. The sum total of a vision.
Playful. Sweet. Erotic.
He locked on to the thatch between her legs. “The smalls. Push them down.”
His voice was gruff. He couldn’t take his eyes off the juncture of her thighs shrouded in linen. Livvy hooked both hands in her smalls and wiggled her hips.
The bit of cloth dropped to her knees. For a second or two, he couldn’t breathe. A steel band could be crushing his lungs. The lack of air seemed to scramble his brain. A neat triangle of auburn curls was all he could see.
“Lay down for me.” The command left him taut as a fiddle string.
His skin was tight. Joints and muscles tensed. Desire wound him up.
Livvy seated herself on the bed and lay back. He bent over her, smelling her sex. His cock ached. A wet line darkened the feminine curls between her legs. He had to touch it.
One finger skimmed the dampness.
Livvy spread her knees wide, her stockinged foot freed from her breeches. Slick flesh opened for him. Fingers to her mouth, she watched him.
He stroked her hip. Words tumbled from him as he stroked every inch of her exposed skin, kissing a small bruise the size of a thumbprint on her thigh. His hand tucked under her stay, feeling the plane of her belly, the solid curve of her ribs. If he had a lifetime to touch Livvy, it wouldn’t be enough. He hungered for her.
“Jonas…I…” Emotions flickered in her eyes. Things unsaid. Their history. Years of friendship. And desire.
How strong she was to be this vulnerable with him.
It made him weak in the knees.
Lowering himself, he braced one hand on the bed and held her gaze. The other hand pushed his breeches and smalls to his knees. Measure for measure. They were equals. Always had been. Entwined. Connected. Full of secrets and memories.
This would be the best part o
f knowing Livvy.
He set the tip of his cock at her entrance. Her throat moved with a hard swallow.
“Do it fast,” she urged and rocked into him.
Blinding heat bounced from his genitals to his brain. He cried out. The sound echoed off the tower’s timbered ceiling. The shock of soft, wet skin closing tightly around the head of his cock. Her words reached through the lustful fog.
Do it fast.
“Livvy?” he croaked. His brain tried to make sense of the feeling assaulting him.
Her hips swayed into him. “Please.”
Livvy was practically begging him to impale her. He was a fraction deeper inside her. Slick, feminine flesh gloved the part of him inside her.
But…
The tip of his cock touched a barrier. His forehead rested on hers as he clutched handfuls of the sheets.
“You’re a virgin.” His voice shook. His body shook. He fought to control himself.
A stockinged foot snaked around his waist. “Not anymore.”
Livvy drove herself against him, whimpering. Her pained sob tore his heart. She grabbed his shoulders with both hands and held on tight. Her body quaked. She was panting.
“Shhh,” he soothed. Livvy’s hot, wet tightness was heaven for him, but it pained her. “Let your body adjust.”
Her breath came in fits. “It’s not so bad.”
“It gets better,” he said, stroking her hair.
They stayed locked together, their hearts pounding and breaths jagged. This was a night of firsts—of sex between two friends and the act itself for Livvy. His mind reeled at the implication.
She’d saved herself for him.
Nature’s urges wanted him to drive into her, but they stayed together, unmoving. It was killing him. The wait. The desire marching down his spin. His ass squeezed tight. Livvy needed this moment, and he’d give it to her. Her inner muscles gave a slight clasp to his shaft as if testing the feel, experimenting with what she could do.
Air wheezed past his clenched teeth. She needed to explore and adjust to him.
The tower was cold, but a drop of sweat trickled down his back.
Livvy tucked herself against him, her breath fanning his neck. “I liked when you touched my breasts, and I liked it when you kissed me.”
