by Amy Sandas
Entering the room, Lily was struck by the changes that had been wrought since she had last been there on the night of her abduction. Though his massive four-poster bed remained, the coverings were now a mixture of midnight blue and a mysterious smoky gray. In fact, various shades of gray had been added throughout the room. The two heavy leather chairs had been beautifully reupholstered in a dove-gray damask, a plush rug in a light and misty color was laid before the fireplace, and on a delicate table between them stood a large vase of lilies, infusing the room with their delicate scent.
“Do you see?” the earl asked from behind her.
Once they entered the bedroom, he had released her hand to close the door, ensconcing them together in the private space. Lily turned to watch him walk toward one of the new chairs. He ran his fingers over the fabric.
“The color of your eyes when you are quiet and content,” he stated in a low voice, then he crossed to the bed where he smoothed his palm over a velvet coverlet. “This is the darker shade your eyes become when you are aroused—with emotion or desire.”
He looked at her, and Lily’s world expanded on a sudden breath at what she saw in the depth of his gaze.
They both seemed rooted in place, standing in the center of his bedroom, staring at each other with their breaths coming fast and their focus locked upon each other, as though they were equally afraid the other might disappear.
“You exist in everything. You have become a part of me,” he murmured thickly. “I cannot breathe without you.”
Though her body trembled from head to toe with a raw welling of emotion, Lily remained where she was. She bit hard on her lower lip to temper her elation. Too much false hope had the potential to crush her.
“This cannot be like before,” she said, amazed she managed to keep her composure when so much inside her was urgently demanding expression. “You hurt me.”
The firm lines and familiar shadows of his face grew fiercer than she had ever seen. His gaze bored into her soul.
“I know, and I am sorry. I made so many mistakes with you. Give me a chance to make it right.”
As he spoke, something in him shifted. Though his arms remained stiffly at his sides, Lily felt him reaching for her in silent, invisible yearning.
“Touch me, Lily.” His voice was a raw, heavy whisper.
When she did not reply, the proud tilt of his head fell a notch, and he gave a weighted sigh. “I need you to touch me,” he muttered, and in his tone was an essence of desperation she knew intimately.
Lily took several long breaths to calm the riot inside her. Slowly, she walked toward him. She stopped within a sigh of pressing her body to his. Holding his gaze, she lifted her hand first to his face and laid her palm gently along the rough texture of his jaw.
His eyes darkened, and his jaw tensed beneath her palm. But he said nothing.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” she asked softly.
“More than I have ever been sure of anything in my life.” His voice was raw and bare. “Lily. Please…”
Dizzy with emotion, Lily swallowed past the thickness in her throat as she lifted her other hand to frame his face. Rising on her tiptoes, she was careful to keep from touching him anywhere else as she breathed a sigh across his lips.
Still looking into his eyes, she pressed her mouth to his.
Even there in his lips, she felt his rigidity. He wanted her to touch him, but it would not be easy for him. His fear and caution were long ingrained.
But she could be patient. She would not be deterred. She had every intention of showing him what was possible between them, even if it took all night. Or the rest of their lives.
Tilting her head, she fitted her lips more intimately with his. With infinite care, she enticed his lips to soften. She pressed sweet kisses to the corners of his mouth, then to the center of his full bottom lip. All the while, she looked into his eyes.
Heat flared inevitably between them. She focused on increasing it, expanding his reaction, encouraging him to trust her. Desire flickered brightly in the depths of his eyes. She coaxed it to greater life with a gentle, teasing flick of her tongue.
His lips parted for her. His breath mingled with hers. Lily deepened the kiss.
A harsh sound came from the back of his throat, and he slid his tongue forward to tangle with hers. Lily’s breath came short, her insides melting with anticipation.
Despite the desperate longing tightening her chest, Lily drew back and dropped down onto her heels. With a fleeting brush of her thumb over his perfect lower lip, she lowered her hands. In slow, deliberate movements, she slid her fingers beneath the edges of his coat, pushing it back over his shoulders. She continued down along his arms until the coat slid free. She allowed it to fall unheeded to the floor at their feet.
Looking to his face, she saw his eyes were closed and his hands had curled into fists at his sides. His tension wrapped around her heart. She studied his features, the way the firelight accentuated the sharp angles and subtle curves she loved so much.
She removed his waistcoat and then his cravat, always acutely aware of keeping a certain distance between them. She intended to take this slow. Very slow. Moment by moment, she would show him, through every tender caress and patient breath, how a lover’s touch should feel.
The muscles of his neck were tightly corded where they sloped to his shoulders. His pulse beat fast and heavy at the base of his throat. She wanted to press her hands to the heat of his skin, feel his thrumming pulse beneath her fingers.
But she restrained that urge for now.
Instead, with the neck of his shirt loosened, she grasped the fine silk at his sides to tug it free of his breeches. Before she could try to remove the garment herself, he broke from his frozen stance. He reached his hand back over his shoulder to crush a handful of the silk in his fist and dragged the shirt up over his head.
Lily paused on a ragged breath, admiring the sight of his bared chest and rippled abdomen. He was so strong, so tightly contained. Muscle and bone formed a rigid structure—a beautiful design of masculinity. It was hard to imagine the pain and vulnerability that had resided beneath such strength for so long.
After a few long breaths, she glanced up at his face.
He stared back at her, his gaze shielded and intense.
“Will you sit, please, my lord,” she said gently.
He stepped back and lowered himself into one of the gray chairs.
Lily sank to her knees before him, keeping her head bowed as she removed his boots and stockings. She set them aside and lifted her eyes again to greedily soak in the sight of him.
His bare feet were planted firmly into the plush carpet. His legs were bent at the knees and were spread wide. She trailed her gaze over the surface of his strong thighs, curling her fingers into her palms, resisting the urge to test the taut muscles there. Above the waistband of his breeches, she noted the tightness of his abdomen and the way his short and fierce breaths expanded and contracted his rib cage.
The pull of his brows shadowed his eyes, which had narrowed to slits. The line of his jaw was harshly angled; his lips were slightly parted.
“I love you,” she confessed in a quiet murmur. Something flickered deep in his eyes, and his hands gripped the arms of the chair, but he said nothing. “I have loved you from the moment I saw you through the crowd. My heart and soul already knew you. My body yearned for you. My whole life began in your arms.” Emotion made her voice thick, and she paused to force breath around her resolute hope. “I would give anything for you to feel what I feel when I am with you. I would give anything for you to trust me…just long enough for me to show you how beautiful your passion is to me.”
He rolled his lips in against the tip of his tongue, wetting them to speak. But when he took a breath, no words came out.
Lily rose to her feet. Holding his gaze, she took
a step back.
Just as she had done numerous times before, she undressed for him.
Except tonight, she made use of all she had learned since becoming his mistress. She knew he enjoyed the full thrust of her breasts, so she made sure to arch a bit more as she reached behind her for the buttons of her gown. When the dress fell away from her body, she allowed her fingers to drift over her bared skin, caressing the curve of her shoulders, trailing down her arms before smoothing over her hips.
The heat of his gaze touched every bit of flesh revealed, sought out every shadow, and burned through her thin shift. And then her shift too was dropped to the floor. Standing in just the stockings and garters he had bought her, she moved her hands over her thighs, up over her belly, and finally to her breasts. She lifted them, testing their weight and fullness, brushing her thumbs over the nipples until they puckered, sending delightful shocks of pleasure through her center.
He watched her, every bit of him tense and hard.
Then finally, she brought her hands up to release the pins from her hair. The silken tresses fell down her back, the wispy ends teasing the top curve of her buttocks as she stood proudly before him.
With swift, animalistic grace, he rose to his feet.
Lily held her breath. Her heart beat wild and unfettered. Her body hummed with desire—and more.
“You told me once that trust must be earned,” he said in a gravelly tone thick with emotion, “yet you have given me yours from the start. You may not believe me, but you have mine as well. It is myself I am so unsure of.”
“You do not have to be,” Lily replied quickly. “Not with me.”
She stepped toward him. Holding his gaze, she lifted her hands to rest them on either side of his lean waist. He did not start or flinch from her touch, and she smiled.
“Lily.”
The murmur of her name slid into a swift inhale as she trailed the fingertips of one hand across his belly just above the band of his breeches. His lips parted, and his breath puffed in an irregular rhythm. Lily rested her fingers over the fastening of his breeches and paused. She tilted her head in a silent question. Without hesitation, he nodded, though the movement was jerky and stiff.
Lily was gentle but quick as she loosened his breeches and pushed them down past his hips, easing her hands over his tense buttocks. She watched him from beneath her lashes. He was aroused. That much was blatantly evident and overwhelmingly beautiful.
Heat curled potently in her loins, initiating a pulse of need more poignant than anything she had previously experienced.
Despite his physical desire, he was not relaxed. Tension still rode high through his body.
She appreciated the difficulty he had in allowing her such access. And she was determined to prove his trust was not misplaced.
She crouched before him to assist in removing the breeches completely.
When she straightened, they stood naked together. Facing each other before the warmth of the fire.
Twenty-nine
Avenell had never felt so hot. Flames licked through his blood, seared his throat, and raged like an inferno through his head. It was desire, lust, the power of acceptance over resistance, the strength of the love he felt for the woman before him.
And fear.
But it was not the same fear that had emotionally crippled him for so long. He had gotten so comfortable in that place where no one could touch him, where no one was allowed to love him in case they should decide he was not worthy of it.
Lily had come into his life and forced him to feel again—hope, true desire, and a love that went far deeper than he could have ever expected. It was not physical pain that had been truly holding him back, but fear of feeling too much. Every time they were together, he felt his facade slip a bit more. The passion and yearning he possessed for Lily seemed to know no bounds.
He felt so foolish once he understood that. He had wasted so much time with this woman. He had no idea how to be this man. He had no idea how to show her what she made him feel, but he was willing to learn.
As he stood there acknowledging what was to come, it was not a fear of being touched that clenched his stomach so tightly he could barely breathe. It was the fear of not being touched. And yes, there in the deep, dark center of his heart, there was a thread of terror that Lily still might decide to walk away.
Life held no guarantees.
If he trusted her to touch him, he had to trust her to love him.
“My lord.”
The lure of her voice, sultry and sweet, drew him out of his head, forced him to focus his gaze. Though she had stepped close to him, she had not put her hands on him again.
His breath hit the back of his teeth in short bursts. Every joint in his hands ached.
Finally, she lifted her fingertips to his mouth. With the gentlest touch, she ran the tip of her index finger across his lower lip. A tingling buzz of sensation followed her touch. Yearning to connect with her in that moment, he lifted his eyes to her face. The exquisite beauty in her expression stopped his breath.
Her gray eyes sparkled like silver mist, and a subtle smile curved her mouth as she observed the path of her fingertip. With a twitch at the corner of her mouth, she reached up to smooth her fingers over the crease between his brows, until the tension there eased away. Then she rested her palm against the ridge of his jaw and looked into his eyes.
He watched in amazement as her gaze darkened to smoke, swirling with depth and mystery. The quiet calm of her nature reached into his soul, exploring with gentle insistence, soothing long-buried wounds. She was all that was steady and true. Sensual, generous, and lovely. She was his, as he was hers.
He lowered his chin and turned his face into her palm.
Her lips tilted upwards in response to the gesture, and his heart gave a hard lurch.
Then she slid her hand down the side of his throat until her palm rested against his chest.
Avenell held his breath. Scorching, prickling heat scored his nerves.
He focused on her, on the love and desire that rushed in his blood, making his head heavy and his limbs weightless. His insides trembled with growing need. The conflicting desires to possess and to surrender.
In that moment, as his heart thudded heavily beneath her palm, he wanted nothing more than to know what it was like to give all of himself to her. He was tired of resisting, tired of enforcing a detachment that had never served him. He wanted to feel everything.
When her fingertip circled the flat disc of his nipple, a shock of sensation shot through him, making him suck in a swift breath. It was an odd combination of pleasure and pain.
She parted her lips on a sigh and circled his nipple again.
Avenell’s stomach trembled. He forced back the growl rising from deep in his chest. Already he felt himself near to breaking under the strain of passivity. Yet he knew this was only the beginning. He could see by the wicked flicker in her gaze that she had much more yet to show him.
Unable to watch the passing phases of wonder and delight as they flitted across her face without feeling every caress more intensely, Avenell closed his eyes. Within a split second, he realized his mistake but could not bring himself to alter course. With his eyes closed, he felt the warmth of her hand on his skin like magical torture. In his mind, he visualized sparkling ripples originating at her fingertips and extending outward through his body, soothing his damaged nerves, replacing pain with pleasure.
When she pressed both hands to his chest and smoothed them down over the plane of his stomach, he heard a soft hum issue from her lips. She stepped closer. Close enough that the fall of her hair tickled his skin in wispy sighs. Close enough that the tips of her toes touched his and her breath bathed his burning skin.
Instead of pressing herself to him as he expected—as he suddenly craved—she stepped around him, trailing her fingers across his belly, his
side, until she was behind him. Her movements were reminiscent of their first night together at Pendragon’s.
His body tightened at the first light brush of her fingertips on his back. Again, he knew the breath-stealing dance of pain and pleasure together. Every muscle clenched tight as he strained to release his hold on sensations that had ruled him for so long.
When she replaced her fingertips with the silken press of her lush lips, his body gave an involuntary jolt. He did not realize just how tense he had become until her arms slid around his waist from behind and she pressed the length of her naked body to his.
“I love you,” she whispered. The sound of her voice was a warm balm, soothing him from the inside, spreading through him in a gentle wave.
She held him like that, her cheek resting against the back of his shoulder, her breath fanning over his skin, her bare arms linked securely around him until the tautness of his frame eased by slow degrees.
Then she drew back and came around again to face him. She reached for his hands where they were fisted at his sides and eased her thumb into the hollow of his fist, forcing his fingers to uncurl. Then she lifted his hands to set them on her hips as she stepped into him. Her curves molded to his rigid form, and her arms slid around his back in a full embrace. Her warmth enveloped him.
It was soothing and arousing at once. And though his damaged nerves still reacted to the stimulation, when he allowed himself to relax and trust, the familiar pain faded into the background of all the other sensations she inspired.
Avenell curled his fingers into the lushness of her hips and clenched his teeth. Her soft belly pressed along his aching erection, making him throb from head to toe.
He opened his eyes to see her gazing up at him, her eyes lovely and mysterious. Rising up onto her tiptoes, she brought her mouth to his. The feel of her peaked nipples dragging over his chest, and the friction of her belly gliding over the length of his erection, released a piercing spear of need through his center.
Her lips were warm as they moved back and forth over his. Then her tongue, flicking gently at the corner of his mouth.
