Addicted

by Charlotte Featherstone

  Oh, she had been weak—unforgivably weak.

  “Have you, Anais?”

  “Yes. I am weak now.”

  “Show me.” He helped her up from the stool. “Be weak, Anais. Be weak for me.”

  Lifting her in his arms, Lindsay carried her to the bed where he sat down and held her in his lap. Running his hands through her hair, he dispelled the pins. Silently, they fell to the carpet.

  Wrapping his fingers around her nape, he pulled her close, until their mouths were nearly touching. “Kiss me, angel. Love me.”

  Sinking his tongue deep inside, he stole her breath and gave it back to her. She allowed herself to give up the control she fought so hard to maintain. She was naturally weak where Lindsay was concerned. She could not deny him, nor summon the willpower to keep fighting him. Was it so very wrong to do this—to share her body with a man—a man she wanted? A man she needed?

  He broke off the kiss and in one fluid movement, straightened so that his back was resting against the wooden poster of the bed. She was straddling his lap when Anais felt the warmth of his hand running up her stocking-clad foot to her upper thigh above her garter.

  “You are my soporific. It is you I need to feel swimming in my veins, not the opium.” Slowly he undid the fastening at the back of her gown.

  “You asked me about the opium.” He bared one shoulder, then slid the silk down her arm until half of her bodice rested at her waist. “You wanted to know what I found in its powers.” He slid the other sleeve along her arm, exposing her corset and the pale flesh that inched above the ruffled edge of the white muslin. His gaze slipped down to where his hands traced the front of her corset, running over the whale boning. “When the opium is swimming in my veins I feel euphoria, languor, passion—salvation.” He reached for her hair and wrapped his hands around the silken length. Clutching the long strands, he brought her forward so that his lips were against hers. “I feel the very same things I find when I am making love to you.”

  Anais knew her eyes were wide with wonder and desire. Never had Lindsay been so open. When he gripped her hair she could feel, as well as see, his desire. “Loving you is the same feeling the opium gives me. Let me feel you now. Let me lose myself in you, Anais. Lust, passion, salvation.”

  “Yes.”

  Clutching her face in his hands, he let her see the desire in his eyes.

  “You make me wish to be a better man. I want to be a better man for you.”

  Anais felt herself succumbing to a need she knew only too well. “I want you, too, Lindsay. Flesh and blood and warmth.”

  He came up on his knees, lowered his mouth onto hers. He swept his tongue inside and Anais, for the first time, allowed herself to stop thinking—to only feel.

  Lindsay took his time exploring her mouth, delighting in the weight of her resting atop him. He kissed her, savoring her lips, coaxing her into kissing him back. Patiently he waited, entering, retreating, entering, until she mewled softly and let her body go limp against him.

  His gaze strayed to her breasts, which were swollen and spilling over her corset. A blue vein ran from the little half moon of her areola up to her neck. He traced it with the tip of his finger, inching the corset lower so that he could see more of her rose-tipped breast. She tossed her head back and sighed for him, the action pushing her breasts out in invitation.

  “Offer yourself to me, Anais.”

  He saw her reach above his head, unfastening the ties of the shimmering silk bed curtains. The tieback dropped to the ground. Half the bed was bathed in shadow as the curtains swung into place.

  The bed was now intimate, like a private harem. The sand-colored silk, combined with the golden candlelight, cast a warm glow upon Anais’s skin—the sort of glow the setting Turkish sun would have cast upon her. In this harem, he had no need of a concubine, nor opium, not when Anais was here with him.

  Capturing his gaze, she lowered her corset enough for her nipple to pop out from behind the muslin. As seductive as a professional courtesan, she pressed forward and brought her breast to his mouth, offering herself up to him.

  He was lost. A deep hunger he had never known ruled him. Sucking, he drew her nipple into his mouth until she writhed atop him and brushed her petticoat-covered quim against his cock. He was going to make her come from just suckling.

  “Lindsay!” she cried, trembling in his arms.

  “You’re so close,” he said huskily as he brought her breasts together and tongued her nipples. “But not yet, I want to feed a bit longer.”

  She was already shaking and gripping his shoulders, sobbing into his neck. Without letting her recover, he placed her on the bed and stripped her so that she was naked. Despite the dark curtains, he could see the faint shadow of candlelight flicking up her legs, illuminating enticing patches of her skin and her womanly curves. Brushing the back of his hand along her downy curls, he delighted in her soft intake of air and the elegant arch of her back before he rolled her onto her belly.

  His gaze traveled down her spine. The faint dusting of downy hair on her skin was illuminated by the candle’s glow. He traced the length and curve of her spine with his fingertips, watching as gooseflesh erupted and feathered along her back, down to her rounded bottom.

  She stirred restlessly beneath his touch and he watched the muscles of her derriere clench and loosen. He couldn’t help but stroke her soft cheeks, cupping them in his hands while rubbing his thumbs along her supple flesh. She moaned, the sound muffled against the bedsheets.

  So beautiful and lush, and all his.

  Anais felt the air stir behind her, saw Lindsay’s corded forearms on either side of her shoulders. She knew he was straddling her, could feel his muscled thighs riding against hers, could feel the heat of his body cocooning her. Yet he kept himself above her, his arms bearing his weight. Whimpering in anticipation, she sucked in her breath as his chest grazed her back and her hips moved restlessly, trying to ease the ache she felt between her thighs.

  His tongue came out and raked her flesh, trailing along her spine and she curled her fingers into her palms, shivering with the heat of his tongue, then the coolness that was left behind when he moved his mouth lower. He repeated the action, moving up along her spine to her neck.

  “I want my mouth on you.” He pushed away from her and ran his fingers along her back and over her bottom as if he were assessing a slave. She shivered, imagining herself being his slave—his sexual slave.

  His hand came around her waist and his fingers pressed into her belly as he raised her slowly to her knees. She was trembling now, not with fear or embarrassment, but desire.

  “I want to see you—all of you.” Anais felt his finger atop her bottom as it lightly traced her cleft, down to her slick sex.

  “I want to watch.” Parting her with one hand, he ran his finger along the edge of her folds.

  “I want to taste.”

  “Yes,” she said on a breathless whisper. Oh, God, yes.

  Her fingers squeezed into tight little fists as his tongue came out and stroked her sex. She squirmed, made a strangled sound deep in her throat, but he held her still with one hand on her hip as he opened his mouth, capturing her sex. Tossing her head back, she flung her curls over her shoulder so that she could see Lindsay behind her. His fingers continued to stroke her sex while her hips undulated in a seductive, rolling motion.

  “I can read the signs of your body, Anais. It’s telling me it’s mine. Let me see your lips say the words. Let me hear those words in your voice.”

  Anais was a slave to her desire. For just this night she wanted to be anything Lindsay desired. Everything he would give her, she wanted.

  “I’m yours,” she whispered brokenly before silently adding, For tonight my body and soul is yours…for tonight….

  Their gazes met and his eyes burned with an intensity that made her stomach clench.

  “Are you ready to feel me inside you, angel?”

  She nodded, felt something far thicker and firmer t
han his fingers begin to stretch her. Closing her eyes, Anais tossed back her head and rested her weight on her hands, savoring the tremors that licked through her body, as Lindsay’s thick phallus filled her in one possessive thrust.

  His name was ripped from her throat as he pressed forward on the bed, covering her with his damp body as he filled her deeper. His hands sought hers, their fingers entwined before he raised her arms above her head, holding her firmly in his grasp, imprisoning her with his strong arms and the weight of his chest on her back as he thrust in and out of her in slow measured strokes that made her want to scream for more. Harder. Faster.

  His hips began to push in earnest and soon Anais was moving against him, matching his rhythm. He was totally embedded inside her, yet she couldn’t seem to get close enough to him to satisfy her craving for him.

  Pressing his mouth to her neck he kissed her, then laid his face in the crook of her neck and breathed against her, whispering sex words in her ear. Words that fuelled her higher and higher. She cried out in protest when he pulled out of her.

  Knowing he could not hold on much longer, Lindsay moved away from her and sat against the headboard, motioning her to come to him. He grew harder when he saw that her eyes were glowing and she was smiling. It was a wanton, womanly smile, to be sure. It made him so damn aroused as she made a show of sliding her body sensually along his. When she was close enough he caught her breasts in his hands, purposely watching her reaction as he brushed his thumbs along her distended nipples. His hand fisted in her hair when she straddled him. His mouth parted on a silent groan when he felt the wet warmth of her cunt slide along his thighs. It looked so damn good, too good, he thought as he watched her quim graze his skin.

  Her face was flushed, as were the tops of her breasts. He wished there was more light so he could see her. But he admitted the lone flickering candle flame had its benefits. There was something erotic about being in bed with silk curtains shimmering around them. The way the shadows licked their way up Anais’s curved body was sin incarnate. He was fast losing control, something he didn’t want.

  Both of their couplings had been heated and frantic—for this one, he wanted to love her slowly and thoroughly.

  “Tell me you want this,” he asked as she slid her body against him. Her hips undulated beneath his hands, hardening his cock more.

  “I want you inside me, Lindsay. Oh, God, how much I want that.”

  He lifted her onto his arousal. She arched then, the action thrusting her breasts toward him as he filled her.

  Good God, he’d never experienced this before, never had lovemaking felt this right, this complete. As he watched her body move atop him, he realized he was at last satisfied, his hunger appeased, his soul fed. He loved her and it was only a matter of time before she realized that it was safe once again to love him back.

  Resting her back against his knees while she ground her hips onto him, Lindsay watched her match his rhythm. He would never have enough of her. Never tire of seeing her like this.

  “Come for me,” he commanded, quickening his pace until they were deep stabs that made her suck in her breath.

  Anais thought she might die of pleasure. With her nails she dug into his shoulders, crying out for the release only he could provide. She gave no thought to protection or anything other than the pleasure he was giving her.

  With his fingers he stroked her clitoris until she bucked against him. He waited, bringing her closer and closer until she was wild and crying out. Not until he saw her let go, did he let himself indulge in his own pleasure.

  “I love you, Anais,” he murmured, as he pressed his face against her, holding her tight until she could hardly breathe.

  The euphoria of their coupling deserted her. Silently she answered him. I wish you wouldn’t love me, Lindsay. It would make things so much easier if we could both just hate each other. But then we wouldn’t have this.

  His arm reflexively tightened around her waist when she moved away from him. Grumbling in his sleep, he pulled her atop him and covered them up with the blanket.

  “You belong to me, Anais,” he murmured. “And you’re not leaving my bed tonight, or any other night for that matter.”

  18

  Anais awoke early and brushed the sleep from her eyes. Turning her head on the pillow, her gaze slipped to the person beside her. Ann was sleeping like a baby.

  She should return to her room before the servants arose to start their daily duties. Would Lindsay be gone? she wondered, remembering how she had left him in bed, sleeping heavily. She hoped so. She also hoped that Louisa had not already arrived in her room to wake her.

  The pounding of hooves above the dim chatter of birds made Anais jump out of bed. Anais ran to the window in time to see Lindsay galloping down the lane atop Sultan. The view of him melting into the gray-blue light of the dawning morn made her heart ache. Gone was the night of loving and open emotions. With the dawn came the return of her secrets and the full realization that she was treading dangerous waters.

  Tying the sash of her wrapper tight around her middle, Anais tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked back at her sister, who was still asleep. Tiptoeing back to her chamber, Anais let herself inside and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Neither Louisa nor the chambermaid had been in yet, and she saw that Lindsay had haphazardly made the bed, covering any evidence of their lovemaking. The pillow was still indented from his head, and Anais found herself brushing her fingers along the spot, feeling the warmth that still lingered on the crisp linen.

  Slipping back the covers, she discovered a folded piece of vellum tucked beneath her pillow. Opening it, she saw Lindsay’s bold handwriting scrawled across the letter.

  No more secrets. I spoke of mine last night. It is time for you to speak of yours.

  The note fluttered from her fingers, landing atop the wrinkled bedsheet. Did he know? No, she was being nonsensical. How could he possibly know? It was impossible that he had uncovered her secret. Perhaps he just assumed that she was keeping something from him.

  Good God, she thought in panic, what if he did find out? What was she to do then? She didn’t want to hurt him, especially after last night. He would be destroyed if he discovered how she and Garrett had betrayed him.

  Jumping up from bed, she hurriedly penned a letter to Garrett. She had to see him. She needed Garrett’s steady nerves. Together they could come up with a plan to keep Lindsay from learning their dark secret.

  A fat log cracked in the hearth as Lindsay took a chair close to the fire, settling his chilled body into the warm leather. It was bloody cold and the wind was up, sending drafts through every room in the house.

  He’d ridden long and hard, breaking a sweat in an attempt to outrun his thoughts, but they had chased him through the forest and down the paths that led to Bewdley. He was cold and tired from his ride, but the fatigue did not stamp out what he really felt—unease. The disturbing sensation had been gripping him since awakening all alone in Anais’s bed that morning. Instead of relenting as it should after his ride, the sensation only curled tighter.

  Was Anais’s eagerness for his bed nothing more than the hunger for sex? Did what they find together mean nothing more to her than carnal pleasures? He feared the answer, knowing it was not difficult to confuse lust with love. In his case, he knew where his heart lay; he loved Anais. To him they had made love. But what did it mean to her?

  She had left him sometime during the night, and awakening alone in the bed was one of the most gut-wrenching kicks in the stomach he had ever felt.

  “Your tea, my lord,” the parlor maid murmured as she set the silver tea tray on the desk and poured him a steaming cup.

  “Thank you.” He took the cup from her thin fingers and sipped it carefully. “Where is everyone? The house is rather quiet.”

  “Lady Weatherby and Lady Darnby have returned to the modiste to outfit Lady Ann with another dress.”

  He wanted to ask where Anais was, but he refrained and instead asked afte
r Lord Darnby’s health.

  “He is better, I think, my lord,” she said as she passed him a silver plate loaded with fruitcake and biscuits. “He sat for a few minutes this morning in this very room. His color was high and he seemed in good spirits.”

  Nodding, he bit into a piece of cake covered in marzipan. “And what of Lady Anais?” he finally asked.

  “I have not seen her today. Shall I make inquiries with her maid?”

  “No. That will not be necessary. I was only making conversation.”

  “I see, my lord,” Mary said politely, despite the quizzical expression on her face. “Shall you be attending the Duke of Torrington’s New Year’s Eve ball tonight, my lord? I believe Lord and Lady Weatherby have accepted the invitation.”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” he drawled. “My father is never one to look down his nose at an invitation. And New Year’s Eve is akin to my father what a feast day is to a patron saint.”

  The maid flushed and lowered her head, although he saw a hint of a smile before she hid it from him. “Well, then, my lord, if that is all, I shall return to the kitchen to help Cook with supper.”

  “Good day,” he said with a nod, watching as she curtsied and inclined her head, which was covered in a white lace mop cap.

  The door closed behind the maid and he let his head rest back against the leather. Was Anais upstairs avoiding him? Had she any idea what thoughts were running rampant through his mind—what utterly terrifying thoughts?

  No, she could have no idea. He scarcely believed them himself. Yet he could not bring himself to discount the niggling feeling in his gut. And that had been the reason he had stopped by William Crosby’s bookshop and purchased a medical manual.

  He peered down at the black-and-gilt cover. A Dissertation on the Human Anatomy; Its Parts and Functions, Failings and Maladies, by Dr. Samuel Stuart.