by Erica Monroe
Her stomach flipped as he grazed her lower lip, again his touch so light it was almost tortuous. She wanted more. She wanted to be so wrapped up in him that she forgot where she began and he ended, assuaging all her fears this was temporary. If this were the only time she had with him, if he didn’t agree to her scandalous proposal, then she’d cement this night into her memory.
She’d experience it all.
She had half a mind to tell him she didn’t want him to hold back, when the urgency of the moment changed. Perhaps it was the way she drew his bottom lip in between her teeth, slipping her tongue into his mouth to fence with his. His growl reverberated through her, sending a shiver down her spine. His hand slid from underneath her chin to the back of her neck, and as his fingers dug into her tender flesh, he deepened the kiss.
What had been sweet became wild, all-consuming.
Still kissing her, he pressed her down upon the bed. Their eyes met for a second: his questioning, hers full of want. She inclined her head, and on her consent, he kissed her again then broke away from her. He pulled back the sheets, revealing her bare legs and feet to him. Instinctively, she went to grab for the sheets, but he stopped her, locking one hand in hers. The other stroked the pad of her foot, sliding up to her ankle, then her calf.
Frissons of heat fired within her. The urge to cover herself began to fade, for with his hand sneaking up toward her knee, she felt deliciously reckless. If she was going to be ruined, then she’d enjoy it, basking in the wantonness.
“You’re beautiful.” He leaned down, placing a kiss along the back ridge of her knee. “When you were naked before, I couldn’t stop thinking about how damn beautiful you are.”
Her cheeks grew warm from his words. Hell, her entire body was warm. She didn’t care that the fire had burnt out and a chill had settled in the room, for his touch heated her thoroughly. His hand traveled further up, meeting with her thigh.
She smiled saucily. “I remember your reaction was quite pronounced.”
He moved their entwined hands to the waistband of his pants, then lower, until she palmed his erection. It was not new—she’d seen evidence of it before—but this time with the proof of his desire in her palm, she was awestruck. She investigated the shape of him, cupping his balls then moving on to the hardness of his shaft.
“It is so big,” she said, partly because she’d heard the strumpets who went to the Ten Bells say that this type of compliment never went astray with men, and partly because she’d always believed the pictures were exaggerating the girth of a man.
He laughed, the hearty sound echoing. “You always know just what to say, don’t you?”
She lowered her eyes demurely. “I don’t know what you mean. How will that big, big rod ever possibly fit inside of little me?”
“Oh, it’ll fit,” he growled, sweeping her up in his arms. “It’ll fit like it was made for you.”
She was crushed up against his solid frame as he kissed her hard, ravishing her mouth. Sparks collided. Fires started. All from his lips upon hers, the give and take of their kisses and the devastatingly sensual slide of his hand across her body.
He took hold of the hem of her nightrail, pushing the light fabric up, up, up her thigh until the sweet part between her legs was visible to him, as she’d been in the library. Leaning back, he surveyed her for a moment, making a noise of approval before he came back to her, enveloping her in a deep kiss. Her hands slid behind her, beneath the pillow, grabbing the hem to tether herself to this world while his kisses drove her toward bliss. His upper body pressed against hers, chest to chest, the rub of his shirt buttons against her pert nipples creating such tempting tension. His hand braced her side, fingers splayed across her rib cage, and she thought that for the first time in her life she had everything she needed.
He trailed kisses down her neck, along the line of her jaw, in the hollow of her collarbone. Her breasts felt heavy. More, she told him with her body, tilting her head back to give him better access.
“Cheeky chit,” he praised, rewarding her by cupping her breasts, running his thumb across her nipple appreciatively. Somehow, he’d managed to tug the neckline of her nightrail down without her realizing it. He ducked his head down and then his lips were on her nipple, sucking, licking, devouring.
God, he was good. He’d earned every damn rumor about him, but she wouldn’t think about the other women he’d been with before this. She’d think only of how he’d moved to her other breast, biting at her nipple and drawing from her a salacious moan.
“Ah, so you like that?” He grinned against her flesh, chuckling. “Do you know what I’d like?”
She mumbled inarticulately. If he expected her to form complete sentences during this, he was sadly mistaken. But since he was probably expecting a response, she shrugged.
He laid her hands on the row of closures on his shirt, and she went to work unbuttoning. The task was cumbersome, as the buttons kept sliding against her the silk of her gloves, but he kept her well occupied with his kisses. His hand was on her inner thigh, dangerously close. Even the rustic scent of him was a distraction, clouding her senses.
When the shirt was undone, she slid it off his shoulders, marveling in the expanse of tanned muscle before her. Experimentally, she let her finger glide down his chest, watching as he shivered from her explorations. His moan echoed through her as she toyed with his nipple, as he’d done to her. So he liked that too, she noted, securing that information away for future use. She continued her course of study, following the line of fair hair that peeked out from his breeches.
“Not just yet,” he told her, nudging her back down on the bed. “Not until you’re thoroughly ready. I want your cunny to be so wet my cock slips right into you.”
Her body felt as though it was in an inferno already. How much more ready could she get? But then his mouth was on hers again, and his kisses were pulling her further and further away from her grip on reality. She lost rational thought. Instead, she threw herself into this new world where she was desirable.
Michael would bring her endless pleasure, and she’d reciprocate, until the end of time.
When he pulled back from her to catch his breath, a roguish grin curved his lips. “Every part of you is alluring, did you know that? You steal my breath away.”
She came crashing back to reality. Dread sank in her stomach, twisting her organs. He thought she was lovely now, but he hadn’t seen the horror of her hand. The curvature of knock-knees could be excused, for they were common in areas where factory work was the main occupation.
Her hand was revolting. He couldn’t look on the scarred, blackened skin and not be revolted. She could barely handle seeing it, and it was a part of her now.
She gulped down her panic. Tried to focus on his weight between her thighs. He laid a kiss upon her neck, and she worked her gloved fingers through his hair, wishing she could feel his sandy locks upon her fingers but not brave enough to strip off the last vestiges of her hidden self. With the gloves on, at least she could pass as normal.
His body went stiff against her. Everything stopped for a second as he sat upright, confusion flickering in his eyes where before there had been only unbridled longing. “Abigail,” he said, almost sternly.
“Did I do something wrong?” She reached for his arousal, thinking that she should have been tending to him instead of letting him bring her pleasure.
“God, no.” He shook his head, his breath coming out in pants. “But this isn’t right.”
“I told you I want this—”
“No, no, that’s not what I mean.” He captured her hand, his thumb looping in the seam of her right glove. “I want to see you. All of you. Won’t you let me?”
“You’ve seen all of me,” she reminded him, snatching back her hand from him. She tugged her glove back up. “This isn’t necessary. It’ll only disgust you.”
“Nothing about you could disgust me.” He fastened his smoldering gaze on her, and again she wanted to believe him, e
ven if she knew he was lying. No one had ever viewed her scars without recoiling in horror.
She’d be changed forever in his mind, and not for the better. But when he looked at her like that…she wanted to let him.
Swiftly, she swept off her right glove, dropping it over the side of the bed. “There,” she said, hoping he’d forget his foolish request and get back to kissing her.
“I know it’s difficult,” he said, as though he could understand her pain when she knew damn well he couldn’t. No one could. “Well, I don’t know it is, but I’m imagining how you might feel scared to show me. But love, I’ve stripped my soul naked for you. I’ve told you things about my family I’ve never told anyone else. I won’t judge you, Abigail. I need you to know that.”
“Please, Michael,” she pleaded, squeezing her legs tight against him. She ought to yank her nightdress back up. She ought to run from the room, go back to her family, even if it’d mean she’d be penniless. At least then, her last memory with him wouldn’t be his revulsion.
He leaned down, effectively keeping her from leaving. He whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her sensitive neck. “I’ll make you a wager.”
“Another wager?” She felt herself relaxing back into the pillows, his weight over her reassuring. He was physically strong when she wasn’t, powerful enough to defend her against the bastards that had hurt her before. But he’d let her get in the first punch, and that meant something.
“The first one worked pretty damn well for us,” he murmured.
As he placed another kiss along the column of her neck, she couldn’t help but agree with him. “Go on.”
“If you let me see your scars, I’ll take you as my mistress.” Another kiss, another touch that sent her mind spinning.
She managed to summon up the power of speech. “And if I don’t?”
“Then we’ll have one night together.” He hovered over her, his lips so close to hers, but not broaching the distance. “Abigail, if you’re going to live with me…I want to know you, all of you. The good and the bad. It’s only fair because I can guarantee you, I’ll be a royal pain in your arse most of the time.”
She laughed in spite of herself. Michael was egotistical and dogged, but then she was just as stubborn and hardheaded. While she certainly didn’t relish this idea, if showing him meant she had more of a chance to stay in this bubble of bliss, she’d do it. She’d close her eyes and pretend he wasn’t looking at her. “If that’s your terms, then…”
He started to remove her glove, slow and seductive, but she batted his hands away. There was nothing sensual about this reveal. She tore the glove from her fingers and dropped her palm on the bed, making sure she wasn’t touching him with her disfigured flesh. She expected he’d retreat, but he simply examined her hand from a distance, a contemplative expression on his face.
“May I?”
She nodded.
Gingerly, he lifted her left hand, inspecting the damage. He ran his thumb over the besmirched skin, tracing the contours of the scar tissue that had formed over her muscles. She couldn’t feel his touch there; the nerves had long ago been deadened.
But she saw his touch. She couldn’t close her eyes. She couldn’t pull away from him. She was stuck in this moment, watching him as he watched her. His hand on hers, his perfect flesh against her repulsive wounds.
“Must have hurt like the dickens.” He stated the obvious, and she gave him a look that implied such. Somehow, his casual statement lifted her concerns, and she began to relax. There was no pity in his eyes, only the dawn of understanding.
He feathered a kiss on her knuckles. Her heart sped up impossibly, tight in her chest. Had he been anyone else, she would have suspected him of setting her up for ridicule. But he simply shrugged and placed her hand on his chest.
“Touch me,” he bid her, his tone allowing no room for argument. “With your hands. I’ve been dying to feel your hands on me, woman, instead of those damned gloves.”
She hesitated, but the feel of his strapping chest against her good hand was too much to resist. She ran her palm across the planes of his shoulders, down his rib cage, pressing softly with her fingers to reassure herself that this was real. She dared to trace the muscles of his abdomen with her scarred fingers. The sensations in her uninjured hand seemed to amplify, compensating for her deprived nerves.
She was touching Michael and he didn’t flinch. He didn’t tell her she was a beast, fit for nothing but tupping hard with the candles burnt out. The moonlight streamed through the windows, casting a glow on them.
Growing impatient, he guided her down to the waistband of his breeches.
She laughed. “Ready now? I ought to make you wait, as punishment for before.”
“You’ll be the death of me, minx,” he rasped.
He let out a ragged breath, his eyes heavy with desire. Her fingers slid inside the fall of his breeches. When he let out a groan, she decided to relieve him of his ache. Unfastening his breeches with her right hand, she worked them down his hips. In a quick maneuver, he shucked his breeches and small clothes.
No illustration could have prepared her for this. If she’d thought him imposing with clothes on, then naked, he was enough to strike her breath from her completely. Her gaze roved down his frame hungrily, drinking in every centimeter of his body.
“Like what you see?” He grinned at her, and for once she felt that his habitual smirk had relayed a secret between them.
He was hers tonight, hers alone.
But she didn’t get a chance to tell him that, for he’d gone for her nightrail, heaving the hem of it up and over her head. He deposited it on the ground unceremoniously. Propping up her knees, he pushed her legs apart, settling between her thighs, her feet resting on his shoulders.
He took in the sight of her, a low growl escaping his throat. “God, you kill me. I want so badly to be inside of you.”
“I want you to be,” she told him. “I want to feel what I felt in the library, but more.”
“And so you shall,” he agreed. “But we have all the time in the world for that.”
Michael touched her, touched her like he had before, but this time it was so much better. He’d seen her scars and he still wanted her. His thumb against her center was enough to rush pulses down her body, even more so when he began to rub her nub in a circular motion. She squirmed against him, and he held her steady. When his head dipped between her legs, she was certain she couldn’t possibly take any more.
Yet he kept teasing her with the hot flicks of his wet tongue, the rhythmic nibbles of his teeth. He slipped a finger inside her, testing her readiness. She’d tell him she was ready—oh so ready—if she could form sentences. He took advantage of her inability to speak, thrusting that finger, hitting an elusive spot within her that made her keen with pleasure.
His mouth, that finger, everything combined until she was reeling, she was falling, she was spinning out of control. Screaming her release, she came crashing back down.
“Taste yourself on my lips.” He kissed her, thrusting his tongue into the depths of her mouth, pantomiming what he’d do to her soon. “You taste so good, you know that? I could lick you all day.”
She was limp in his arms, given up to pleasure. It made her reckless, willing to be bawdy. “Then maybe you should.”
“Ah, but then I wouldn’t get to fuck you, and I have been waiting a very long time to do that.” He dropped his grip on her to move over the top of her completely, carefully keeping his weight off of her. His hard member was against her entrance now, and that mere bit of contact was so divine she couldn’t wait to have him in her.
“You’re sure?” he asked through gritted teeth, straining to hold himself back.
In response, she reached down with her right hand, taking hold of his shaft and guiding him in her. For a second, they remained like this, him at the very cusp of her entrance, not moving, while she became accustomed to him.
“I need to move,” he cautioned her. “I
swear it’ll only hurt this one time.”
With one long stroke, he surged into her and the pain ripped through her, a sharp stab that made her eyes water. She welcomed it. For the first time, this was pain she’d chosen, pain she’d asked for, pain that would change her irrevocably in a positive way.
He’d gone still above her, his muscles taut, his face awash in concentration. “I’m sorry, love,” he whispered, kissing her throat. “I’m so sorry.”
Life had tried to break her, but she’d emerged fiercer. She wanted this—wanted him.
She gave a tentative push of her hips to show him just how strong she was. Michael let out the breath he’d been holding as she arched her back, giving herself up to being filled by him, joined with him. He started to thrust again, the rhythm slow, just enough to strike a match within her again. The pain faded, replaced only by the building pleasure his movements wrought.
“You like that?” The husky quality to his voice would have been enough to make her answer yes, regardless.
She nodded.
“Then tell me,” he ordered. “Tell me exactly what you want, or I won’t do it. This night is about you, Abigail.”
She gulped. He’d seen her touch herself. She could tell him exactly what she wanted. “I want you to move,” she whispered. “I want you to tup me.”
“Tup you how?” He grinned, beginning to slide into her again.
“Just—like—that,” she gasped, for he’d found the best rhythm. Stars began to dot her eyes. They moved together, she a step behind him until she grasped the pace, and then they were two in tandem. Two became one as he filled her and one became two again as he pulled out, over and over again, until she was shaking from the pleasure.
There was only him, only goodness and light. The past wound around her, but it no longer touched her.
Reaching for her injured hand, he curled his fingers in hers, holding on to her as he thrust deep within her. That stroke was as black powder poured upon her lit fire, for she exploded all at once, her ears roaring and white light flashing before her eyes. He wrenched from her at the last moment, spilling his seed on the floor. He collapsed next to her, thoroughly spent. They lay there, hands entwined, breaths ragged, as they each tried to regain their senses.
