Meg simply couldn’t wait or deny herself a moment longer. It wasn’t possible. She needed this. Needed Lucien as much as he, by all accounts, needed her.
They weren’t slow at all. Before the door closed, their mouths were fused, and she slid down the length of his body to drag him deeper inside the room. He turned the key in the lock while kissing her and while unbuttoning the back of her dress. The man was a wonder of efficiency. Then he shoved her dress and petticoat to the floor.
She tried to match his deftness and managed to strip off his cravat, but his waistcoat suffered a few button casualties.
Seeing the outline of a heavy shape beneath the fall of his trousers, her body responded in a low, liquid rush. The memory of how it had felt to have him fill her made her clench sharply as she moved the flat of her palm along his length.
A breath left him as he watched her. She didn’t know why she’d always been so bold with him—even from that first meeting in the corridor at Caliburn Keep—but perhaps, some part of her had always known that he was hers.
Wanting more of him, she tugged at his fastenings. The fall flap was barely parted when she slipped her hand inside. And they both groaned in satisfaction as she gripped him.
She was fascinated by the shape and feel of him and loved seeing the way his throat constricted as he swallowed, head back, eyes closed.
“That thing . . . you’re doing . . . with your thumb . . .”
“What, this?”
A low, guttural sound escaped him as she rolled her thumb up the underside, sliding to the tip. He swallowed again, his hands fisting in her laces. “It has a ninety-five percent guarantee of making this an intolerably brief interlude.”
“We cannot have that,” she said but didn’t stop. And she even leaned in to open her mouth over the exposed skin at the base of his throat.
He growled, his hand tugging at her corset. Then he cursed. “I’ve tied a knot.”
“It doesn’t matter. Just take me like this,” she said, pressing urgent kisses along the open V of his shirtsleeves and wrapping her arms around him. She was ready to climb him and impale herself on his erection to satisfy the gnawing ache at the juncture of her thighs.
He lowered his mouth to hers, taking her lips in a toe-curling kiss, his leg insinuated between her thighs. Lifting her to her toes, his mouth glided lower, his tongue laving the rapid pulse at her throat, descending to the ruffled edge of her bodice only to growl again in frustration. “I want you naked underneath me. I want to taste you and feel you melt on my tongue.”
She shuddered, hips tilting.
Oh, she wanted that, too. Now. Right this instant.
“Then, cut the laces. Cut off all my clothes. I don’t care,” she said fervently, unabashedly arching against his leg.
“My dirk.”
“Your what?”
His eyes blazed down at her, his color high, and all he said was “Boot. Knife.”
Oh, that dirk.
She wasted no time. On trembling legs, she lowered and reached into his boot where she saw the clover shape of the dagger’s hilt rising just above the cuff. Not wanting to accidentally maim him in the process, she took care in removing it, the blade flashing silver in the light through the parted drapes.
A humorous thought occurred to her, and she smiled up at him. “This seems rather like an Excalibur moment, as if destiny had a hand in all this.”
“Then, it’s your destiny to be naked,” he said.
And in a matter of seconds that very destiny was realized.
After lowering her to the bed, he shucked his own clothes and gazed down at her. “You are the most captivating woman I’ve ever known. Everything about you is an enchantment, your laugh, your scent . . .”
He didn’t finish. But she didn’t mind because his body settled over hers.
She welcomed his weight on a satisfied sigh as he kissed her deeply. Then he nibbled beneath her jaw, moving down her throat, exciting her pulse along the way. Plumping her breast in his hand, he lowered his mouth over her and drew her sensitive flesh into his warm mouth, flicking his tongue over the tender peak until she was writhing beneath him, clutching his head.
When she cried out his name, he lifted away to blow a thin stream over the wet, pebbled skin. Then he tsked. “It seems I’ve gotten jam all over you, wherever my hands have touched.”
“You can clean it up later,” she said, tugging on his hips. “Just take me.”
There was a positively wicked gleam in his eyes when he said, “Oh, but I like the idea of cleaning you up right now. Everywhere I’ve touched.”
She gasped as his hand descended to her sex. Her back arched as he cupped her fully, his fingers delving into her saturated curls. He kissed her body, lingering over her breasts with suckling flicks and deep pulls that sent quivering spears of sensation directly to her womb. And she was lost in the pleasure of his touch, her body thrumming, ready.
His tongue circumnavigated the rim of her navel as he looked up at her with heavily lidded eyes, his finger sinking into her slick swollen channel, and a desperate mewl tore from her throat.
“Shh,” he crooned, blowing softly against her thatch of curls. “You’re so wet for me. Let me, darling. Let me see if you melt.”
She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant. Not until he sealed his mouth over her . . . there.
She bucked against him. Surely, he wasn’t going to. He didn’t mean to kiss her there?
Oh, but he most definitely did. And then he groaned, his eyes closing as his mouth opened over her, the flat of his tongue rolling all the way up to the throbbing, sensitive bud, swirling with meticulous precision until she gasped and her head fell back.
Then she was no longer trying to budge him.
She threaded her fingers through his thick locks, feeling the heat of his scalp as he laved her endlessly. He made greedy guttural sounds as his tongue circled and suckled, his thrusting finger drawing out more of the warm honey that saturated her. And he made good on his promise.
She melted on a sudden liquid cry, back bowing, hips tilting jerkily as his tongue delved deep, drinking every last drop until she was limp and boneless.
When he settled over her, there was a smug grin on his lips. “This is no time for gloating.”
“It cannot be helped. I’ve been thinking about that for longer than you can imagine, and tasting you was even better than every one of my calculations.”
“There you go again, being all romantic and scientific,” she said with a smile. “I love the things you say.”
Something shifted in his gaze, his eyes warmer, tender. He lowered over her and kissed her softly. She tasted a faint briny essence, musky and sweet. Her. And she didn’t shy away. It just seemed . . . natural.
Then he took her hands and set them over her head, first one and then the other, and twined their fingers. “I don’t want any obstacle between us any longer. Not the book. Not anything. I just want to be with you.”
A strangled, happy sound escaped her, and a tear slipped from the corner of her eye. “Truly?”
He nodded, pressing his lips to the damp trail. Then he kissed her eyelids, her nose, her mouth as he entered her body in a leisurely thrust, the hard heat of him filling her, stretching her, in a slow, thick slide until there was nothing between them.
A satisfied grunt left him, his heart beating against her own. Then he moved inside her, their hands held fast. Wanting to hold him, she wrapped her legs around his waist, undulating with him until it was almost too much pleasure.
He took his time, bringing her to another inexorable rise before she shattered again, her love for him bursting in a shower of colorful sparks behind her eyes. Then he followed her over the edge in a wash of molten heat.
After catching her breath, she kissed his shoulder. “I thought you said the first time would be hard and fast.”
He nuzzled her nose with his. “I wanted to make it last longer.”
“Then, stay here.” She tightened her legs around his hips and felt his flesh twitch inside her.
He closed his eyes on a hiss. “You’re clamped around me so tightly I don’t think I could move if I wanted to. It’s good that I don’t. You’ve wrung me out, darling. However, you still have jam on your skin, and it makes me tremendously hungry.”
When he started nibbling on her throat, she arched her neck. “If my maid comes to the door, I’ll pretend I’m sick.”
“Just don’t cough,” he said and when she looked up at him confused, he moved his hips and she understood. “At least not for ten minutes or so.”
She pressed a kiss to his palm, murmuring her delight in tasting the cherry sweetness, warm on his skin. Then she licked him, from wrist to the tip of his middle finger. Seeing that he’d lifted his head to watch her and how dark his eyes had become, she sucked his finger into her mouth.
In the end, it didn’t take ten more minutes, after all.
* * *
Later that night, Lucien stole into the house and crept to her bedchamber. Before he rapped on her door, she flung it open and pulled him inside, wrapping her arms around him.
“What took you so long?” she chided, rising up on her bare toes to nip his chin.
Finally, the ache that had been with him since he’d left her bed subsided as he lifted her into his embrace. “It took Pell forever to go to bed so that I could slip away.”
“Will you stay all night?”
“I’ll leave at dawn.”
She sighed but nodded reluctantly. “We both have obligations.”
He laid her down and sat back against the side of the bed to remove his boots. His ruminations were turning in circles with her at the fulcrum. They were quiet as he began to undress, both lost in their thoughts of obligations and what would happen next.
It had seemed so simple—though agonizingly painful while he resisted—to get to this point, as if he were following the natural order of things. But he didn’t know what the future held.
“Lucien,” she said, biting into her bottom lip when he lifted the hem of her nightgown, “I’m a little . . .”
Even in the low firelight, he could see her blush. They had made love twice that afternoon, and doubtless, she was tender. Her nipples were still dark from being thoroughly kissed. “I just want to hold you, that’s all.”
Dubiously, she glanced down to his engorged penis.
“Can I help it if I’m noticeably excited by the prospect of holding you?” he asked.
She laughed, snuggling up to him, and not shyly at all. Every soft and supple part of her molded against him with sublime perfection. With their limbs entwined, it was almost impossible to discern the different parts of the single knot they made.
For a moment, he closed his eyes feeling as though he were swinging on a pendulum between bliss and agony.
She sighed contentedly. “Now there’s nothing between us, just like it was meant to be.”
He kissed the top of her head, and they both fell silent again. But it was the kind of silence where he knew that her thoughts and his were woven together. As if she were inside his head, tidying up and putting everything in place so that he could relax into the future that was unfolding. And yet . . .
He was used to plotting his own course, methodically detailing every moment spent so that it would have a purpose, leading to a desired end result. He lived his life like one of his experiments, a carefully controlled environment with a set expectation. He didn’t allow things to unfold gradually without direction, without careful observation.
He didn’t believe in meant to be.
“You’re thinking about the book, aren’t you?” she asked on a resigned breath, her hand splayed over his heart and likely noticing the troubled beats beneath her palm. “It’s understandable. I know it’s important to you and that you’ll have to continue your search. But I’ll help you, if you’ll let me.”
He held her tighter, breathing in the scent of her hair. “I would welcome your assistance.”
As he caressed her soft skin and her fingertips sifted through the hair on his chest, he thought about a life like she suggested—searching together for the book during the days, holding each other every night.
But the vision didn’t bring him the peace he sought. The frustration, the failures, the dead ends and starting all over again . . . He didn’t want that for her.
He wanted more than that, both for her and for himself.
“What if . . .” he began as if merely hypothesizing a random thought, instead of a problem that had been weighing on his mind a great deal of late, “I stopped searching?”
Distractedly, she traced the outline of his flat nipple with her fingertip. “Just for now or altogether?”
“The latter, perhaps. But then”—he took a breath—“what would I have to show for all the years I’ve spent?”
“You have your notes, do you not?” When he issued an affirmative grunt, she nodded. “Then, you can continue to experiment with the recipes and find the proof you need.”
Detecting the emphasis on the last two words, he arched a brow and placed his hand over hers, stilling her tickling ministrations over his sternum. “I’m not the only one interested in affirming the potential findings in a book of historical significance.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she said. “However, there are two kinds of people in the world. There are those who enjoy experiencing the wonder of everyday occurrences—a flower blooming, a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, rainbows arcing through the sky after a storm.” She smiled against his rib cage. “Then, there are those who dissect every component down to the very basic elements. But they don’t realize that just because you can prove how something grows or appears doesn’t mean that it isn’t still magic.”
“Actually, that is precisely what proof means.”
“We shall agree to disagree, Herzog,” she teased and nipped him lightly with her teeth.
He grinned, but after a moment, his thoughts got the better of him. “But if I did stop, what would I do? I cannot simply exist without direction. What would be my purpose?”
She knew the answer without hesitation, as if she’d found it written on a note that he’d left on the desk inside his mind.
“This,” she said and pressed her lips to his chest, directly over his heart. Then she moved over him, her raven hair falling around him like a midnight veil, her eyes like blue stars in a constellation. “And this.”
She kissed him, softly, slowly. Then she moved down his body in a silken exploration of hands and lips, enveloping him deeply, hotly, in a dream from which he never wanted to awaken.