by Shana Galen
He was asking her. He would never force her to come to him. Of course, he’d phrased the request as a demand, but a man like Ethan hardly knew how to ask for anything.
She turned in his arms. In the dim glow of the firelight behind her, his eyes were dark. The appreciation she saw lingering in them was familiar now. His hands slid from her shoulders to her waist, pulling her closer. Pulling her against him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse.
She ducked her head, feeling the blush on her cheeks. “No. I’m not. You’re just—” She left off, not sure what she meant to say.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “What am I?”
A slow smile spread across his features and Francesca winced with embarrassment.
“Aroused?” he said, amusement in his voice.
She felt her cheeks flame brighter.
“I won’t deny it, but it hasn’t affected my vision.” One hand came up to cup her cheek. “You’d be beautiful if I was cold, wet, and shivering in a thunderstorm. You’d be beautiful if you were covered with grass and speckled with mud. You were,” he said, referring to her appearance after crawling through the brush in the clearing.
Francesca sighed. “Ethan, please.”
His features changed suddenly, the lightness gone. The molten lava in his eyes sent heat rushing to her belly. “Please? Yes. Tell me how to please you.” The fingers of one hand caressed her back lightly, and then he leaned down to kiss her.
She put one hand between them, and he stopped mere inches from her. Again, she was amazed that her small hand, that her feeble gesture, had the power to forestall him.
“I think we’d better go inside.” She glanced at the hospital’s curtains, pulled tight against the dark night. “It’s late.”
Ethan’s gaze searched her face, but he didn’t pull away. “Is that what you really want?”
It wasn’t, and she knew he could see the truth.
His hand on her cheek dropped, and he released her waist, moving a few inches away. The only contact between them was her hand on his chest. He was making it clear the decision was hers.
She watched him, considering. She wanted to kiss him again, and she knew where that would lead. And once she went down that path, she couldn’t go back. For all the familiarity of him—his voice, his smell, his face—Ethan, the man, was still an enigma to her.
He watched her, seeming to trace the thoughts as they raced through her head. She was aware of his closeness, his scent, the heat of his body under her hand on his chest. Then she felt it—the rapid but steady pulse of his heart—beating under her fingertips. She made her decision.
Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against his so lightly that she barely felt his mouth. He didn’t move, merely allowed her to kiss him. She didn’t know what she’d expected to happen. That he’d seize her in a wild embrace and kiss her senseless? That he’d sweep her off her feet and plunder her mouth as if it were a king’s treasure?
She certainly didn’t expect this restraint, the barest motion of his lips against hers. She kissed him again, lingering a little longer this time. The softness of his mouth under hers made her shiver, and she drew back.
She glanced at him for guidance. He was watching her with an intensity that made the blood rush to her head.
“Now give me a real kiss. I promise not to bite.” His voice was low and husky, teasing in its tone. But not his eyes. His eyes were all but devouring her.
She hesitated. “And if I—” She swallowed and made an awkward gesture. “If I give you a real kiss, what happens next?”
He leaned down and pushed her hair from her shoulder while his hand caressed the oval of skin bared by the bodice of her gown. His lips found her neck, and she felt them trace a torturous path from her collarbone to her earlobe. She stifled a gasp when he bit her lightly.
“What do you want to happen next?” he murmured against her sensitive flesh.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’ve never—” Her voice faded away, and she felt herself blushing again. She couldn’t remember when she’d blushed so much in the space of five minutes.
Her words seemed to hit him like the first gust of wind from a coming storm. He pulled back, moved away from her and leaned against the hospital’s table, bronze hands splayed on the pale wood. She watched him lift a hand and massage the bridge of his nose. For a long moment he didn’t say anything. Why couldn’t she have let him continue instead of questioning everything?
Finally he turned to her, met her gaze. “I want you, Francesca. And—this is a first—”
She almost smiled at the bewildered look that crossed his face when he said the words.
“I will be honest with you. I could seduce you.” He said it matter-of-factly, not giving her time to argue.
She wouldn’t have anyway.
“But I’d regret it tomorrow,” he continued, “and you’d probably end up hating me. You might anyway.” He smiled ruefully. “But I want you to come to me. I want you to want me as much as I want you.”
She did. There was no question of that. But that wasn’t what she’d meant when she’d asked what came next, and he knew it. Still, he’d answered her question. He’d said he wanted her and left it at that. He didn’t make any promises, didn’t propose marriage—an amusing idea considering half the world already thought they were engaged. He had said that he didn’t want to lose her, but she knew he hadn’t meant it, couldn’t mean it. And now he hinted that, in fact, she might come to regret getting so close to him..
And, she thought as she went to him, she knew she might very well come to regret this. But she also knew she’d regret the missed opportunity even more. His legs were braced apart, and she stepped between them. He raised an eyebrow in question.
“I want you, probably more than you’ll ever want me,” she said.
“Don’t be so sure of that.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, dragging her forward so that she was pressed tightly against his chest. “Show me how much you want me, cara.”
“How? I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you want to do?” he murmured into her hair. She thought a moment, as if the decision of how to proceed required serious thought, then leaned up on tiptoes and kissed him.
He was smiling—probably amused at her lengthy deliberations—and his lips were curved under hers at first. That would never do. She wanted to feel his heart racing, hear his quick intake of breath and the low growl in his throat when she pleased him.
Amazed at her own audacity, she traced the curve of his smile with the tip of her tongue. And smiled herself when she felt his grin fade and his hands tighten on her waist. She parted his lips and kissed him deeper, exploring him and tasting him, filling every one of her senses with the touch, flavor, and feel of him.
All of this he allowed, encouraging her with the subtle pressure of his fingers or an angling of his head to give her better access, but when her hands mirrored the actions of her lips and began to explore his body as well, she felt his control slipping.
Her fingers, at first tentative, glided over his shoulders and arms. She enjoyed rubbing her hands over the straining cords of his muscles, honed from daily riding and exercise, enjoyed how they flexed slightly when she touched them. Then she ran her hands over his chest, parting his coat so her arms could encircle him. Hesitantly, she allowed her hands to drift lower, to his slim waist and hips, and still he made no move to stop her.
Her cheek was pressed to his. She’d become so intent in her explorations of his body that she’d abandoned his lips for the moment, and she took a deep breath, inhaling his scent, and dove lower.
She skimmed her palms over his buttocks, and he jerked and drew in a sharp breath. Immediately, she pulled away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
He put a finger to her lips. “I don’t want you to stop.”
She chanced at look into his eyes. They were heated with desire for her, almost golden now. He worked hi
s fingers underneath his tight cravat, loosening the snowy white cloth.
“You don’t have any idea what you’re doing to me, do you?”
“No.” Her hand flew to her throat, eyes widening with concern. “What am I doing to you?”
“You’re killing me,” he whispered, leaning close to her, his cravat dangling from the front of his waistcoat.
“But I thought you liked it?”
He grinned. “If I’m to die, there’s no way I’d rather go.”
She scrunched up her brows in confusion.
His smile turned wicked. “Maybe it would be better if I show you what I mean? No objections?” he asked, reaching for her.
She hesitated, not sure what to make of the roguish glint in his eyes. “No.”
Imitating her investigation of him with his own thorough examination of her, he showed her the sweet path to sinful execution. She shivered at his touch on her shoulders, felt warmth infuse her when he traced the curve of her spine, and gasped as his palms glided over her breasts, lingering for just a moment as she had on his chest. Her nipples hardened immediately, and she knew he felt it through the thin silk fabric of her gown. Then, as she had done, he moved to her waist and finally cupped her bottom with both hands.
She panted with need, wanting something more and not knowing what. He showed her, pulling her body against his so that she could feel him, hot and hard, against her abdomen. Though it was surely wanton, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from pressing against that hardness.
He groaned, pulling her even closer. Then, quite suddenly he released her and stripped off his coat. She stood, feeling dazed, as she watched him struggle with the tight-fitting garment, then throw it on the floor by the fire.
Without thinking, she bent to retrieve it. “What are you doing? Pocket will have your head.”
He laughed and took the coat from her, fully intending, or so it seemed, to throw it right back down. “I don’t want to think about Pocket right now, and I won’t take you on the bare floor.”
At his words, she froze. His intentions, put so plainly, jolted her out of her haze of desire. Of course, she’d known what she was agreeing to, but she hadn’t allowed the idea to form clearly in her mind.
He would take her. She’d be a fallen woman. No longer a virgin. Not that she cared much for her virginity—after Roxbury she had no desire to marry—but could she live knowing, even if no one else did, that she was ruined?
She glanced at Ethan and knew he again followed the path of her thoughts. He had an uncanny ability to do that, though she’d never been difficult to read. She saw he’d moved away from her, giving her room, an opportunity to flee if she wanted.
But now that she looked at him, all of her doubts and fears fell away. She loved him, wanted him, and she was willing to accept—even embrace—the consequences that came with those feelings. Scandalous as it was, she wanted to be ruined by him.
“I’ll put down blankets.” She went to the cupboard where she kept them. The simple, familiar task of gathering the blankets calmed her. She felt safe here, in this place that was her own. And she felt safe with Ethan. Tonight he, too, would be hers alone.
Blankets piled in her arms, she turned back to the fireplace. When she passed Ethan, his hand on her arm stopped her. “Francesca—”
She dropped the blankets and put a finger to his lips. “I want this,” she whispered and reached on tiptoes to kiss him.
His eyes darkened and, without hesitation, his arms came around her, his mouth returning the kiss with all the passion she’d yearned for earlier. His mouth, his tongue, explored her with a thoroughness that left her breathless. His hands were equally as thorough, skimming here, lingering there.
She was flying, her head spinning, her body thrumming with desire. And just when she felt that she, like Icarus, had flown too high and would be burned by the flames of this sun she had so foolishly thought she could control, she was securely under him, cushioned by the softness of the blankets beneath her.
Somehow her dress was gone, and she wore only her light chemise. She should have felt exposed, embarrassed, but then her eyes focused on the cheerful curtains she knew so well, the orderly shelves she’d stocked herself, and the familiar armchair she’d sat in countless times.
Then she looked at Ethan, and the same feeling of familiarity and comfort washed over her. Until he pulled away from her, stripping off his waistcoat and shirt. Then all she felt was desire—longing—for his touch. Despite the heat and nearness of the fire, she shivered from need as much as the brief lack of contact.
She reached out to him and murmured, “Come here.”
He grinned.
“Give me a moment.” He pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside.
She was suddenly glad she was lying down. Once again, the sight of him shirtless—the raw, sculpted power of his chest—left her mouth dry and her head spinning.
She brushed her outstretched hand over that power, admiring, not fearing it. The gold flecks in his eyes blazed even hotter as he came down next to her. He braced himself on one elbow and gave her a long, probing look. Francesca’s breath quickened as his hot amber gaze flowed over her. He looked at her so long and so hard that she began to wonder what he saw. Was there something wrong with her?
But just when she would have raised her arms to cover herself, he leaned over her, weight braced on his elbows.
“You’re ravishing.” He met her gaze with his own. “The most ravishing woman I’ve ever seen.”
She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but certainly not that. “Ravishing?”
He ran his fingers down her cheek, then replaced his fingertips with his lips.
“God, yes,” she heard him whisper.
His mouth on her caused an immediate reaction, as did the feel of his bare chest, the heat of his skin burning her through the wispy silk of her chemise.
“Is ravishing good?” she managed through shuddering breaths.
He chuckled. “Very good.” It was barely a murmur as his mouth was on her collarbone. He slid the straps of her chemise down, but she hardly noticed, too intent on the mounting pleasure triggered by the feel of his hot breath on her flesh. Then his lips were on her breast, her hard nipple in his mouth, and she moaned.
At first she could hardly believe the sound, so carnal and so wild, had come from her. She wanted to close her eyes in shame.
“You like that,” Ethan said, voice thick with desire. His mouth drifted lower, and his lips were now making a warm wet trail from her abdomen to the curve of her stomach.
“If I have my way, before long you’ll be doing more than moaning.” He flashed her a sinful grin before stripping her of the chemise all together.
She didn’t know what shocked her more—that he wanted her to make such unladylike noises or that she was now completely naked beneath him. He didn’t give her time to consider. She gasped as she felt his hands between her legs, opening her, fingers deftly searching for the place that would bring her the most pleasure.
She cried out when he found it, exhilarated by the small explosions his fingers triggered. She found herself not only crying out, but wantonly arching her hips, shamelessly seeking a repeat of the ecstasy he had shown her could be hers that day in the tack room.
Her body was taut, hands tight around the edges of the blanket beneath her, breath coming in little gasps. Then he stopped. Pulled away from her.
She cried out in frustration, in the haze of her arousal forgetting all sense of propriety. He raised an amused eyebrow and lowered himself over her, kissing her long and deep.
His lips tasted like the perfumed soap she’d used in her bath that afternoon and underneath the smell of lilacs was his own scent—sandalwood and leather and Ethan. Forgetting her frustration from a moment before, she wrapped her arms around him and embraced this new experience—his tongue stroking hers, his body pressed against hers, his legs between hers.
He nudged her legs wider, positi
oning himself more firmly between her. It was then that she felt him, hot and hard. Somehow, probably while she was insensible with pleasure, he’d managed to remove his trousers, and now she felt his nakedness next to hers. A little fissure of anticipation raced through her.
He must have felt her reaction because he edged forward and placed his hard manhood at her entrance. It was a new sensation, intriguing because, as their scents had mingled, their bodies were now joined in the most intimate of ways. He’d stopped kissing her, and she looked into his face and saw that he was watching her, eyes burning brilliant with desire.
“Do you want me to stop?” His voice was deep and thick, strained by the measure of control she could see he was exerting.
She shook her head. “No.”
“It’s not too late.”
She smiled and stroked his tight jaw. “Yes, it is. It was too late the first time I saw you.” She arched against him, bringing him inside her just a little more. They both gasped at the pleasure.
“Cara.” He closed his eyes. “If you want me to stop, say it now. In a moment I won’t be able to.”
“Good,” she whispered and moved against him again.
With a fierce groan, he buried his head against her shoulder, then, very slowly, began to fill her. Her eyes were closed, head thrown back when his fingers stroked her again, bringing her back to the point of release. The two sensations were so different—his body inside her and his hands on her—that she found herself wondering how many different types of pleasure there were. But then Ethan moved inside her, simultaneously rubbing his fingers against her, and she lost count.
A flash of hot pleasure jolted through her just as Ethan plunged into her. Pain lanced through her, and Ethan paused for a moment and glanced at her with a look she didn’t understand. Then he moved inside her, filling her, pressing intimately against her.
The heady pleasure lingered but could not mask the pain. Her body felt raw and stretched. Strange that he should be inside her; strange for her body to feel both pleasure and pain simultaneously. She looked into his eyes and found his hot gaze on her. He kissed her and pulled her closer, and she closed her eyes and held on.