Absolute Surrender
Page 27
The absolute surrender.
Charles still supported her, which was a good thing when her knees did decide to quit. Amelia’s hands moved to his bare shoulders and scored his flesh. She marked Charles for her own, and it seemed to spur him on. She shivered when more hands landed on her, and she knew Hugh was with them, that her actions had kept him here, with Charles. In her complete surrender to this, she’d managed to have all the control.
Amelia felt as though she were floating then descending, the soft feather tick mattress meeting her back and Hugh with her. She knew it was his hands spreading her hair across the bed, holding her hands and soothing her. Hugh kissed her forehead, smoothed her hair aside and brought her full attention back to the moment.
“Amelia, we don’t have to do this.” Hugh pleaded, truly pleaded, in a tone she’d never heard from him.
“Yes. We do,” she said, and her tone brooked no arguments. This was their moment.
Charles stood at her feet. Amelia watched as he pulled his boots off one at a time and threw them to the floor. Charles reached for the buttons on his trousers, and he caught her gaze.
“Amelia, you’ve made your choice, and in it our fate is sealed. Tonight, I’ve made you my wife in word, I consider you my wife in thought, and I will make you my wife in deed.” Charles paused after he released the buttons and stood before her.
The reckoning.
The words came back to her in that moment as she looked on Charles’s tall, strong frame, as she took in the power and truth in his eyes. She pulled her own strength from Hugh, tightened her hands on his, and nodded. “Yes, Charles. My husband. Tonight I consider you my husband in thought, I make you my husband in word, and you will make me your wife in deed.”
The smile that broke across his face lit the room like nothing ever could, as the light changed from the harsh light of day to the warm glow of early evening. Her skin flushed—toes to nose—as he looked on her. She felt the blush rise, every single bit of her wanting to be in contact with every bit of him. She heard herself whimper, was separate from it, tightened her grip on Hugh.
Charles hooked his thumbs in the waist of his trousers then bent as he pushed them off. When he stood, it was like a golden god had made himself manifest in the Cliff House. The brilliant light through the window warmed his entire being, and his manhood rose to welcome as she watched. Charles took himself in hand, adjusted his bollocks, then smoothed a hand up and back down the length of his—
Maypole.
This she could believe, as he stood there before her. This she could believe. She was to be rent in her softest of places. Amelia panicked and clenched her thighs together as she pushed back from Charles, but she felt Hugh wrap his arms with hers, kissing her all over her face. “Shhhh, sweet Amelia,” Hugh said. His tears were on her face, and she looked to his eyes.
“I love you,” she said.
The bed swayed beneath Charles when he mounted it, as if in deference to the strength and reality of this man. Just as she was sure she would sway beneath him in deference to that strength and reality.
“Amelia,” Charles said gruffly. “Be with me.” Charles lowered his body to hers.
“I’m with you, Charles.” She reached for him. “I’m here with you.”
Hugh thought that if Charles could hold this woman and watch as Amelia brought him off, certainly Hugh could be next to her, with her, hold her, as Charles ruined her. Amelia had arranged for this, after all. She’d pushed Charles to the tipping point, frightened herself in the doing of it, and made it impossible for Hugh to leave. God, she was incredible.
Amazing.
Brilliant.
Truth be told, Hugh thought his part in this would be easier…perhaps if he didn’t consider the reality of what they were about. Just as he’d done when Amelia had wrapped her small fingers around his cock and stroked him until he came across her hand—and Charles had been watching and directing her. That cock stirred in his trousers now at the sight of Amelia stretched out before him. Hugh couldn’t help it. The sight of her—Charles in his periphery or no—was terribly erotic. Possibly more so, considering some of the hands on her were not his own.
Hugh leaned up from his precarious position on the floor, grabbed a pillow to shove beneath his knees on the hard wood, then gazed at her. She was a veritable masterpiece. Her red hair was spread about her in a tangled web of silk, her lips swollen from the crushing kiss Charles had only just bestowed on her. Her eyes were lit from within, the reflection of the coming sunset over the cliffs filling them to glowing as she looked at her husband, and Charles was her husband. Hugh had been witness. Certainly there would be an official ceremony, but today, here in the Cliff House, was their wedding day.
Charles shifted, and Amelia’s head fell back into Hugh’s hands as Charles kissed his way down her long, graceful neck. Hugh spread his hands beneath her, cradling her head, then kissed her as her lips came closer to him. Her fingers came up to tangle in his hair, and somewhere above his head—for he was positioned upside down in relation to the two of them—Hugh saw a rosy nipple disappear into Charles’s mouth, and he tensed. Yet it wasn’t the tension of jealousy or discomfort. It was an altogether different kind of tension.
Amelia’s hands tightened in Hugh’s hair as Charles took her in his mouth. Hugh could almost feel that very touch on her as that pressure translated through her body to her hands, then to him. In turn, Hugh had to touch her. His big hands slid beneath her, then opened around her like wings across her back, his thumbs skimming the very edges of her breasts. Her hands tightened further in his hair, and she gasped against his mouth.
Perfect, Hugh thought.
She writhed beneath them, her flesh pinked with the blood of passion, and Hugh was made whole in the moment. This moment was the beginning of her forever, and he was grateful to be part of it, because it was somewhere he’d never thought to be. In this moment, he found possibility…even as he knew that possibility could destroy him.
Mine.
It was the only thought in Charles’s mind for quite some time, though upon a bit of reflection, it could have been mere moments. Part of him wanted to pull her away from Hugh. To claim her fully without him while other parts of him reminded Charles how important it was that Hugh be here. How much a part of this Hugh was. How much Amelia deserved what Charles could never give her. What Charles had never known and thus could never bestow. True, uncompromising love.
Charles was all hard want and possession, and Hugh was all soft need and love, and Charles knew it. Hugh was necessary, but Charles wasn’t, not really. Charles knew she could disappear with Hugh, never to be heard from again, and all fear of being taken away and committed would vanish. Part of him allowed them to believe in her ruination so Charles could remain part of this. Charles could protect Amelia, whether he married her or not, but his want had kept him here.
Charles paused for a moment, wishing he could feel for her the way Hugh did—to have that connection with her. Charles had thought, at one point, that he might become that, learn it, replace Hugh—until they’d arrived here and realization had hit him like so many explosions lighting the darkness. Charles could never be for Amelia what Hugh was for her.
What’s more, Charles hadn’t believed in love until he saw them together. How could he destroy something so precious? Charles would never feel that, but he was caring enough to understand that something so beautiful shouldn’t be destroyed. In that realization, Charles found a new hope. That she would come to love Charles for who he was, this hard difficult shell of a man. That her heart was big enough to hold both him and Hugh. Equally, yet differently. Charles knew she was just that incredible, Charles knew that it was possible, and Charles found strength in all that possibility.
So here they were, and all Hugh had to do was continue kissing her, holding her steady. Charles had momentary thoughts of discord, but he pushed them aside. This was going to work. Somehow, this was all going to work. Tonight, Charles had a bride to pleas
e, a wife to make.
Charles kissed his way down the center of her rib cage from her collarbone, then across the sweet underside of one breast before licking his way straight back up the center of her chest to where he’d begun—and a heavy shudder racked her. Charles drew against her throat with his mouth.
“Ahh, Charles—” The sound was muffled by Hugh’s mouth, but Charles’s name had never sounded more beautiful to him.
Charles moved down again, kissed straight down her center, until he knelt on the floor, placing her feet on his shoulders. Charles had wanted this in a terrifying way from the moment Hugh’s lips had first met Amelia’s yesterday. Interestingly, Charles wasn’t jealous of Hugh having tasted her first, because Charles had been as much a part of the moment as Hugh had.
Charles groaned at the thought, his exhaled breath ruffling the curls at her very center. Charles could see the slick wet of her arousal already and inhaled her heady scent. He wrapped his hands around her hips and licked. Sucked. Delved between those honeyed sweet lips—tasted.
Amelia had a musky sweetness he’d never had the likeness of, and her honey was like champagne straight to Charles’s head. He couldn’t wait. Charles wanted to slow time. He wanted to draw her out, to prolong this moment for as long as he possibly could …but he knew he’d already met his threshold.
The longer he waited, the more painful he knew his orgasm would be. Charles already knew this coming would be the most painful—the most powerful—of his life, and that was as it should be. They would share in the pain of it, he and Amelia, but they would also share in the glory of it. If he waited much longer, he wouldn’t be able to contain the force with which he took her, and this alone frightened him. Not the other man at her shoulder, not the will of her mind, not the future that they couldn’t yet see clearly.
Charles wanted, quite desperately, to ensure he was gentle in this. He knew these moments would color her future, that every time she lay with him, she would remember this first coming together—the three of them—and he didn’t want it to be violent. So he slowed down as much as he could, savored her flavor, took her scent into his soul, treasured the toes curled against his shoulders, and the gooseflesh under his fingers.
Hugh’s thumbs skimmed the edges of her breasts as his hands seemed to span the entirety of her back. His mouth was melding with hers. And Charles…oh, dear Charles, he was the magic between her legs at the moment. Amelia held as still as she possibly could against their mouths, just absorbing the sensations they had zinging to her center. She let go of Hugh with one hand and reached for Charles, tangled that hand in his hair.
Hugh was calm and so very gentle moving across her skin. It didn’t feel different from the way Charles touched her until she concentrated on their hands and felt the tremors in Charles’s like Braille against her skin. She knew then Charles was so very restrained, while Hugh was allowing everything, feeling everything.
Hugh pressed into her skin, swept across it, felt the texture and made it change against his fingertips like an erotic painter. Charles was all superficial touches and restrained pressure. She knew Charles was holding himself in check, as though he might somehow hurt or damage her physically. She shook with the knowledge of it, but she wanted his bruises, she wanted all of him. Every bit of emotion Charles had to give, she wanted to take it all into herself and feel it. Amelia knew, she knew, how different Charles was from Hugh, how trained he was in restraining all feeling.
She wanted him to let go.
She wanted him to feel.
Tonight of all nights, she wanted this of Charles, for her body to be the vessel of his passion, the doorway to his revelations of love. Amelia wanted to carry the evidence of it beyond the blood on her sheets. She knew she could make him feel but was afraid at how her body and her mind would react. Her greatest fear was that she would lose herself in the doing of it, that she would frighten him away. All this was so new to Charles, he was quite fragile in it no matter how strong he seemed.
Amelia closed her eyes and abandoned herself to sensation. She believed every word Charles had said, and thus, she was a married woman.
In bed with two men.
At the behest of her husband.
Nothing a husband wished of her was improper.
He, her lord and master.
Don’t break him.
Stop. Thinking.
Charles sucked, and a shudder racked her body, forcing a low guttural yell from her throat that Hugh answered with his own. Hugh moved then, kissed her eyelids, her temple, her nose and chin as he shifted and leaned over her. Then Hugh took one of her nipples into his mouth, and the sensation of his tongue on her matched with Charles’s tongue on her was almost too much. Her body bucked as if to throw them both from their seats.
“More.” Amelia hoped that was audible. She hoped they’d heard her. She waited for the evidence of it, then tightened her hands on both of them. “More,” she said louder.
She hoped she wasn’t pulling hair from their scalps.
Charles’s hands moved then, smoothing up her sides, still quite restrained. Charles’s hands met with Hugh’s, and their fingertips intertwined momentarily until Hugh retreated easily, his hands and mouth coming back to pay homage to her neck and lips. It felt like a beautiful dance across her flesh, and Amelia reveled in it.
She felt Hugh shift, her head coming to rest on his shoulder as he held her. Her breasts weren’t bereft for long as Charles’s warmth moved over her, pulling her legs around his waist, his hands tilting and shifting and adjusting as he moved above her.
Charles was bringing himself to her.
OhGodOhGodOhGod.
This was to be it.
Already?
She’d thought she had more time, more time to…more time to what, exactly?
What time do I need? To what effect? This is the time, right here, right now, this man is to breech me…in the most intimate of ways. Perhaps not the most intimate, as the mind may well be more intimate. And she wanted him there as well, in her mind. She wanted him to have that complete understanding.
Charles did, to some extent. She knew he understood a bit about what it was to live inside her brain.
But that’s not what I mean. I want him inside my mind while I’m there, with me present, the three of us.
The three of us.
There are three of us...
What a beautiful dance.
“Amelia,” Charles said as he licked and nibbled his way between her breasts, then up the sharp edge of her chin.
They were both there. Charles and Hugh. She opened her mouth to take in as much air as she could as Charles kissed one side of her mouth and Hugh the other.
She stared up at the ceiling, concentrating on the hands, the tongues, the forms shifting in and out of her field of vision. She was married, wedded to Charles, and he was set to take her maidenhead, and it would be done.
Final.
Forever.
She’d always thought she was caught between her friend and forever. And now she truly was.
Wedged, as it were.
But friend was no longer the right word for Hugh.
Another shudder coursed her body, and she sucked in a deep breath, forcing her chest up into Charles’s.
“Amelia mine,” Charles said as he wrapped his arms around her and held tight to the entirety of her. “Amelia… Our Amelia,” he corrected.
She was surrounded in every way. Head to toe, covered in man. Amelia was so warm—then one of them would kiss her, and the air would catch the moisture and sweep it away, sending a chill through her skin, rushing her veins, pinging some very deep spot, which then sent out a million smaller signals to the far reaches of her soul.
One of Charles’s hands smoothed between her legs, his fingers teasing between her folds, circling her entrance, and she felt the maypole that would rend her, and she tensed anew.
Hugh lifted from her a bit, kissed her eyes and whispered, “Sweet Amelia, stay with us.”
She let go of Charles’s hair and reached between them, skimming the reality of him all the way to his cock, and he tensed at that touch, even gentle as it was, letting out a deeply pained and powerful noise that filled his chest then saturated the air around them.
“It truly is painful?” she asked, feeling that incredible hardness, wanting to experience it but afraid at his reaction.
Charles looked in her eyes and nodded stiffly. “Yes, Amelia, it’s quite painful. But we shall remedy that together, and in future, neither of us will be rent with pain from the act of it.”
The meaning of his words sank in, and she looked back up to the ceiling, willing the fade to recede as she felt Hugh nudge her ear with his nose. Skimming her hand up Charles’s abdomen, across his chest, up his neck and to his face, her hand rested momentarily as Charles turned his head into her palm and kissed her.
“Amelia?” Charles groaned, and she flicked her eyes to his, then closed them, nodding her head in acquiescence.
Then: “Yes.” She breathed it, and felt the air come back to descend warmly across her face.
“Look on us,” Charles said as he leaned into her, whispering. “Hugh…”
“I’m here,” Hugh responded. “Are you ready, my darling? We’re here, stay with us.” Hugh breathed against her neck.
Amelia opened her eyes and concentrated on the ceiling for another moment. She was here, and as it happened, so were they. Hugh held her, grounded her as he did, while Charles was everywhere—certainly between her legs—but surrounding her in the most powerful way above her, whispering precious words in her ear.
“Amelia, sweet Amelia, my duchess, my wife.”
She looked at him then, saw so very much in his eyes—the emotions difficult for her to discern, but they were there. She felt them in her bones. That was what she’d hoped for, wished for, wanted so very desperately that she felt it in her toes. Then she saw Hugh, like a halo of safety holding her, supporting her, mirroring Charles from above.