“Undress,” she ordered breathlessly. “Now.”
Even as he complied, shucking his jacket and discarding it on the table, he contended, “I’ll hurt you—”
“I don’t care.” She yanked her claws down the front of his shirt, sending more than a few of his buttons clattering against the floor and rolling in chaotic directions.
“That is because you do not understand.” He caught her wrist, his thumb pressing into the pulse leaping against the thin and tender skin. He could feel the blood rushing through her veins, the electric currents leaping and arcing between them. “I’m still… furious. With him. With you. What is between us is not…it isn’t gentle. This isn’t—”
She yanked her wrist from his grasp before stepping in to stretch her body against his, like a cat demanding affection. Her hand lowered to shape against the cock pulsing beneath his trousers, stealing any available oxygen from his lungs.
“Be as angry as you want to be, Titus,” she murmured against his ear. “Unleash it. I can bear your fury, but not your distance. I can take all of you.”
With her husky permission, the rest of his control crumbled.
Her mouth was already waiting when he descended upon her with all the mercy of a wild, ravenous beast. Her body jerked as he yanked at the ties of her corset and drew it off, flinging it into the ether. He no longer knew where they were or what time it was or why they should not be doing this.
Only his body existed, and hers. They could have been Adam and Eve, every other living soul something they’d dreamed, a fabrication of their loneliness. Of their undeniable need for each other.
His lust became a ravenous, gnawing creature, hungry only to taste her. Every place she was pale and soft. Every place she was peach and delicate.
This fire between them could only be doused by a flood.
And he would make certain she was good and wet.
You’ll forget them, he silently vowed. Any other man who has had you. You’ll forget them all.
He’d always been grateful to those few women who’d been tenacious enough to entice him to enjoy the attentions they generously offered and passion they freely shared. But they’d already faded from his memory now that Nora had returned to his embrace.
His shirt only made it down to his elbows before she pushed him backward with surprising strength. He controlled his fall to the chaise, and gripped her ass as she sank with him, splitting her legs over his lap.
His hands rucked up her skirts, wading through petticoats until he found the smooth shape of her thigh, right above her knee.
This was how they would do this, the only way to protect her shoulder from discomfort or pressing up against a surface.
His body reacted with a surge of urgency and anticipation. He knew how much this woman loved to ride.
How damned good she was at it.
Beneath her thin summer chemise, the dusky tips of her breasts swayed in front of him, pebbled with arousal and need. He kissed one, then the other, breathing a hot swath through the fabric and thrilling in the delighted sounds that elicited from her throat.
Meanwhile, his hands charted a wicked path up her thighs, stopping to tease at her garters, at the little ribbons of her drawers, plucking the one that would bare her to his touch.
They each gasped in a breath as his fingers stroked through the soft intimate hair. The heated ruffles of feminine flesh were liquid silk, molten in primitive forges.
He familiarized himself with the shape of her, marveling at the differences in their textures here. Where he was velvet skin over stone and steel, she was pliant petals and softness, yielding to his touch, to his intrusion. He tested the entrance to her body and found nothing but welcoming flesh, pulsing as if to draw him deeper inside.
“Now,” she groaned, bending to press tight, needful kisses to his temples, his eyes, his cheekbones and finally, his lips. “There will be time for that,” she vowed. “For all of it. But I can’t live another moment without you inside me.”
He could have tormented her by denying her. He wanted to. To refute her control, at the very least. To display his displeasure and his dominance. He could take his time and tease her to the edges of her own capacity.
But who was he fooling? In what world could he deny her anything?
A sigh of relief caught in his throat as he freed himself from the placket of his trousers and guided his sex toward hers.
Their eyes met, and he gloried in the connection, wanting to watch her every expression.
The intimacy seemed to overwhelm her, and she leaned in to press her temple against his, even as she lifted on trembling legs to guide the crown of his cock inside her body.
He grasped the sweet curve of her backside, stabilizing her descent with his strength as he thrust up and into her.
She gasped and wriggled a few agonizing times to accommodate him, her fingers turning to claws on his shoulders, kneading like a cat.
He was the sort of man that allowed a woman time to acquaint herself to his incursion. To kiss and cuddle and distract her from any discomfort she would feel.
But Nora didn’t leave space for all of that. She made harsh, demanding, needful sounds that must have been words before they melted from her mouth.
Titus knew this language. Understood what she wanted.
He took only moments to breathe, to marvel at the magic that was sliding home. Only this moment, this need, existed. The past melted away, the future was a nebulous unknown.
She was here. Now. And all that mattered was the next hitching breath, the next caress, kiss, and thrust.
His grasp on her became covetous and unrelenting as he drove ceaselessly upwards. Titus gloried in the movements of her. The ripples of impact two people could have upon one another as they ground their flesh together until their very bones felt the force of it.
Sex for him had always been a nocturnal endeavor, and he marveled at the afternoon light gilding her pale skin, at the color decorating her chest and flaring in her cheeks. The flush of roses in her lips. The little abrasions his afternoon stubble had made against the soft skin of her mouth and cheeks.
Someday he’d leave those marks on the insides of her thighs.
The very thought brought a release threatening to gather behind his spine.
She was like a goddess above him. A Valkyrie. Battle-scarred and demanding, lifting his soul from the fray to take him to his reward.
Unable to contain his pleasure, he shifted his hand to thrum at the moist little bead where her nerves met and sang. He stroked it in soft contrast to his hard thrusts, a gentle caress against the fury and frenzy.
A ragged sound ripped from her, spurring him on, faster, deeper, harder, as she arched and trembled, her strong legs keeping perfect rhythm with him. He collected her yips and sighs like a man without hope, locking them inside of his memory.
“Come for me, Nora,” he ordered.
She fell forward and he caught her waist as she bit into his shoulder, just below where the collar of his open shirt rested. She shuddered and shook, her body folding in on itself as the fingers of her right hand threaded into the hair at his nape and curled into a fist.
The pain sent a lightning bolt straight to his sex as her intimate flesh pulled and released, contracting around him like a satin vise.
He didn’t want this. Not yet. Not now. He wasn’t ready for it to be over.
But the more he fought it, the faster and more tempestuous the storm became. Her cries of pleasure were his ultimate undoing. The articulation of her sleek body arched like a bridge over his, undulating in a rhythmic dance. For a man so moved by the mysteries of the human body, she remained an anatomical marvel. Immaculate beauty poured over a spine of steel and a heart of stone.
Or was it glass?
One he was beginning to wonder might have been just as broken as his all along.
One who’d never stopped wanting him back.
Why? The question became the metronome to his burst of increas
ing speed. Why? Why? Why?
His climax blinded him with a flash of lightning, and his resulting roars were the answering thunder as wave after wave of clenching pleasure poured from his body into hers. He was a being of both desperation and rapture, locking her hips down against his so he might allow the gentle pulses of her sex to milk the last vestiges of his own release from him.
This would never be enough, he realized as his abdominals clenched and released their last, his muscles twitching and trembling as they were finally relieved of their prison of pleasure. He would never be deep enough inside of her. Would never tire of holding her against him. Never want to be rid of her rose garden scent and husky, resonant voice.
Forever seemed suddenly insufficient.
And tomorrow wasn’t yet decided.
He cupped the back of her head, pulling her down so her forehead could rest against his. They shared a few intimate breaths, allowing the storm to pass and the waves to still until they stood, each existed in a calm shaft of sunlight. He luxuriated in the feel of her exhales stirring at his overheated skin.
He thought he’d feel better. Sated and sleepy. Like a starving man after overindulging in a decadent meal.
He didn’t.
Instead, he’d unlocked some sort of bottomless abyss that could only be filled by uninterrupted access to her.
Was he becoming like her husband? Obsessive and calculating?
No. He would never. But he certainly had decisions to make. About what kind of man he was, or would be.
“Nora,” he exhaled her name from lungs still struggling to find their equilibrium. “If there’s anything between us, I want it to be the truth, not the past. We should… talk.”
“Don’t,” she sighed, stopping his lips before tracing their outline with a soft and languorous fingertip. “Let us talk tomorrow. Let tonight be about us. About this. Let me show you what you mean to me.”
Her lips replaced her finger on his mouth, convincing him instantly as he stirred inside of her. Tomorrow. They had tomorrow.
Perhaps this long dark night he’d endured without her had been a time to forge them into what they were now. To learn of loss so they could fathom abundance. To build a foundation from the failures of their youth. Perhaps… their souls and hearts were stronger and more stalwart than they might have once been, having gained the perspective of tragedy, war, hardship, and pain.
And perhaps, if the gods were kind. If they could call the past several years a recompense for any happiness they might or might not deserve, and they could find their way to forgiveness. To understanding.
And only then could he lay claim to all her days thereafter.
An Enemy at the Gate
Every time Nora’s shoulder twinged, she couldn’t help but smile. Last night, she’d thrown Titus’s cautions to the wind and overexerted it, but she wasn’t about to admit it to him.
She didn’t regret a single moment.
Besides, the pain wasn’t unbearable, and there were other aches and twinges in more intimate places that she didn’t at all mind.
She’d returned her arm to the sling like an obedient patient, and now sat at the dressing table, brushing out her hair in slow, distracted strokes.
A glow that began at her center shimmered through her in breath-stealing ripples as she assessed her appearance in the mirror.
She’d been shot. A savage gangster was after her. She was a social pariah. She’d been a widow for less than a month.
And her reflection couldn’t stop smiling.
She looked younger, somehow, as if making love to Titus had erased years of misery. As if sleeping in his arms had allowed her to draw from some miraculous well of recovery.
She’d lain awake for what felt like hours after, listening to him breathe. Watching his eyes flutter with dreams. He enjoyed the slumber of a man with an unburdened conscience. There was something lovely about that. Something that’d made her feel both proud and melancholy.
It didn’t matter that the day had dawned grey, nor that Titus had risen before sunrise.
She could feel him close, only a few floors below. Going about his business, saving lives and alleviating pain. She’d never begrudge him that. He loved his work, and a man with such responsibilities wasn’t only worthy of her regard and her admiration, but also her respect.
How long had it been since she’d respected a man?
Besides, he’d kissed her sweetly when he’d gone, smoothing a hand over her unruly morning curls, winding one around his clever finger. “I’ll return for tea?” he offered in an indulgent whisper. “We have so much to discuss.”
She hadn’t looked forward to anything with such relish in as long as she could remember.
They could discuss the past, of course. And then… turn their eyes to the future.
Was this hope? This glow in her chest? This soft, bubbling effervescence that made her feel as if her blood were rendered of champagne. It’d been so long since she’d felt anything of the kind, she couldn’t exactly place a name on it.
The only thing she knew for certain: Titus was the cause. He was the cure to her ills and the balm to her soul.
He had the heart of a saint, the body of a god, and the appetite of a libertine.
William had grown soft and bloated in their years together, his hair thin and his middle thick. His teeth yellowed by vice and lack of consistent hygienic practices. Everything about him, from his breath to the sound of his voice, used to offend her.
Perhaps she might have felt differently had she loved him… if he’d been worthy of her regard in any respect.
Titus was as different from him as night was from day. Age had only improved upon what youth had rendered. Muscles developed through labor as a lad were kept taut with strength from training at the club with some of his compatriots from the army.
Even his scent enticed her, so sharp and clean, mixed with the cedar of his wardrobe and the spice of his aftershave. His voice had crooned wicked things into her ears with the resonance and reverence of cathedral bells, vibrating to the very soul of her.
After the tumult of their first encounter, their lovemaking had become more leisurely and deliberate, enough to where they were able to rediscover each other with inexhaustible delight.
They’d had to be creative with her shoulder, finding positions that didn’t jostle her too terribly, nor could she bear weight.
Nora clamped her lips together as she remembered the way he’d gently rolled her on her side, curling his lithe, strong body against her back and lifting her leg in the air to enter her from behind.
She’d allowed herself to luxuriate in all the sensations of him. The tickle of the hair on his thighs against her backside. The corrugations of his ribs as he’d rolled and contracted.
And his clever, lovely fingers as they—
A knock sounded at the door, distracting her from her salacious reverie. Likely Felicity come to keep her company. She stood, abandoning her brush to the table, and swept down the hall, adjusting her sling as she went.
Her excitement bubbled over even before she was able to reach the door. “Felicity, darling, you’ll never guess what—”
The Baron Cresthaven, her father, stood where she’d expected to find her sister, his hands locked behind his back in his requisite regimental posture.
Though it had been only weeks since she’d seen him, he seemed older, somehow. Even though he still towered over her, he might have lost a bit of height. His beard seemed threaded with more grey and silver, and the lines at his eyes and mouth grooved deeper into his skin.
“Papa,” she croaked through her surprise. She’d lived with the man for the first twenty years of her life, had seen him often thereafter, and she could still never tell if his features were indignant, or just arranged thusly.
“Honoria,” he greeted with a bland sort of insouciance. As if he were disappointed to find her there, even though she could be the only person he’d come to see.
She pulled the
door open wider, stepping aside. “Won’t you come in?”
He walked through the entryway to Titus’s private apartments, and she became immediately distraught and defensive. He was an interloper here. A tremulous anxiety caused her to feel slightly ill, his presence covering her previous good cheer like a cold, damp blanket made of scratchy wool.
Still, a little seed of hope bloomed within her. Perhaps it was finally deemed safe enough for him to visit. Or he’d news from home.
Was it too much to hope he pitied her? That he worried for her wellbeing after all that’d transpired…
She’d almost lost her life, his firstborn. Did that mean something to him?
Trailing him as he strode down the hall and into the great room arranged to make the most of the splendid views of the city, she asked, “Does Doctor Conleith know you’ve come? Would you like me to ring for some tea?”
“No, I won’t be staying long.” He blinked over at the tasteful furnishings, the damask drapes, the expensive sconces and bric-a-brac. She hated that she held her breath to hear what verdict he might pass.
He said nothing as he paused at the high-backed chair Titus favored, and put his hand on the crest, posing like a royal in a painting. He made a quick assessment of her unbound hair and the frothy gown that reminded her of the purple pansies in their gardens. “You’re not wearing widow’s black, Honoria.”
Any hope for paternal concern evaporated like the morning fog from the Thames when sliced by shafts of sunlight through the buildings. “You don’t actually expect me to mourn William, Papa; he was a murderer and a monster.”
“I know very well what he was. He used my shipping company to smuggle for a gangster, if you’ll remember.” He exclaimed this as if it were William’s worst sin of the lot, before his eyes narrowed upon her. “Still, tradition dictates you wear black. It is imperative that you’re seen doing everything properly.”
Deflating, she gestured to the arm bound to her body. “I’m not seen doing anything at all, Father. That’s rather the point of being in hiding. I see no one but my sisters, Nurse Higgins, and Doctor Conleith.”
Courting Trouble Page 13