“Lie back,” he told her, pushing her hands gently above her head. She wouldn’t think he was so beautiful if she got a close-up eyeful of the ugly scar tissue on his back. In his experience, most women’s reactions ranged from pity to disgust to horror. And though he trusted her, and though Irina had already seen him on the ship, Henry did not want her scrutinizing him and ruining the moment.
Untying the threads of her drawers, he inched the serviceable material over her hips until she was fully exposed to him. His body flexed uncontrollably at the creamy expanse of satiny skin and the thatch of dark hair that hid the most secret part of her…the very part he was, at the moment, most interested in.
“What are you doing?” Irina asked, her eyes going wide as he settled himself between her thighs.
“Putting an end to this frigidity nonsense, and also doing what I’ve dreamed of doing since the Yardley.”
Her cheeks burned red as she bit her lips. Henry grinned, and kissed her stomach. “Relax.”
“It isn’t proper,” she whispered, her face flaming.
“Did it feel good?” Biting her lips harder, she nodded. Henry chuckled as he blew against her womanhood. “It felt good to me, too.”
Irina’s back arched like a bow as he put his lips to her core, effectively silencing any other protest. His tongue traced a hot path through her curls and the soft folds beneath them. Sighing at the honeyed taste of her, Henry nipped, licked, and swirled his tongue against her, delighting in the little moans she made, telling him what she liked and what she loved. Like when he scraped his teeth against her tiny nub, or when he flicked his tongue just so. Her fingers fisted into the sheets and then shifted to wind tightly into his hair as her breathing flattened and shortened, the muscles in her legs clamping about his shoulders.
“Henry, Henry…”
Acquiescing to her tortured pleas, Henry didn’t slow his pace, his mouth worshipping her as Irina’s entire body tensed. Her hands stilled for an infinitesimal moment before she whimpered his name and then cried out from the force of the pleasure rocking through her. She hadn’t stopped trembling when Henry eased himself up her frame, kissing his way along her stomach and breasts, to hold her quivering body in his arms.
“You are indecently wicked,” she said to him, burying her heated face against his chest. “My utterly cankerous, shamelessly wicked earl.”
“I fear that’s just the start of it, my love.”
With a wicked grin of her own, Irina’s hand wandered down the hard planes of his chest, skipping past his stomach to the rigid bulge in his trousers. He sucked in a sharp breath as she stroked him boldly through the material. “Surely there’s not more?”
Henry laughed as he nuzzled her throat, lifting her so that she was half draped over him. “As you have discovered, there is much, much more.”
…
Irina wasn’t afraid. Not truly. But that did not mean she wasn’t a little apprehensive, especially as she felt the length of him through his trousers. She squirmed against the tide of longing deep inside of her, in the very places Henry had just created a raging tempest. It had been a storm of pleasure, his mouth and tongue and teeth tossing her upward on ever-rising crests. From those few moments of shocked thrill at the Yardley, when he’d first set his mouth to her body, she had known it would feel exquisite to have him make love to her in such a way. But she had not anticipated the feeling of leaving the world behind and only existing right now, only for him, only for this.
She stroked Henry again and swelled with pride at the sound of his shuddering exhale. She loved knowing that her touch affected him as much as his affected her. It made her feel powerful. And emboldened. Watching him carefully, she closed her fingers around him through the material, marveling at the hard feel of him. But then again, Henry was hard everywhere—his chest, his shoulders, his stomach, and now here. Her fingers continued their soft exploration until he made a sound that was half growl, half laugh.
“Stop, my love,” he whispered, covering her hand with his and gently removing it from his erection. “Any more of that and I won’t last much longer.”
Though Irina wasn’t quite clear, she thought she knew what that meant. She simply had to touch him, though. Her fingers skipped up his side, counting each rib, circling his flat male nipple, and making him utter a small rumble of pleasure.
“I like touching you,” she said softly, leaning forward to press her lips to it. Irina could feel his pulse leaping beneath her touch, and she smiled. “Do you like it when I do this?”
His voice was a rasp, his fingers tightening on her arms. “Yes.”
She nibbled her way across his chest to the other side, her tongue flicking across its twin. “What about when I do this?”
He inhaled sharply. “Easy, my little seductress.”
“You don’t like it?” she asked, hiding her smile.
“You know I do.”
Henry groaned, rolling her over to her back and raising up onto his elbows to stare at her. Irina did the same, memorizing the angular planes of his face. Her fingers wandered over his jaw. He hadn’t shaved, and his chin and cheeks were covered in golden stubble. It gave him a raffish look that she found extraordinarily appealing.
Henry was so handsome, it made her heart hurt. Irina loved everything about him—his wide brow, his straight nose, his seductive and exceedingly talented mouth. She blushed at the thought of where that mouth had just been, and felt a new rush of heat settle between her thighs. Sweet Lord, she wanted him to touch her again…coax her to the edge and toss her over. But this time she wanted to take him with her.
As if he could read her wanton thoughts, Henry’s eyes turned the color of warmed honey and gleamed with a mixture of desire and amusement. Blushing furiously, she lowered her eyes, though her palms continued their slow expedition, skimming over his hips and up the small of his back, over hard muscle and smooth skin. A small purr of pleasure escaped his lips. But then, moving higher, she felt the sudden change in texture. A coarse stretch of scar tissue. Irina lifted her fingers, pulling away, though reluctantly.
Henry, his mouth nuzzling her neck, tensed above her. “I understand if you don’t want to touch me there.”
His voice was so soft, and though she knew he would hate it, vulnerable.
“It’s not that,” she said, feeling awful that she’d flinched. It hadn’t been for the reason he likely imagined. “I see the way you walk and sit sometimes…you’re stiff, like it pains you.” Irina kissed the lobe of his ear. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
With a laughing growl, Henry angled his head closer to kiss her mouth. His teeth gently nipped her bottom lip. “It only hurts when you don’t touch me.”
Irina settled her hands back upon his skin. “So this…feels good?”
“Your bare skin against my bare skin, anywhere, feels better than good, Irina.” He kissed her again, this time pushing into her mouth with his tongue, searching for hers and claiming it.
Irina flattened her hands against his back, feeling an openness between them that not only made her heart throb and swell, but also caused a flood of heat lower, in the most private part of her. She worked her fingers over his shoulders, feeling the intermittent patches of smooth skin and rough, places that had been terrorized that she now only wanted to pay reverence to. He had been through such darkness and pain, and even now the past haunted him. Tried to pull him back and finish what it had started.
Irina wouldn’t let it. She wouldn’t lose him.
Wriggling her body out from beneath his, she rolled upward, her eyes falling to where her hand rested against his side. The glimpse from a few feet away on the ship in flickering gaslight was nothing compared to the gruesome canvas of pain and torture that she saw now. Irina did not make a sound, studying the undulating, shiny swatches of pink and red scar tissue. Some scars were raised and others were deep gouges. Some were s
o dark, they still looked bruised, as if they’d been lacerated again and again. Irina’s heart ached with compassion for the agony he’d endured.
Henry shifted instinctively as if to conceal himself, but she stalled him.
“Please don’t,” she whispered, meeting his eyes and seeing the pain and shame there. Her voice broke on a stifled sob. “Don’t you know how beautiful you are, Henry? These scars are part of that beauty. And your strength. Every one of them is a sign of the remarkable man you are. Without them, you wouldn’t have survived and you wouldn’t be here, in my arms.”
Irina placed her lips to the center of a livid scar that ran from his right shoulder to his spine. He stiffened under her touch, but did not pull away. She moved her mouth to another and then another, accepting each of them, loving each of them. She wanted him to know that she loved every part of him. Even the parts that carried hurt and sorrow. She only sought to take it away…to erase…to heal.
“I love you so much,” she whispered, kissing her way to his shoulder. “And I’m so sorry for every second of pain you felt. If I could take it away, I would.”
“You already have,” he rasped.
Irina rained kisses over his cheek and rejoined her lips to his. The kiss started out gentle but then shifted into something more impassioned, more volatile. There were no barriers between them now. No secrets, no fear. Only love.
Henry moaned his pleasure into her mouth and she took it, making it a part of her own. This would not stop—they would not stop—until they had come together in the most human and intimate way. Irina knew this, and as she felt the heavy weight of his body against hers, she was ready.
Swiftly, Henry rose from the bed, standing to discard his trousers and smalls. Irina caught a healthy glimpse of the places she’d explored with her fingertips before he returned to her, and her breath fizzled deliciously in her throat. Every magnificent inch of him rippled with lean muscle and sinew. Bolts of heat shot through her limbs, making them tremble as Henry prowled toward her from the foot of the bed, kissing a burning trail up one leg and then the other.
“I love these long, gorgeous legs,” he told her in a hoarse whisper. “For weeks I’ve imagined them wrapped around me, holding me close when I’m deep inside you. When I’m part of you.”
His provocative words made everything inside her dissolve, and by the time Henry had climbed his way to her mouth, every nerve ending was on fire and Irina was a writhing mass of need.
“Henry,” she whispered as he hovered over her to lick a path down her throat. Again, he took one hardened nipple between his teeth. His tongue suckled and soothed while his teeth pinched with just enough pressure to make Irina arch her back and gasp.
“Now,” she managed to say. His hand dropped to the hot, aching crux of her.
“Are you ready, my heart?” he asked. His clever fingers moved skillfully against her, making her center feel liquid. She thrust her hips against his hand, wanting more of him, wanting all of him, and through her heavy lids she saw him grinning rakishly. “Yes, I believe you are.”
“And are you?” she returned, feeling bold.
Henry gripped the back of her thigh and hitched it up against his hip. He moved forward, nudging her legs apart and opening her to him.
“That is a question you need never ask again,” he said, the hard tip of his arousal pressing against her nub. A tingling shock branched out, lightning arcing through her.
“I will want you, in every possible way, until my last breath,” he said, his voice pulling lower as he angled himself at her entrance.
At his first true push, even as patient and hesitant as it was, Irina tensed. Of course, she knew the basic steps, knew that he would seat himself inside of her, but…then what?
“Stop thinking,” he said, bracing himself over her, one hand settling over the pulse at her throat. “Just feel.”
His thumb caressed her there, his fingers softly kneading the back of her nape. He looked directly into her eyes. He was so close, he could have kissed her, but he didn’t. Irina nodded and relaxed her muscles. She trusted Henry more than anyone, and though he wasn’t the paragon she’d once imagined him to be in her fantasies, she’d come to learn he was better. He wasn’t a fantasy. He was real. He was her truth. And he was hers.
Henry edged forward, never taking his eyes from hers as he pushed inside, thrust by gentle thrust, easing himself into her welcoming heat. His lids grew heavy with passion, the muscles along his jaw jumping as he held himself still within her.
“I…” Irina said, the pressure filling her and making it hard to breathe. She couldn’t fathom taking another inch of him inside. She thought of her earlier question and wanted to laugh at the incongruity. With a breathless giggle, she asked it again. “Surely there’s not more?”
Henry’s serious expression broke, and his mouth twitched into an arrogant grin. “A bit more, my sweet, but I want to be certain you’re ready.”
Laughing softly, she wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and pulled his lips to hers. As she kissed away that infuriating grin, Henry thrust forward again. Irina yelped into his mouth as bright pain lanced through her lower abdomen. Oh. That was what he meant by ready.
Henry held himself still again, and this time when he spoke, it wasn’t with playful arrogance. “Is it too much?” He was gritting his teeth against some anguish.
Irina winced against the discomfort, but hoped it wouldn’t last. Already she could feel the throb of something more insistent beginning to take over.
“No,” she whispered.
“God, Irina, you’re so small and tight. I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathed, starting to withdraw.
She clutched at his hips to halt him. “Don’t. It doesn’t hurt, not really. Please, Henry, don’t stop.”
But Henry continued to withdraw, and Irina nearly wept with fury at the loss of him—until he thrust back inside of her, sending a shockwave of relief, and a little pain, through her body. Much less pain, though, and as he withdrew once more, it extinguished completely. Again, he plunged back in, then withdrew, and returned again, each thrust reaching deeper, possessing her, marking her as his and only his. Their bodies glided together and apart, Henry’s mouth ravaging hers, his tongue diving and receding in the same erotic motion as his hips.
The bed, the room, the entire house, disappeared, and it was only she and Henry and the sensual friction of their bodies. She could barely breathe, but the only parts of her body that seemed to matter were the ones he was ravishing. Anything could have happened right then and it wouldn’t have concerned her. In that moment, Irina’s sole purpose in life was Henry and his love and the increasingly frantic motion of his body against hers.
He was bringing her up again, back onto that crest, and she felt it coming…that perfect moment of undiluted bliss, just out of reach. She grasped for it, rocking against Henry, joining him as each controlled thrust deteriorated into something more frenzied and wild. Clasping her to him, he growled her name, muttering insensible love words against her throat.
“Oh God, Henry,” she cried, knowing she was too loud and vulgar, and yet not caring at all.
“Hold on, love.”
But she couldn’t, not for another second. Pleasure spiraled and broke through her then, coursing against every nerve ending, loosening every muscle. Irina tightened her legs around his hips as she threw her head back and dragged in a deep breath, the cool sea air from one of the bedroom’s open windows rushing over her damp skin. Henry drove forward once, twice, three more times and then, with a long groan of satisfaction, went still.
They breathed into one another’s necks as the rest of the world slowly filtered back in around them. Outside the window, Irina could hear the crash of the waves upon the rocks below, the small, incessant chime of a bell somewhere. Henry kissed her temple and rolled onto his back, pulling her with him until she lay
flat on his chest and stomach.
“My brazen, beautiful princess,” he said, breathless from exertion. Irina’s hair had come completely free and now hung in dark locks around her face. He pushed a few back, behind her ear, and smiled up at her.
“My handsome, wicked earl,” she replied, her own breathing just as choppy as the waters of the channel outside.
Something changed in his expression, a slight lift of his brow as a thought seemed to strike him. “I’ll be calling you my beautiful countess, soon,” he said, that roguish smile returning.
She matched it. She would be his wife. And they would make love like this whenever they pleased. Already feeling the stirrings of desire again, even as her body thrummed with loose, languid release, Irina imagined they would be spending great amounts of time wrapped together like this, limbs sweaty and tangled, and utterly satisfied.
“You will call me princess,” she commanded with as imperious a tone as possible. She kissed him, playfully nipping his bottom lip the same way he’d done to hers.
His tongue teased the inside of her lip, making her shiver. “I shall call you anything you like, as long as I call you mine.”
“I’ve always been yours, Henry.” Irina’s amusement shifted into something deeply profound as she stared down at the man she loved more than life itself. She sealed her lips to his. “I will love you forever.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Leaving Henry’s side early the next morning had been one of the most difficult tasks ever presented to Irina. She’d wanted to stay cocooned in those soft, white sheets, with the sea air blowing through the window in easy, random gusts all day. They’d slept on and off the night before, wrapped in one another’s arms, waking every few hours to make love or, when Irina became too sore, to kiss and touch.
Despite his fears of hurting her, nothing untoward had happened during the night. Henry had slept fitfully but without incident. She’d woken at one point when he’d called out in his sleep, but she’d only had to murmur softly to soothe him. Irina had marveled at her power over Henry…that she could calm those demons that had terrorized him for so long. She supposed it was the reverse, as well. She had never felt so safe as she did with Henry. Both fractured by their pasts, they had found strength and a haven in each other.
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