And he selfishly wanted to take. To let everything good about her bleed into his empty spaces until he was somehow whole again.
He let his trembling hands drop to his trouser waist and unfastened the rough fabric. She slid her hands beneath, her hands warm on his flesh. He hissed out pleasure as she shoved the trousers away and left him as naked as she was.
“Sit?” she asked, motioning him to the soft chair near the fire.
He moved toward it, taking his seat without looking away from her. She drew in a long breath, like she was readying herself, and then slowly moved to her knees before him. She scooted forward, forcing him to open his legs, to create a space for her to rest.
And then they froze. Her gaze was locked on his, her cheeks were flushed, her hands shaking as her fingers moved on him. He waited, not breathing, not thinking, not focused on anything but how she closed her fist around his already hard and ready length.
They both eased out a long breath at the touch, and Gray couldn’t help when his eyes fluttered shut. She began to gently pump her hand over him, her grip just right, her movements perfect. Already he felt close to spending and she had just begun. He tried to think of other things, to wait, but he felt her hot breath on the sensitive head of his erect cock and he couldn’t help but moan.
“Rosalinde,” he began, uncertain what to say, whether to warm her off or order her to take him.
She took the decision from his hands swiftly enough when her lips closed over him and her tongue swept the thick length of him gently.
He made a low sound deep in his chest that was hardly human, hardly recognizable, and he felt her smile against him as he opened his eyes. She was looking up at his face even as she lowered her mouth over him, sucking until his vision blurred.
She was not practiced in this, he could tell. But it was incredible despite her innocence. Or perhaps because of it. She was driven to pleasure him, to do this even though it was foreign. That was how much she wanted him, how much she cared.
He deserved far less, but he greedily took more, tangling his fingers into her dark hair as she moved her mouth more quickly over him, around him. His balls were beginning to tighten, his seed flashing hot through him. He was going to come and he didn’t want it to be this way. Not this time. He wanted to be inside of her, to claim her even though she wasn’t his.
He caught her arms and dragged her away from his cock, pulling her up his body. She made a sound of disapproval, but didn’t fight him as he lifted her into his lap. She straddled him, her eyelashes fluttering as he eased her down over him, feeling her body accept him inch by inch.
“I wanted to finish,” she all but pouted even as her breath came short.
“Next time,” he said, even though he was certain there wouldn’t be a next time. He couldn’t allow it.
But the lie seemed to appease her, for her arms dropped around his neck and she let out a low cry as he seated himself fully inside of her. He clutched her backside, tugging her even closer until there wasn’t an inch separating them.
Then he stood. She yelped in surprise, even though her long legs came around him as if she had been trained to do so. He held tight as he carried her to his bed and settled her upon the pillows, her dark hair spanning the white fabric.
She stared up at him, her blue eyes bright and her slight smile welcoming. He was drawn in, lost in her. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her as he thrust gently into her welcoming body. She lifted to meet him, but he forced himself to keep his tempo slow, easy. He wanted this to last. He never wanted to let it end.
Her fingernails dug into his arms and her moans dissolved against his lips as he built her pleasure bit by bit, slow swivel by slow swivel. Finally she let out a soft cry, turning her head as her body pulsed around him in orgasm. He watched her through the crisis, memorizing how her face twisted and her flesh grew pink with pleasure.
She went limp against his pillows and he chuckled. He felt so damn close to coming, but that would end this encounter. He didn’t want that. So he withdrew, though it was almost physically painful to do so.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, gripping at his arms.
He shook his head. “I’m not finished,” he promised. “Far from it.”
Chapter Seventeen
Gray said nothing more, even when Rosalinde repeated his name. At least, she did until her breath was stolen by pleasure. Gray dragged his mouth down her throat, her chest. He paused at her right breast, laving her nipple until her back arched and she gripped the coverlet beneath her with both hands. This man was magic, pure magic, and he had woven a spell over her that she feared could never be broken. She would be his forever, a part of her never able to let go of these stolen moments, stolen kisses, stolen nights.
Gray smiled against her skin, his dark gaze coming up to hold hers, taunting and teasing. She reached down and touched his rough cheek.
“Please,” she murmured, not knowing exactly what she was pleading for.
“Please you?” he suggested. “Oh, I shall. Don’t you worry.”
“I was never worried,” she croaked.
His face grew more serious, more determined. He ceased the torture of her nipple and continued his way down her body, rubbing his stubbly cheek against her belly, tasting her hip, her thigh, and finally he settled between her legs.
Her sex was slick and exquisitely sensitive from her recent release. He stared for what felt like an eternity at the flexing entrance to her body. She held her breath as she waited, waited.
Finally, he dropped his head there, just as he had the first night he made love to her. He swiped his tongue over her quim and she jerked, letting out a low gasp of pleasure and relief. Oh, how many times had she dreamed of this exact act since he first performed it? How many times had she pictured his hard mouth against her soft and yielding flesh?
Now it was not fantasy, but reality. And a better reality than she had even remembered. His tongue traced her entrance with delicate licks. She lifted, but he laughed and pressed a hand to her hip, holding her steady so he could guide the torture to come.
He used his other hand to gently spread her open, revealing her further. Yet she felt no embarrassment at being so exposed. On the contrary, she felt proud. Proud that he wanted her. Proud to give herself fully to this man, this amazing, complicated, generous man who made her want things she had never known existed.
He glided his tongue in a slow, firm circle around her clitoris, and Rosalinde’s head lolled back. Thoughts exited her mind, her body began to shake out of control.
“So close already,” he whispered, his breath stimulating her further. “How many times could I make you come, Rosalinde?”
She gasped as he licked her clitoris again. She was on the edge already. “I-I don’t know,” she moaned. “Please.”
He looked up the length of her body and their eyes met. He held the stare as he licked again, again, and then he was sucking, and she shattered as she fell over the edge of pleasure for a second time. She reached for him, grabbing for his hair, his shoulders, anything to center herself as swirling, pounding pleasure roared through every fiber of her being.
But he offered her no relief. He kept sucking, kept forcing her over-stimulated flesh to give more and more, until she was weak with release, until she thought she might just combust in his unrelenting fire.
At last, the tremors began to fade, the world slowed from its ceaseless spinning and he lifted his head from her sex. He crawled up the length of her body, positioning himself back at her entrance. She was so slick now that when he pressed his cock against her, he slid forward, fully seating without resistance.
They sighed together as he thrust again, short, hard thrusts, punctuated by pivots of his muscular hips. She drowned in sensation, her body still clenching from the previous two orgasms. His mouth found hers, filling her with the flavor of her pleasure and the heat of his need.
She held him close, whispering mindless
, headless words of need and desire and care. And just when she thought she could not feel more, her body rocked again. He began to pound harder as she cried out beneath him and then he was gone, his slick seed pumping between them before he collapsed over her.
His arms came around her, tucking her into his side. His fingers tangled in her hair as he drew one of her legs over him and kissed her deeply, tenderly.
“I needed that,” he mused at last, when moments had ticked by, when their breath and heart rates had slowed and matched like they were made to do so.
She cuddled deeper into his embrace. “After today, so did I.”
He pulled back a fraction and looked down at her. “After today? What happened today?”
She sighed as he stroked back a few locks of hair from her face. “I-I am beginning to see your side of the argument.”
He blinked, and she could see he didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”
She traced one bicep with the edge of her fingernail. “You have been strenuously arguing that our siblings should not wed. I am beginning to wonder if you are correct in that assessment.”
He released her and straightened up. His dark stare held hers as he gaped at her. “You think I’m correct?” he repeated. “You’re saying you don’t want Celia and Lucien to wed now?”
She let out a long breath. Now that it had been said out loud, the truth of it felt so clear. “My sister is not wicked, as you want to believe. I’m not agreeing to your reasons.”
“I understand that part, Rosalinde. What I don’t understand is why you would change your mind about this marriage.”
“Gray, you and I both see the same thing when we look at them. Your brother does not care for Celia. And she doesn’t care for him. Tonight I realized just how much they would be giving up if they marry.”
“Love, you mean.” His voice was raw and his expression taut.
She nodded. “Love, but also desire.” She reached out and touched his chest, feeling the muscles there ripple when her fingers brushed them. “Passion. Perhaps it is naïve, but I don’t want my sister to be in a loveless union where she someday wonders what she missed. Regret is a cold bedfellow.”
He pinched his lips. She had expected him to be pleased that she had come around to his side of this situation. And yet he didn’t look happy.
“So you are saying you want to stop their marriage?” he said.
“I want to make sure they will be able to live with their decision to wed, at the very least. I want to encourage them to reconsider if this empty union will be fulfilling enough,” she clarified. “And if that means they part, I’ll support that. Though I know not what Celia and I would do. My grandfather will be livid.”
“Christ,” he muttered, and got to his feet.
He paced the room, naked and seemingly unaffected by that fact, even though she was. She was even more affected by his demeanor, though.
“Why are you angry? Don’t you want an ally in your quest to end this union, even if we come at it from different motivations?”
He barked out a laugh as he faced her. “Oh, my dear, if this wasn’t so entirely depressing, it would be funny.”
She pulled the coverlet around herself, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “What are you talking about?”
“Tonight you decided that Celia must not marry Stenfax. Well, tonight I decided the absolute opposite. My brother must marry your sister.”
Rosalinde’s mouth dropped open at that declaration and she stared at him. At last she found her breath. “I-I am dreaming. This cannot be real.”
“I’m afraid it is,” he said, running a hand through his thick, short hair. “God’s teeth, what a bloody mess.”
“You can’t just make a statement about how you’ve changed your mind and not explain yourself,” Rosalinde said. “Especially about something so important. Why do you want Stenfax to marry Celia all of a sudden?”
He let out a sigh, and in that sound Rosalinde heard how broken he was. How upset. She wanted to comfort him, but by the way he went back to pacing, tense and unhappy, she recognized that she couldn’t. He might share pleasure with her, but if she touched him now he might recoil.
She couldn’t bear the rejection.
“Gray,” she said softly, forcing her tone to be even and unemotional. “Please explain.”
“I met with your sister before the others arrived,” he admitted. “And I couldn’t help but be impressed by her. Perhaps I have simply come to see she is what you say.”
Rosalinde arched a brow. “And so you claim you have changed your mind on such a flimsy reason? After months of being determined to end this union, you wish me to believe that a single conversation with my sister has changed your heart?”
“I suppose that would be sporting with your intelligence.” He let out a long groan.
She shot him a look. “Just a bit, yes. I’m willing to believe that Celia might have softened you to her, but not that it has made you turn around and change your mind. Don’t you have any trust for me, Gray? Won’t you tell me even a fraction of the truth after all we’ve been through and shared?”
He moved toward her, and her heart stuttered as he sat down on the bed next to her. He observed her for a moment before he said, “Being honest, being open, it doesn’t come easy to me. It is not my nature.”
She wrinkled her brow. “Sharing ourselves with others is entirely our nature. But it leaves us vulnerable and that makes some recoil. I promise you, Gray—whatever you tell me, it will stay between us.”
Gray reached out to take her hand. He held it, staring at it, and then he shook his head almost in surrender. “Did anyone ever tell you about Elise?”
Rosalinde hesitated. “I admit I know of her. Everyone knows Stenfax was engaged before and that the engagement was broken.”
Gray flinched. “Yes. But do you know anything more about her?”
“Not much. Just the basics that gossip retells. She left Stenfax and married—the Duke of Kirkford, I think I remember. I’ve never met her, if that’s what you’re asking,” Rosalinde said. “And as far as I know, Stenfax hasn’t told Celia anything about her. Why?”
“Of course Stenfax wouldn’t speak of her. He refuses to do so. And most of the whispers have died down now that so long has passed.” Gray rubbed his eyes. “Where do I begin?”
She squeezed his hand gently. “At the beginning seems as good a place as any.”
He exhaled a long breath before he said, “Very well. Elise’s mother and our mother were good friends, and she used to come here in the summers and spend a few weeks every year. She was younger than us, seven years younger than Lucien, four younger than me. She and Felicity were thick as thieves, of course, but they always insisted upon tagging along with us. And she was…well, she was fun. Both she and Felicity could hold their own when it came to boyish pursuits, so though we groused, I don’t think either of us cared all that much when they made themselves part of our expeditions.”
“She was a childhood friend,” Rosalinde said slowly. Gray’s face was hard to read as he spoke, like he’d put a flat mask over his features.
“I suppose I would have called her that once. Felicity certainly would have. But the year Elise came out, it became clear that something had shifted. Lucien couldn’t stop looking at her. They weren’t officially courting, but anyone could see they were bonded, closer than friends.”
“Ultimately he courted her, though,” Rosalinde interjected.
Gray rubbed a hand over his face. “Stenfax was young, not sure he wanted to settle down. I…encouraged him, God forgive me. After dancing around it for almost three years, he finally began to court her. I was happy for him at the time, it seemed they would be a good match.”
“But the engagement was broken,” Rosalinde said softly.
Gray bent his head. “Oh yes. Elise showed her true colors eventually. Just a few weeks after their engagement, she broke with him. She married a duke instea
d, Kirkford, who had more money and whose title had more weight than ours. She wrote Lucien a letter to end it. A goddamned letter. When he came to confront her, to force her to look him in the eye when she said she didn’t love him, she refused to see him.”
Rosalinde drew back, her hand coming to her lips. So much made sense now. “That is why you were so loath to let him marry someone you believed only wanted a title.”
“Elise all over again,” Gray said. “Though at least Celia was honest about her desires.”
“Stenfax must have been devastated,” Rosalinde said.
Gray swallowed hard. “He was torn to shreds. The man you see now? The one who does not show emotion? He didn’t exist before that summer when Elise threw him over. He loved her with all he was, and she destroyed him.” He shifted, and for a moment pure pain was reflected in his face, his eyes, his entire being. “It got so bad that one night after too many drinks at Folworth’s, he climbed up on Folly’s terrace edge and declared he would throw himself to his death.”
Rosalinde let out a pained sound. “Oh, Gray!”
“It took Folly, Marina and me two hours to talk him down.” Gray clenched his fist. “Do you know what it’s like to have someone you love try to end himself in front of you?”
“No,” Rosalinde said, swiping at a tear that slipped from the corner of her eye. “I can hardly imagine how shattering that must have been for you.”
“Shattering,” he repeated, meeting her stare. “That was the word for it. I had long watched Felicity suffer cruelly at the hands of her husband without any way to help her, and now I nearly lost my brother. Both because of their choices in love. I vowed I would never allow them to make those kinds of mistakes again. That I would protect them.”
Rosalinde nodded. “I can understand why you would make that vow, Gray. But what I don’t understand is how this has anything to do with your changing your mind about Celia and Stenfax marrying.”
Gray was silent for a long moment. “Elise’s husband is dead,” he all but whispered, as if he said it too loudly it would be heard by more than just her.
An Affair in Winter (Seasons Book 1) Page 16