Austen Box Set

by Hart, Staci

  It was a wonder to behold.

  I hoped I would behold it forever.

  I kissed the cool track of tears, kissed the sweetness of her lips. Those lips opened up just as her heart had, granting me passage. Her body molded to mine, our legs twined and hips flush, breaths heavy and hands eager.

  But I practiced restraint without second thought. I let Annie lead, gave her what I could without working her up even more than she already was. Hidden away in her bedroom with her heart still mending was the last place I wanted to take her, the last way I wanted her to experience the thing we both wanted so desperately.

  I wanted every sigh. I wanted my skin against hers. I wanted to touch her.

  Eventually, that time would come, and I’d wait for it patiently and gladly. Because the truth was that I loved her. I loved her, and someday, I would say those words written on my heart.

  And in the meantime, I would show her with every action, every kiss, every touch that I was hers.

  First and Last

  Annie

  A river of sound spilled from the piano at my fingertips as the Rachmaninoff sonata came to a close, echoing from the walls, filling the room with its ebb and flow until it drifted away, note by precious note.

  I smiled and stood, bowed to the audition committee with wobbly knees as they thanked me for the hour-long performance, their faces unreadable though pleasant. I made my way down the line of them and shook their hands through a fog of adrenaline. And, having nothing to gather but myself, I left the audition room.

  Greg jumped to his feet and swept me into his arms, spinning me around in the hallway. “God, Annie, that was beautiful.”

  I laughed and kissed him. When I pulled away, I gazed up into his adoring face. “Thank you.”

  “I couldn’t tell if you messed up. It went too fast.”

  “I did but nothing major. I don’t think it will crush my chances. At least, I hope not. Anyone who could perform for that long and not mess up would have to be superhuman, and if they’ve got mutants at Juilliard, I’m probably better off elsewhere.”

  Greg hadn’t let me go yet, and I stood there in the halls of Juilliard with his arms around me and mine around him.

  “You did it.”

  I smiled. “I did it.”

  “You tired?”

  “A little bit. But I’ve done nothing for the last week but practice the whole run-through. It’s like training for a marathon but for my fingers.”

  “Are you still up for today?” There was trepidation in his voice, behind his eyes. He was giving me an out.

  I smirked. “Why? Trying to back out on me?”

  A little laugh puffed out of him. “Never in a million years. I just want to make sure you’re ready,” he added with sincerity.

  “I’m ready,” I answered without hesitation.

  His hands moved from my waist to my cheeks, which he held with reverence as he kissed me gently, sweetly. “Then let’s go.”

  He took my hand, and I followed him out. I’d follow him anywhere.

  The sky was blue and cloudless and as high as my hope as we walked toward the park. My chin lifted, eyes up, admiring the shade of blue, and when I sighed, Greg pulled me closer.

  “I’m trying to decide just what color the sky is,” I said, slipping my arm around his waist with my gaze still up. “It’s like Caribbean ocean on white sand or the color of rock candy. Or spun sugar, soft but…electric, layers and layers of color so deep that it almost seems endless.”

  “I don’t know how you do that, Annie.”

  “Do what?” I asked, meeting his eyes.

  “Make the ordinary extraordinary.”

  My heart sang, my face angling for his. He took the signal, pressing a swift kiss to my lips.

  “You live out loud,” he said when we settled back into our pace. “It’s just like your list says. Just like your dad would have wanted.”

  “I wish you could have met him.”

  “So do I,” he said quietly.

  “You would have been friends. He would have approved of you. He might have tried to scare the shit out of you first, but once you understood murder was on the table in exchange for my virtue and honor, you would have been thick as thieves.”

  Greg chuckled.

  “Anyway, I think I’m going to retire my list.”

  “Oh?” The single-syllabled question was laden with curiosity.

  “I started the list as a girl who wanted to start over, move on, live a life that was full of intention, and I am. Its purpose is fulfilled. In fact, I think its purpose was to lead me to you.”

  He pulled me to a stop on the sidewalk, his eyes bright with love and adoration, his heart shining behind them as he held my face as he so often did, as if I were precious and fragile and priceless. And when he kissed me, I knew he loved me. The words had never been uttered, but I knew it all the same.

  Once I was safely tucked under his arm again, we headed into the park. I didn’t have to stop once to rest, never had to catch my breath, didn’t break out into a sweat or need to down a gallon of water. That was still a marvelous thing in itself.

  Over the last week, I’d felt so good that Greg and I had even gone for a jog just to see if I could.

  I could. I also discovered that running was the actual worst and vowed never to do it again unless someone was after me with a weapon.

  But through it all, through good days and bad, Greg was there with warm hands and deep eyes and lips that I needed and wanted and dreamed of.

  Today was a day to celebrate, and we had big plans.

  A wild, late season flurry had dropped nearly two inches of snow the day before, blanketing the city in a colorless layer of magic. Of course, today it was a sooty, filthy shade of slate, pushed off to the gutters and clinging to the feet of the buildings. But the park was untouched by a thousand boots and tires and exhaust pipes.

  In the park, that sparkling magic remained, so in we went, looking for a knoll where we could build a snowman. Greg had even brought charcoal briquettes, a moth-eaten old scarf for his neck, and a carrot for his nose. It didn’t even matter that he was a little lopsided and his middle briquette button wouldn’t stay on. He was one of the most perfect things I’d ever seen.

  We took two selfies with my little camera, our snowman, Kevin, photobombing us like the joker he was, and the second our pictures were safely stowed, Greg chased me, pelting me with snowballs while I squealed, scrambling for handfuls of snow that I threw blindly behind me, my feet slipping around like a baby deer until I fell.

  I rolled over onto my back, laughing so hard, I could barely breathe. When Greg tried to help me up, I pulled with all my weight, and he tumbled down on top of me, the two of us laughing until we were kissing, kissing until we didn’t feel the cold at all. And all the while, my heart thumped like a ticking clock, steady and reliable and sound.

  I’d already grown used to the normalcy even though I’d never known it. The affliction I’d known all my life had all but disappeared, and more than anything, I found myself awed by the real understanding of how everyone else lived.

  To Greg’s we went so he could change into his suit and get his bag, and by cab, we made it to the apartment where my family was waiting to hear the recount of the audition. And when I changed and packed a bag of my own for our vaguely named overnight trip, my family caravanned all the way down to Delmonico’s for dinner.

  The building was a striking brick wedge that filled the triangular space of a split street, the entrance to the restaurant at the juncture. The inside was just as incredible, rich and decadent, with dark wood–paneled walls and deep colors that gave it a very old-boys’-club feel. And though I was destined to a life of eating well for my heart’s sake, I cheated and ate a filet mignon that melted in my mouth in a way that I’d had no idea meat was capable of.

  My family was happy, I was happy, and Greg was at my side, smiling.

  Nothing could have been more perfect.

  A few ho
urs later, Greg and I were in a cab, headed into Midtown, snug and warm and quiet, my body curved into his, his hand on my thigh, my head resting in the crook of his neck. We never stopped touching, not in the cab, not through dinner, his hands and my hands twined together, fingers shifting, hearts thrumming the same note like they ran on their own frequency. And every time our eyes met, it was accompanied by a spark of anticipation.

  Because tonight was another night of firsts.

  When the car came to a stop at the curb of The Plaza, I was caught in a rush of sights that overcame all other thought.

  Crimson carpet lined the steps under the wide awning, soft and plush under my heels as we entered the building. The lobby was lovely, the floor a mosaic laid to look like a Persian rug, with a magnificent chandelier hanging over the center of the room. Tourists snapped photos, milling around and gaping like I was, but Greg and I didn’t stop for long.

  We checked in at the front desk, our eyes meeting and agreeing silently that we didn’t belong, sharing a note of worry that they’d figure it out and boot us back through those gleaming brass doors and onto the sidewalk. Instead, they handed him keys and offered a smile, directing us to the elevators, and away we went, smiling like we’d gotten away with something.

  Every detail spoke of another era, another time, from the caged elevators to the frescos on the walls. And down the hall we walked, hand in hand, to our room.

  It was as rich and lovely as the rest of the hotel, dominated by the bed, which was piled up with pillows and framed by an elegant gilded headboard.

  Greg set our bags next to the dresser and turned to me, his eyes touching on my face with desire and restraint, with devotion and reticence. And for a moment, he didn’t move other than the rise and fall of the broad expanse of his chest as he drank me in.

  But the weight of his gaze didn’t calm my mind, which was three steps ahead of where it should be. The stillness sent uncertainty trickling through me, the quiet moment before we began, the anticipation cold and heavy and distant, as it was consuming, waiting for the starting bell with every nerve on alert.

  Knowing me as he did, he recognized the tightening of my nerves from across the room. My mind’s train had run away, and the smile he offered pulled the brakes with the skill and ease only he possessed.

  His long legs paced him into my space, where I always wanted him, and the moment he was close enough, he brought his fingers to my jaw, tracing it with a feather’s touch.

  “Are you afraid?” he asked simply, honestly.

  “No,” I answered with the same regard. “I just don’t know what to do.” The words slipped into a whisper.

  His eyes, touched with protection and longing, looked into mine and saw all of me, to the depths of my soul. “Are you sure you’re ready? Because I’m in no hurry. I’d wait forever for you, Annie.”

  I knew that to be an absolute truth.

  Nerves flitted around the cage of my ribs, landing, then taking flight, then landing again as I took a breath and spoke the words I’d rehearsed for so long.

  “I want this first to be ours, just as I want the rest of my firsts to be ours. I know…I know that I’m young, and even though I don’t know much about love, I know what it is at its very center. Love gives itself without condition or expectation simply because it must. Love is devotion, and I find myself devoted to you, body and soul. I love you. As little as I know, that is the thing I am most certain of.”

  Exaltation shone from him like the sun. “I’ve loved you since the start,” he whispered. “I’ve almost told you a thousand times.”

  “And a thousand times, you did without speaking. So know that I’m not afraid, and I am exactly where I want to be. Is it too much to hope that you’ll be my very last first?”

  “No, Annie.” His voice was soft and rough. “No, it’s not.”

  He brought his lips to mine, the absolute rightness of him overwhelming me, drawing me into him.

  He collected me in his arms, holding my body against his own as he kissed me deep, deeper still. And with every shared breath, every sweep of his tongue against mine, with every beat of my heart against his, the bond that twisted through us wound tighter until one was indistinguishable from the other.

  I broke away, my heart drumming madly astride his as our eyes closed and foreheads bowed until they touched. And after a moment of reverie, I took an unwavering step back and turned, collecting my hair with trembling hands to expose my zipper.

  His fingers—they trembled too, a sweet tremor of awe and affection—touched the fastener and pulled, the sound sending a jolt of heat through me, the feel of his breath between my shoulder blades and his lips against my skin settling that heat deep and low in my belly. His hands brushed my shoulders, pushing the dress over the curves and down to the ground in a whisper.

  I stepped out of my heels and dress at once, left in nothing but a small swath of black lace around my hips. A single moment of fear tripped my heart with a lurch. But I drew myself tall, stretching the length of my spine until it was straight and sure, felt the fear disappear as faith took its place. And then I turned to face him.

  What I found when I looked upon him was a bottomless expression of ardent worship, the expression of a man who saw the sun breaking the horizon after a lifetime of blindness. His hand seemed to move of its own accord to capture the ends of my hair in his fingers, rolling the strands between his fingertips, as if they were fine silk.

  Those same fingertips moved to the welted scar between my breasts, reverential and possessive, sparking memories and wishes and desires in the wake of his blazing touch. And, when he reached the bottom of that puckered red line, he brushed the curve of my breast with the backs of his fingers so delicately, a chill rushed across my hot skin, peaking my nipple with anticipation.

  He spoke, a gravelly rumble. “I will never know greater fortune than having you for my own. Not as long as I live.”

  And as if to seal that vow, he brought his lips to mine with deep emotion, with a hundred things said and unsaid passing between truthful lips.

  My blind hands removed his jacket, my fingers working the knot at his neck, then the buttons of his shirt, then slipping into the warm space between his shirt and his skin, relishing in the heat of his solid chest against my palms, the feel of his heart beating as wildly as mine.

  He backed me toward the bed, pulling off his shirt when I sat on the edge with my lips waiting, my arms open. His pants were gone in a second along with his shoes and socks, leaving him in nothing but a sheath of black jersey that brought my eyes first to the span of his narrow waist, then to the rigid column of his length, then to the tops of his thighs where the tight fabric clung to the thick cords of muscles.

  But my eyes wanted more, wanted him exposed as I wanted to be exposed. I wanted to give him every soft, vulnerable part of me. And he saw the offering and filled my arms to claim it, laying me down, pressing me into the luxurious bed with his body.

  Of all the times we had kissed in my room, of all the times we had brushed the edge of desire, never had we erased the boundary so resolutely. He’d touched me before but never like this. I’d felt the length of him against me, but never had I been able to relish in the strength of it or the heat of my need, heat that pooled low in my belly. Heat that spawned tendrils of steam, curling down with slow fingers to lick at the aching tip of my desire.

  My hips rolled, seeking connection, seeking pressure, seeking him.

  He listened to the hum of my body, knowing what I wished for. And so, down my body his lips moved and across my jaw, down the length of my outstretched neck, brushing my collarbone in a soft, wet trail, climbing down me as he went, settling his torso between my thighs, opening them up to accommodate the breadth of his chest.

  His lips took their time when they reached my breasts, and he took his pleasure there, the swell in his big palm, his hot mouth over my tight nipple. And with every sweep of his tongue, with every gentle graze of his teeth, with every quiet moan
of appreciation, a shock of fire rushed to my core, fanning the flames he’d already built.

  I had no idea what I wanted or needed, but my body knew, and Greg knew, and neither of them needed me to think, which was fortunate for all of us.

  His mouth vanished, leaving my slick nipple pulling almost painfully taut, the warmth of his lips gone. But he had another purpose, one that called those lips over the curves of my stomach, one that had his fingers hooked in the band of lace at my waist to rid us both of its obstruction.

  I lay in the bed, my chest heaving and lips swollen, my eyes on his hands as he slid the black lace down my thighs; my skin tingled in its wake, a ghost trail of his touch. His eyes met mine for a moment, as if asking permission again, and I whispered a plea that seemed to fill him with single-minded purpose, which he applied at the place where my thighs met.

  Under my legs he went, his hands guiding my thighs to rest on the rippling muscles of his shoulders. I watched him with a thundering heart and an emptiness between my legs that I’d never felt before, but his eyes were on the warm, waiting juncture at his fingertips.

  It was a slow exploration of a part of my body I barely knew; he touched it with unhesitating gentleness, spreading me open with his fingers, slicking them with my heat, touching the silky point of my body that every nerve ending reached for.

  A gasp filled my lungs, sharp and burning, my hips flexing involuntarily.

  But nothing could have prepared me for the moment he closed his velvety lips over me and sucked.

  My back snapped off the bed, my neck stretched in an arch and my chin pointed at the ceiling, the contact so pervasive, so encompassing that I found myself lost completely. My body was no longer mine; it belonged to him, to his fingers buried in the flexing center of me, to his lips and his stroking tongue, to his heart that loved me and to his soul that whispered my name.

  And I called his as the trembling heat thundered through me, uncontrolled and all-consuming. He gave me the pressure I craved with his glorious mouth, his face nestled between my legs, brows drawn with intent, with benediction and quiet worship.