Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Aurelia tingled all over. She had never been so bold in her life, but a place like this—where civility was a mere veneer over the debauchery that lay underneath—she welcomed the boldness.
It made her feel alive.
And Sebastian’s hand on her waist made her feel even more so. The heated press of his body, too. The way his eyes deepened and darkened into shadows as he looked at her, raw hunger in that gaze.
He wanted her—she knew that. And here she was, laying herself on a platter. Letting him appreciate the possibility of it, then offering herself to him, in a darkened corner.
If he didn’t kiss her now, all would be over.
To her relief, he took her hand, lacing her fingers between his, and led her away from the gilded light of the center of the floor. Other couples laughed and whooped as they danced, their bodies moving sinuously in a way that struck Aurelia as distinctly sensual. And in full view of the world!
Except today, propriety was looking the other way, and desire was given a free hand.
Sebastian turned her against a pillar, the cool of the marble a relief against her heated skin, then took her face in his hands.
Without waiting for a response, he kissed her, so deeply her head spun with the force of his desire.
Yes, truly, this was a place of desire, and she had been mastered by it.
She knew the keenness of its edge.
She had never wanted anything the way she wanted Sebastian.
With practiced ease, he slipped his tongue into her mouth, the slide in and out making her stomach flutter with anticipation. She barely comprehended her own body’s reaction to him, but finally—finally—she would know what happened when a man and a woman came together. He would not deny her tonight.
His hand blazed a fiery path down her throat to her breasts, which ached for touch.
He obliged, palming the heavy flesh, providing much-needed friction.
Unable to bear it quietly, she shifted, pushing her thighs together and pressing against him.
She moaned against his mouth and felt the curve of his lips in return.
Amid the noise of the ballroom, she doubted anyone would be able to hear them, but he still broke away to murmur a, “Quiet, my shepherdess,” into her ear.
Biting her lip, she did her best to be silent as he cupped her other breast and stepped forward, his knee coaxing between her legs. It was the work of a moment for him to pull up her skirts, allowing him to press his thigh against her sex.
Her stomach swooped.
The friction, the pressure, made her gasp, and he kissed her again, swallowing the sound. There was no one directly here to see, but even so, there was nothing to see; he had not removed any items of clothing. Even now, they remained fully clothed—and yet they were utterly indecent.
There was a fluttering in her lower belly.
A build of heat and pressure that corresponded with the desperate way she rocked her hips against him.
Any time she thought perhaps he hadn’t wanted this, he brought his hand to her hip and guided her into movement again.
And truthfully, she couldn’t bring herself to resist.
The more the pleasure grew, the more urgent her movements, the more she chased whatever lay behind the golden hill in her mind.
His voice was unsteady as he rasped, “You are a vision, Aurelia.” Her eyes flicked to his, and he brought his finger to her chin. “That’s right,” he murmured, that finger still curled beneath there. “Don’t look away. Keep looking at me, little mouse. I want to watch your face as you come.”
The crudeness of the comment almost broke the spell, and as though he sensed it, he brought his thumb to rub across her bottom lip.
She rolled her hips again, and her legs trembled.
She hovered at the very brink of something, and it was everything she could do not to fall apart here and now, in full sight of the ballroom.
Of course, they were not in full sight; he had positioned them in such a way that they would only be truly seen if someone stumbled across them.
But the very prospect of taking such illicit pleasure in such a public place made her want to scream and melt at once.
She didn’t know if she loved it or hated it more, and all the while, the pleasure wound tighter.
“That’s the term for it, you know,” he muttered in that throaty baritone of his. “You are going to come for me, and I want to watch every second of it.”
She was fairly sure she ought to hate the way he spoke to her, but it merely stirred the fire in her belly still more.
“Sebastian…” she gasped.
“Is that not why you brought me here? So you might tempt me beyond reason and question? So I would give in to every urge and take advantage of you? Well, you have succeeded in your aim, my sweet girl, because you have pushed me beyond the brink of sanity.
“No one knows you’re here. No one knows I’m here. Even if they see you taking your pleasure at my hands, they will never know it’s us. Is this not what you wanted?”
It was, it was—and also it wasn’t. Now they were here, his thigh grinding against her most delicate place, she could hardly articulate what she did want. Because it had, in a way, been precisely this. She had wanted him to need her so badly, he would do anything.
And yet, somehow, in all her imagining, she had never thought he would do this.
He pressed more firmly against her, and she saw stars.
“Keep quiet,” he rasped. “I love it when you have to hold back. How badly do you want to moan your pleasure at me?”
So badly. So, so badly. Yet if she did, everyone would know.
She would have to do as he said and stay quiet. Perhaps the logical thing to do would be to break away, but she was too far gone now. Too close. Too desperately, urgently close.
She met his gaze in the dim light, chest heaving with breaths she fought to keep quiet, a whimper building in the back of her throat, and his eyes softened. His thumb swiped across her bottom lip once more.
“Good girl,” he coaxed.
She shattered, waves of pleasure crashing through her in overwhelming tides. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and theoretically, she wasn’t able to see if Sebastian was watching her, but she knew, somehow, he was.
He watched her as her body convulsed against his, as she pressed a hand against her mouth to force in the gasps that her climax ushered in her. She felt raw, somehow, sensitive and drained, and overwhelmed—like she could cry with the force of her emotions.
All the while, Sebastian’s hand lingered on her face, tilting it toward him so he could drink in her expressions.
She didn’t have the mental space or energy to wonder at what he saw, to wonder if he liked the sight of her falling apart, trapped between him and the pillar.
Her legs would have given way if he hadn’t held her.
Finally, she opened her eyes, Sebastian’s face swimming into focus above her. Pupils blown wide, his face oddly flushed, he looked a little drunk, if one could be drunk on pleasure alone.
At the sight of him, something clenched inside her, a new awareness of being empty, although she didn’t know how that could be.
Every time she shifted against him, new sparks of pleasure erupted at the contact—she was so sensitive, the sensation threatened to overwhelm her senses to the point of pain.
“Sebastian…” she whispered, and he planted a hand beside her, his breath forced suddenly between his clenched teeth.
For the first time, she noticed the hot brand of his erection pressing against her.
Had it been the entire time? When she glanced down at it, he jerked, the hiss from between his teeth lost against the sound of the quartet playing another piece.
He throbbed against her. And a dark stain appeared.
Shocked, she glanced up at him to find his teeth clenched and eyes grim. “Did you just—”
“Yes.” He looked as shaken as she felt. Evidently, he was not accustomed to that happening. And at the mere thought, she felt a wave of heat and gratification pass through her.
He wanted her so much he spoiled his breeches for want of her, out of sheer desire. There could be no denying this.
“Stay where you are a moment,” he said, his lips ghosting beside her cheek as he leaned in. “I need to—” His hand came to her face, but it was so gentle, holding her against him. “I hadn’t expected that. Any of it. You just made me…”
That had been her plan, if not quite executed in this way.
“I know,” she whispered, still catching her breath. He dropped his thigh from between hers, and her skirts fell back into place.
Now, if someone saw them, they would merely see two lovers in a passionate embrace.
But her entire world had shifted.
And from the way Sebastian remained still in front of her, partially shielding her with his body, his forehead dropped against her shoulder, his had too.
Eventually, he raised his head, and she didn’t think before leaning up for a kiss. A sweet, simple kiss that made her lungs burn with the need for more.
When he broke away, she felt dizzy. All around them, the party continued, couples dancing and others talking and laughing with clinking glasses and private smiles.
And she had… in front of everyone…
And so had Sebastian.
“A walk?” he suggested, taking her arm. “To cool off a little.”
Yes, they most certainly needed that.
They wove through the other guests in costumes and masks, Sebastian positioning himself so he was largely hidden by her skirts, until they came to a door leading outside.
There were small gardens, lit by the light of an effervescent moon, and Sebastian didn’t hesitate even for a moment as he slipped them out.
Summer was approaching, April hard on March’s heels, yet the night was a cool one. The air kissed her burning cheeks.
“I presume that was your first?” he asked abruptly.
“My first?”
“Climax.”
“I thought you meant episode of public indecency,” she said wryly, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, it was. I presume it was not yours.”
“No,” he answered, equally wryly. “Although it was my first in quite those means. I suppose it has been a while since I was last with a lady.”
Potent jealousy filled her.
She knew he had been married; she knew, too, that young gentlemen were held to different standards and were practically expected to spend their time in brothels or with opera dancers or other high-class courtesans.
Her mother had not precisely confirmed that she had been her father’s mistress, but she was surely not his wife.
Yet, at the thought of Sebastian lying with another woman, kissing her the way he had Aurelia, touching her with the same brazen authority as he had her, made her silently seethe. No amount of logic could ease the feeling lodged in her throat.
She had come to the marriage without past paramours—yet he had not.
That was to be expected, but hearing him speak so casually of it still hurt.
“I would rather we did not discuss your past exploits,” she muttered in a tight little voice that didn’t sound like her.
Sebastian chuckled deeply in what sounded like surprised delight. “You are jealous?”
She gave him a sidelong glare. “I am your wife, and you are mine. I dislike the thought of others.”
He hummed a little in understanding, then turned her to face him. They were halfway down a gravel path, partially lit by a lantern’s light, and still in view of the Pantheon. “So long as I am here with you, Aurelia, I have eyes for no one else. No one.”
So long as I am here with you. Not quite the reassurance she had hoped for. But then again, what else could she expect?
She tilted her head. “Am I expected to give you the same assurance?”
He tucked her hand back in the crook of his arm. “If you don’t, and if you entertain another gentleman in my presence, then I will have his arms cut off.”
“Tyrant.”
“I do not allow anyone to touch what is mine.”
Her core thrilled at the words, even as she knew she ought to reject them. “You are very bold, sir.”
“Am I? You are my wife, and I made you come against a pillar in the Pantheon.” There was dark male pride in his eyes as he looked at her. “Can you be any more mine?”
“Yes,” she said without thinking.
He blinked, then nodded slowly. “So there is. You may be sure I will be rectifying that when we return home.”
“Not here?” she asked coyly.
“Not quite. Ladies have that advantage over gentlemen. They recover far more quickly. I need a touch more time before I can go again.” His fingers brushed over the back of her hand.
“When we get home, however, I will be more than ready. I hope you will be, too.” By the sounds of it, he would ensure she was one way or the other.
Again, she knew she ought to hate his presumption, the expectation that he would command and she would yield, but a not-insignificant part of her thrilled at the thought. He was right, too: she was already aching for more. By the time they arrived back home, she would be near desperate.
As was, she was sure, his intention.
“There is one other reason,” he added.
“Oh?”
“The first time I have you, Aurelia, I intend for it to be in my bed.”