Chapter 3 #3
"I can and I will." His hands held her open, gentle but firm. "Trust me, Catherine. Let me give you this."
The first touch of his tongue made her cry out, her back arching off the bed. It was too much, too intense, too everything. But he didn't stop, his mouth working against her with skillful precision, finding spots she didn't know existed.
"That's it," he murmured against her. "Let go. Let me hear you."
She couldn't have stayed quiet if she tried. Every stroke of his tongue drew sounds from her she didn't know she could make—gasps and moans and, when his tongue touched gently that one particular spot, an actual scream.
"So responsive," he praised, kissing her carefully. "So tight. We'll have to go slow, sweetheart. Make sure you're ready for me."
"I'm ready," she gasped, though she had no idea if it was true.
"Not yet. But you will be." He started touching her carefully while his mouth continued its sweet torment. "When you come for me—and you will come for me—I want you to say my name."
"James, I don't...I can't..."
"You can and you will. Just let go, Catherine."
Something was building inside her, a tension that threatened to snap. Her hands were in his hair, holding him against her as her hips moved of their own accord. When he curled his fingers inside her, pressing against something that made her see stars, she shattered.
"James!" His name tore from her throat as pleasure crashed over her in waves. He worked her through it, gentling his touch as she slowly came back to herself.
When she finally opened her eyes, he was leaning over her, his expression smug and satisfied. "That was one."
"One?"
"We're not nearly done, sweetheart."
She reached for his trousers, suddenly desperate to touch him. "Then why are you still dressed?"
"Impatient little thing." But he stood, unbuttoning his trousers with steady hands. "Are you sure you're ready to see all of me?"
"Yes."
The trousers dropped, and Catherine's eyes widened. She'd seen classical statues, of course, but they hadn't quite prepared her for the reality of an aroused male.
"Still with me?" he asked, a note of concern in his voice.
"Yes. I just... "
He laughed, not unkindly. "I will be careful, I promise. Your body was made for this, Catherine. Made for me."
He joined her on the bed, covering her body with his. The weight of him should have been frightening, but instead it was comforting, grounding. She could feel him hard against her thigh, and she shifted experimentally, making him groan.
"Careful," he warned. "My control isn't infinite."
"Good."
"Wicked girl." He kissed her deeply, his tongue mimicking what his body would soon do. When she was breathless and writhing beneath him, he pulled back. "Are you ready?"
"Yes. Please, James."
He positioned himself at her entrance, the tip pressing against her. "Look at me. Don't close your eyes."
She met his gaze as he slowly, carefully, pushed inside. There was pressure, stretching, a sharp pain that made her gasp and he immediately stopped.
"Breathe, sweetheart. Just breathe."
"It hurts."
"I know. I'm sorry. It will get better, I promise." He peppered her face with kisses, his hand sliding between them to find that sensitive spot again. "Let me help."
His fingers worked magic, pleasure slowly overtaking pain as her body adjusted to the intrusion. When she experimentally rocked her hips, they both groaned.
"That's it," he encouraged. "Take what you need."
He began to move, slow and careful at first, then deeper as her body welcomed him. The pain faded entirely, replaced by a building pleasure that was different from before—fuller, more intense.
"You feel incredible," he groaned, his control clearly fraying. "So perfect. Made for me."
"James," she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. "I need—I don't know what I need."
"I do." His hand slipped between them again, his fingers finding that spot that made her see stars. "Come for me again, Catherine. Let me feel you."
It took only a few more strokes before she was shattering again, her body clenching around him. He cursed, his hips jerking as he followed her over the edge, her name a prayer on his lips.
They lay tangled together afterward, both breathing hard. Catherine felt boneless, sated in a way she'd never experienced while James pressed kisses to her shoulder, her neck, her jaw.
"Are you alright?" he asked softly.
"More than alright." She turned to face him, surprised to find his expression tender, almost vulnerable. "That was..."
"Incredible? Life-changing? Worth ruining your reputation for?"
"All of the above." She traced a finger down his chest. "Though I do have one question."
"What's that?"
"When you said that was one... exactly how many did you have in mind?"
His grin was wicked. "As many as you can take, sweetheart. We have all night, and I'm nowhere near done with you."
"Is that a promise or a threat?"
"Both." He rolled her beneath him again, his mouth finding her throat. "Definitely both."
Outside, the storm continued to rage, but Catherine barely noticed.
She was too busy creating a storm of her own, here in this bed with a man whose last name might not even be real.
Tomorrow would come with all its complications and consequences.
But tonight...tonight she was just Catherine, and he was just James, and that was enough.
More than enough.
When he kissed her again, she gave herself over to it completely, to him completely. Whatever tomorrow brought, she'd have this—one perfect night when she chose her own path, her own pleasure, her own destiny.
"Again?" she asked when he finally let her breathe.
"Again," he confirmed, his hands already moving with intent. "And again. And again. Until you beg me to stop."
"And if I don't?"
"Then we'll watch the sunrise together, thoroughly debauched and completely unrepentant."
"That sounds perfect."
"You're perfect," he corrected, and proceeded to show her exactly what he meant.
By the time the storm finally began to calm, somewhere near dawn, they were exhausted, sated, and wrapped around each other like they'd been sleeping together for years instead of hours.
Catherine's body ached in delicious ways, bearing the marks of his possession, but she'd left her own marks on him as well, she noted with satisfaction.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, his voice rough with exhaustion.
"That I should probably be scandalized by everything we just did."
"But you're not?"
"No. I'm rather proud, actually. Who knew I had such hidden talents?"
He laughed, pulling her closer. "Minx. You'll be the death of me."
"You keep saying that, yet you seem remarkably alive."
"For now." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "Sleep, Catherine. Tomorrow, or rather today, will come soon enough."
"Will you be here when I wake?"
"Where else would I be?"
But even as she drifted off, safe in his arms, she heard the doubt in his voice.
They both knew this was temporary, stolen time that would end with the storm.
When morning came properly, they'd go back to being strangers—Miss Mayfer and Mr. Wrentham, two people whose paths had crossed by chance and would diverge just as quickly.
Still, she thought as sleep claimed her, it had been worth it. Whatever came next, whatever price she paid for this night of freedom, it had been worth it.
Besides, she would never see him again.