Chapter 16 #2
“Don’t hide from it. Don’t tell me what you think is decorous.” Her fingers curled, the scrape of her nails on his jaw bringing something close to discomfort. “I want you to desire me.”
Her eyes—those boundless, summer sky eyes—had grown large enough to look dark. Dark with yearning, with promise, with an intensity more powerful than the electrified sky.
The glint in them was the last thing he saw before their mouths crashed together once more, and he was tasting her, parting her lips with his tongue, slipping inside.
He’d spent most of his life dedicated to restraint. And yet, he wasn’t infallible. Wasn’t immune to the sweetness of her, to the glide of her tongue each time it connected with his.
He was holding onto her for dear life, he realized as his palms pressed tight to her shoulders, and she was clinging to him, too, wrapping her arms around his torso and pulling, pulling.
With a conspicuous splash, his world turned sideways, and he found himself dazed, spluttering. Wet.
His legs hung haphazardly outside the tub, while the rest of him lay half-sitting, half-floating in the water, still contained in Violet’s embrace.
His brain tried to tell him a great many things. That he’d fallen, that he was clothed, that he needed to scramble upright and remove himself from the bath.
Except he didn’t move.
She peered at him, her face dripping with the water he’d splashed, her beaded eyelashes fluttering coyly. “Goodness me.”
And then, they were tumbling together, water rippling over the sides of the tub. He dragged his legs below the surface and shifted her weight until he was the one who reclined against the bottom with Violet atop him.
She splayed her legs to each side of his thighs, using his shoulders for support as she straightened her spine and brought her luscious arse to rest in his lap.
With her body sitting upright, her breasts emerged from their concealment beneath the clouded water, giving him an unobstructed view of each plump globe. Of the berry-pink nipples.
How was it that despite his body being saturated, his mouth could go so dry? He had to kiss her again. To pull her against him and feel the moisture of her tongue.
“Will you touch me?” she murmured just as his lips neared to within a hairsbreadth of hers. Her voice was mainly breath, the sound curling in his chest, shooting to his groin. How could he resist when he had a bloody invitation?
He pressed his mouth against hers, his tongue stroking her lips as he raised a hand, testing the weight of the underside of her breast. It was round and full within his palm, the skin silken from the bath oils.
He spread his fingers, reaching over the delectable curve until he connected with the pebbled bud in the center.
She hummed appreciatively, arching into his touch, and his fingertips closed around her nipple. Flesh that was soft but taut, that seemed to grow firmer as he gently caressed.
He brought up his other hand and stroked both breasts in tandem, relishing the sighs she made from deep in her throat.
Yet it wasn’t enough. He had her mouth; he had her perfect nipples beneath his touch.
What would it be like to taste them, though?
He wanted to find out if they’d be as sweet as her tongue, to discover the sounds she’d make while he sampled her.
He withdrew his lips, and before she could finish her groan of protest, he repositioned them on her neck, kissing down the delicate column. His hands slid to her hips, his mouth traveling lower and lower. To the notch at the base of her throat. To her collarbone.
His tongue lapped at the droplets along the swell of her breast, then hovered for an achingly long moment above her hardened nipple while he paused to look up at her. Violet’s head was tipped back, although her eyes flew open to meet his, assessing him with an urgent hunger.
He’d wanted to be certain he had this right, and there was the proof he needed.
Without further delay, he captured her nipple between his lips and carefully sucked, causing a breathy moan to fly from her throat and her entire body to twitch.
He shuddered in return, for her mound brushed his arousal when she shifted in his lap, creating a lightning strike of pleasure. A coveted spark of friction.
He knew it was yearning, not pain, that made her fingernails sink deeper into his shoulders while he laved her. It was for pleasure, too, that her hips lifted again so she could drag herself along his length, emitting another cry.
His shirt and trousers clung to him maddeningly, although they didn’t stop his need from spiking each time she moved.
In fact, the unwanted barrier seemed to render him more desperate, the fabric rubbing him where instead he craved her flesh.
He couldn’t pause to undo buttons and free himself of wet linen, though, not without releasing her from his mouth and halting the up-and-down rhythm she’d established against his cock.
And he didn’t want that, even for a second.
Water splashed onto the floor in waves, as meanwhile, torrents of pleasure swelled within him.
Neither able to be contained. His body was tightening, spiraling, sensitive to every lap of the water, to every touch.
He had sweetness upon his tongue, bare skin beneath his fingertips, and he couldn’t hold on much longer, couldn’t—
“Violet.” He half-groaned, half-choked out her name, for that was the only word he could form, the only thought that hadn’t vaporized within his head. He didn’t even know for certain what he meant by it—whether it was a caution for her to stop or a plea to keep going.
Whatever it was, she didn’t cease moving, and her hand was suddenly at his fall.
His body tensed at the contact, his lips clamping around her nipple far more forcefully than he intended. There was no escaping it—his last thread of composure snapped, and release hurtled over him.
Everything was reduced to a stupor of pleasure, although he still heard the moan that crossed her lips. Still felt the pinch of her fingernails, the final thrust of her hips, the weight of her head collapsing against his shoulder, her body trembling and breathless.
It took a long time before he could properly inhale again. Longer still until he untangled his limbs from hers and analyzed the circumstances. Such as the fact that the water had grown tepid. A great deal of it was on the floor. And he was still wearing his damn trousers.
“As I’ve dismissed my lady’s maid for the night, I wonder if you might pass me a towel,” Violet said at last, her words cutting through his thoughts and lingering in the floral-scented haze. A haze that now contained a trace of something heady and primal, too.
A towel. Yes, he could fetch one. Because they could hardly stay here all night, despite that seeming to be the easiest solution.
Much to his relief—and surprise—his legs obeyed when he bid them to stand. As such, there was nothing to do but step onto the soaked floor and retrieve the towel lying on the nearby stool.
She accepted it with a word of thanks, and he had the sudden inclination—if not the genuine desire—to divert his eyes. Why did he feel the same way as when he’d first stepped into the room: like an intruder?
His body had never been so boneless, so replete. And yet, his mind failed to make sense of anything. What did this all mean? What was supposed to come next? These were the conundrums that arose when one acted without thinking.
“Benedict.” Once more, her voice broke through his web of contemplation, and sleek fingers lifted his chin, prompting him to look at her. “We should go to bed.”
She’d wrapped the towel around her torso, covering the most intimate parts of herself. However, not for one second did he forget the image of those glorious breasts, nor the succulent taste of them in his mouth. She was the most exquisite thing he’d ever beheld.
And now, she wished to go to bed. Did she possibly mean …
together? He couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting toward her counterpane, which her maid had turned down for the night to reveal clean white sheets.
Couldn’t help the vision of laying her down, removing the towel, and letting his tongue discover every inch of dew-dotted flesh.
Yet here he was, dripping puddles on the floor. Uncertain. Undone.
“Yes,” he managed, but God, the word came out husky. “We should …” He paused, his heart and his head tugging him in a hundred different directions, water continuing to trickle from his shirt and trousers. What did she want? What did he want? What was right, what was wise, what was best?
Ultimately, it was the safe, logical direction that gained voice. “We should get some sleep.”
There was a beat of silence and then, her gentle words. “Goodnight, husband.” She leaned in to press her lips against his. Not with the urgency they’d shared earlier, but as a soft, barely there caress.
It was still enough to stir sparks in his chest. Especially when she lingered an extra moment, her fingertips continuing to rest on his chin and her mouth curving into a tender smile that promised him the world.
“Goodnight, wife,” he managed, giving himself the briefest moment to squeeze her fingers before turning away.
It was decided, then. His feet squelched against the floor all the way to the connecting door, and his hand slid around the handle. Yes, it was decided. She would go to her bed and he would go to his, the same way they always did.
However, something undeniable had shifted between them. Something that would require a great deal of contemplation. For while he may be woefully inexperienced, there was one thing of which he was certain: he longed for her.
Oh, Christ, he longed for her.