Chapter Six
The library at Blackbriar has become my sanctuary over the months.
Every night, after Lila’s soft breathing tells me she’s fallen into dreams, I steal away down the dim corridor to lose myself in all the unread books.
The lights flicker against the ceiling-high mahogany shelves, casting dancing shadows over faded Persian carpets worn smooth by generations of feet.
Tonight, I pause before a shelf of leather bindings, letting my fingertips follow the raised gold tooling as I inhale the heady perfume of aged paper and leather.
The hush is absolute, only the distant tick of a grandfather clock punctuates the stillness as I turn and finish sliding Lila’s read books back into their cubby.
I climb the wooden ladder, each step narrow and polished bright from years of use, to search for a new read for the night.
The soft click of the door latch makes me pause, breath catching in my throat.
There, bathed in the pale hallway light, stands Edwin’s broad silhouette.
His crisp white shirt glowing against his dark coat.
In that half-light, his expression is inscrutable.
“The ladder isn’t safe,” he says quietly, his voice low but carrying easily through the hush. “Ms. Cross took a nasty fall here last spring.”
I tighten my grip on the railing. “I’m adept at stairs, Mr. Rochester.”
He crosses the carpeted floor in measured steps, the tips of his polished shoes leaving soft impressions in the pile. He comes to rest directly beneath me, close enough for me to catch the hint of sandalwood and smoke of his scent.
“I’d rather not have to explain to Lila how you got hurt if you take a tumble.”
I risk a glance downward. His dark eyes meet mine, startlingly intense in the light’s glow. I feel his gaze drift slowly, deliberately, and a flush spreads through me. Between us lay an unspoken current, taut as the finest spider’s thread, something neither of us dares name aloud.
The library is silent save for the soft scuff of my flats on the ladder as I move down a step and the muted rhythm of my own pulse.
I trace the spine of a history volume, but find myself lost in thoughts of Edwin, how those deep brown eyes do not merely see me but drink me in, leaving me exposed and tremulous.
I reach higher, feeling the lace at the hem of my dress against the ladder. Footsteps approach, soft and resolute, until they stop beneath me. The air shifts, thickening with his presence. I freeze, hand poised on the handrail, knowing, even before looking, that he is there.
I turn my head to see him standing close, framing the ladder’s sides with his arms. The light overhead catches the ridge of his nose, the slight bump marking his history of some forgotten fight, and the clean line of his jaw.
His gaze lowers, inch by slow inch, to where my calves pressed against the ladder’s irons.
A breath hitches in my throat. Instinct urges me to clamp my knees together, but the ladder sways slightly with the movement, betraying my composure far more than the quiet click of my breath did.
“Aria.” His voice is a low rumble, and I feel it vibrate up through my soles. “You’re trembling.”
I swallow. “Just a bit unsteady.”
He doesn’t reach up to steady me. Instead, he steps forward, closing the gap until the heat radiating from him presses against my shins. His hands come to rest on the rungs just below my waist, palms warm but not intrusive, yet every nerve in me surges at the contact.
“Were you waiting?” he says quietly, watching my face as if piecing together a private puzzle.
“I..” My voice breaks. I can’t lie, not under that searing gaze. “I didn’t know if you’d come.”
His chuckle is low, gravelly. “I’ll always come.”
Then, as if granted permission, his hand slides under the soft fabric at the backs of my knees. A fire blooms where his fingertips press. He traces the curve of my calf with a deliberate tenderness that leaves me breathless.
My legs quiver but do not give away. I cling to the ladder, knuckles whitening against the cold metal.
His thumb brushes up my thigh, nudging them ever so slightly, and I gasp at the feel of his touch.
I feel the cool air kiss my bare skin for a heartbeat, then his palm presses back, scorching even through my dress.
“Stay with me,” he whispers, hooking his fingers beneath the elastic of my panties. The fabric yields, rolling down my thighs in a rough, intimate slide. My cheeks burn as warmth floods me where his hand lingers.
The library’s hush thickens around us. He braces one hand on the ladder’s rail behind me, anchoring my torso, while the other explores my thigh in slow, telling circles.
A shiver runs up my spine. My head lolls forward, resting on the iron rung, eyes flutter and close as the blend of chilly air and the heat from his palm drive me wild.
Without hesitation, he slips a finger inside me. The sharp, exquisite stretch steals my breath. My body arches, pressing down on the intrusion even as I try to steady myself against the brass rail.
“Look at me,” he commands. His voice is a velvet growl that wraps around me tighter than his arm.
I obey, lifting heavy lids to meet his burning gaze. In that moment, I am utterly unguarded, exposed both in body and soul. His thumb finds my most sensitive nerve, drawing a ragged cry from me that clatters through the silent room.
My nails bite into the ladder, a desperately needed anchor. He meets each cry, each hitch of my breath, with unerring precision, curling his finger inside me, rubbing me under my dress’s thin layer, the other palm grinding against my thigh.
“You’re soaked,” he breathes, voice rattling with hunger. “You’ve been craving this.”
“Yes,” I gasp, cheeks flush, voice raw. “Please… more.”
He rewards my plea with two fingers, swelling to fill me completely. My back arches, the ladder rattling as I ride the sensation. He pressed his palm against me, thumb circling my clit in slow, intoxicating spirals, every stroke a promise and a command.
“Hold on to the ladder,” he orders, that low rasp vibrating in my chest.
I lock my elbows and tighten my grip. His other hand braces my hip, pinning me so the rail is my only support. Each pull of his fingers forces me closer to the edge, closer until my vision blurs white and my cry dies in my throat.
My body convulses, a blast of trembling pleasure that leaves me hollow and trembling. I sag forward, forehead pressing against the cool rail even as my fingers refuse to let go. My heart hammers so fiercely I am certain it would burst.
After what feels like forever, his hand slides free. The sudden absence of pressure leaves me quivering, the library’s cool air flooding the hollow heat he just vacated. I hear the faint rustle of cloth, his handkerchief at work mixed with the sounds of my uneven breaths.
“Step down,” he says, voice softer now but still absolute.
My legs are unstable but manage to carry me down. When my feet finally meet the plush carpet, I stumble. He catches me immediately, strong arms wrapping around my elbows until the world rights itself.
He holds me there, chest to chest. His eyes, once feral, now glow with something gentler, awareness, respect. His fingers brush a stray curl from my temple, fingertips ghost-light on skin still tingling.
Between the towering shelves, the silence is charged with all we’d just shared. I press my cheek into his palm, heart still thudding.
His hands glide down my arms, through the wrinkles of my dress, until they rest at my waist. With infinite care, he leans down and brings my panties back up, smoothing the fabric. Then his hands trace the curve of my hips, the gentle line of my stomach, as though afraid to mar something precious.
He straightens, stepping back only enough that I can see the curve of his contemplative mouth. His gaze sweeps over me, my flushed skin, tangled hair, and dress clinging in places it wasn’t before.
“Inevitable,” he says softly, as though pronouncing a truth we can no longer deny. Then he reaches up, thumb brushing against my lower lip, and lets it snap back. “I’m not done with you, Aria.”
A tremor passes through me. The air feels suddenly thick, rich with unsaid promises. I press my feet into the carpet, grounding myself as he studies me.
We stand in the hush of ancient books, two shapes bound by something fierce and new. The last rays of sunset filter through the high windows, bathing us in gold as I realize I would follow him down every dark corridor, if he would only continue to light the way.
Want to see more of Aria and Edwin? Find out what comes next in Uncaged Hearts, coming January 2027!