Chapter 27
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
“I’ve changed my mind,” I declare boldly as I whip open the door to Lachlan’s bedchamber later that night. He’s seated on his sofa, legs spread, polishing his sword.
Not a euphemism, much to my disappointment.
His hand stills above a small pot of wax as he glances up at me through those adorable eyeglasses. He doesn’t even ask what I’ve changed my mind about. The man is that confident. It’s bloody infuriating.
And more than a bit of a turn-on.
Then again, if I looked like him, I’d probably assume everyone who rejected my advances would eventually regret it and come to their senses.
“Close the door.”
The low rumble of his voice trails ghostly fingers up my thighs. He folds his polishing cloth, seals the wax, then rises to place his sword in its sheath.
He’s changed since dinner, now wearing a white shirt tucked into a pair of soft gray trousers.
The shirt hangs open, the sleeves pushed to his elbows and exposing forearms that I have an urgent, physical need to feel pinning me down.
To what surface, I couldn’t possibly care less.
He plucks off his glasses, folds them into their case, then sits back down and spreads his legs wide. Taking up as much space as he pleases.
“Come over here.”
It’s not a request.
But he makes no move to fetch me as I hesitate, wrapping and unwrapping the sash of my dressing gown around my palm.
I was so much more sure of this decision before I opened the door, but now that I’m in his room and he’s right there looking so dreadfully handsome and like he’s been waiting for me and his loose trousers are falling in just the right way to emphasize what is clearly a very generous endowment and, oh heavens what if I mess this up or do something awkward or put my tongue in the wrong place, and he can tell that I have not done this in months and even when I did, I am not quite certain that George knew exactly what to do with my body, so—
“Charlotte.” He’s patient. Steady. “Do as I say.”
My mind stills and my body calms. He’s good at this. At knowing what a person needs. At knowing what I need. Crystal-clear instructions to cut through the persistent chatter.
I pad over to the sofa and sink down next to him. He’s so much bigger over here. A hulking mountain of golden flesh and tousled auburn hair. And hot. So hot. Heat roils off him in waves, along with that heady woodsmoke and fig scent.
He’s just so vividly … present.
And though I’ve been close to him before, touched him before, this feels monumentally different.
He angles his body toward me, scooting closer, and rests a hand on his broad thigh.
He snakes his other arm along the back of the sofa behind my head.
My hair is pinned up, so his biceps presses against the back of my neck.
I lean into it. Once again, I’m cocooned, cradled, but not caged.
I could get up and walk away at any moment.
I have never wanted to do anything less.
“Are you comfortable?” he asks, gesturing toward a bronze flagon and two goblets on the side table. “Need something to silence those voices in your head?”
I burble a laugh. “You’re the loudest voice in my head lately.”
The loudest, perhaps. A cool caress upon my overheated brain. But unfortunately not the most persuasive.
He lifts my chin with the callused pad of his finger. “Tell me about your experience.”
“I’m not a virgin,” I blurt.
“I know.” Another soft smile. And the dimple. God help me. “George, was it?” He says the name with barely concealed distaste and a hint of jealousy that stokes my excitement.
“Yes,” I whisper. “But there were plenty of others before him.”
Lucky bastards, Lachlan purrs into my mind as he pinches a loose strand of my hair, his eyes roving over my face.
Maybe he means it, or maybe he’s trying to assuage my nerves.
Either way, a drop of my earlier confidence returns.
Enough that I place my hand upon the leg he’s drawn up between us.
His thighs are as solid as stone. He twitches at the contact, but moves in closer. As if my touch is a welcome surprise.
“How long were you and George together?” he asks.
“Almost a year.”
Lachlan’s hand on the back of the couch clenches into a fist, and the solid knot in his throat bobs. “And the sex was good?”
I send the answer into my lap. “He never … It was always … He rarely wanted to …”
“Charlotte.” A large, warm hand envelopes my own upon his thigh. “We’re just two friends talking. And I’m as nervous as you are.”
My head shoots up. “Why would you be nervous?”
“I haven’t done this in quite some time. I don’t want to disappoint you.” He gently squeezes my fingers. “Which I surely will if you don’t tell me what you like. What you need.”
I blow out a long breath. “He only ever brought me to orgasm a handful of times. And on those occasions, I’d done most of the work to get there myself.
He always treated me like I was this fragile thing, even when I told him that wasn’t what I wanted.
I asked him to be rougher. More passionate.
But that wasn’t what he wanted, so we just … It was fine. Our sexual life was fine.”
Lachlan snickers. “The performance review every man seeks from his lover.”
“What do your lovers say about you?”
A raised brow and a shy smirk tell me all I need to know.
I gasp as his fingers feather over the skin behind my knee, just below the hem of my chemise. He strokes lightly, so lightly I barely feel it, as his other hand curls around my nape. He holds me in place with enough gentle pressure that I cannot look away. Not that I would.
“The secret of seduction, Charlotte, is that physicality is the smallest portion of it. It’s almost entirely a mental exercise.”
If that is true, then I am dead in the water. I’m incapable of forming coherent thoughts while his hands are on me.
“Do you know why I was so good at it?” he asks.
Was? I nearly scoff.
I want him to move closer. He doesn’t.
I want him to trail his fingers up my thigh. He doesn’t.
I want him to yank me in for a rough kiss. He doesn’t.
“Because of the diamrhán?”
He chuckles, his soft breath tickling my lips and I nearly moan, trying not to squirm. “Very few of my clients requested the service, actually. Most people aren’t brave enough for that level of exposure.”
There’s a compliment buried in there somewhere, but the sparks flowing through my veins are making it increasingly difficult to concentrate.
“What then?” I fist my hands at my sides, grasping for control. I’m unraveling. He’s unraveling me. And barely touching me.
“Because I did to them what I’ve been doing with you for weeks. Can you guess what it is?”
Sapphire eyes drink me in, and I know what he’s seeing: a heavy-lidded stare, parted lips, flushed cheeks. He must know that all he need do is say the word, give me another command, and there is very little I wouldn’t do for him right now.
His lips hover over mine. “Paying attention.”
I release the most pathetic, neediest sound I’ve ever made in my life.
“Did you just whimper?” He smiles against my mouth.
I huff. “Of course not.”
“You did.” He brushes his lip ring against the corner of my mouth and searing, liquid heat spills between my legs. “I think I’d like to hear it again.”
His fingers crawl to the soft skin of my inner thigh, inching up my chemise as he runs the tip of his nose along my throat. “What have you learned about Duke áine since we’ve been here?” is what he says out loud. What he groans into my mind is, You always smell incredible. Drives me fucking mad.
I arch closer, spreading my legs in a blatant invitation for him to touch, to taste, to take, but he’s so infuriatingly restrained.
“I—”
The tips of his fingers trace the crease where my thigh meets my hip and, curse him, I do whimper again.
He laughs, a hot puff against my neck followed by the graze of a fang. Shivers wrack my body.
This is excruciating.
I never want him to stop.
Somewhere beneath my lust-addled daze, I remember he’s asked me a question.
“He’s vain,” I choke out as Lachlan pulls back. I know I’m not imagining the hunger in his gaze. He may be keeping me on edge, but I don’t think this is any easier for him. He’s just better at controlling himself.
“And?” He runs his fingernails up and down my thigh, coming dangerously close to my bare sex on each upstroke and pausing every time. Teasing. The brute.
“He wants to be the center of attention, always,” I continue through stuttering breaths.
“Good observation,” Lachlan murmurs onto my jaw, nipping gently. “Then why have you not won him over yet? You’ve given him plenty of attention.”
“I don’t—”
Lachlan sweeps his thumb down the side of my breast, and my nipple instantly hardens. This time, the sound I make is not a whimper. It’s a deep, needy moan followed by his soft growl of approval.
Lachlan, please, I beg through the diamrhán, dignity be damned.
But all he offers in return is another light stroke down my breast, a squeeze on my upper thigh, and a teasing grin. “Out loud, little queen.”
I want to smack the smug look right off his face.
As soon as I’ve had a chance to ride it.
My cunt is throbbing, and I think I might be wetter than I’ve ever been in my life. He would know if he’d just move his fingers a little higher. I am quite certain I would fall apart instantly.
“Think about it,” Lachlan says. “You’ve given him nothing but attention since the moment he returned. And where has that gotten you?”
“Writhing beneath a talented knight whose seduction lessons are an effective method of torture?”
The corners of his eyes crinkle, and his laughter shakes his body against me. “Charming and funny,” he says out loud before a whisper rises in my mind, And so gloriously aroused that it’s taking all my restraint to not give you what you so desperately want. Or at least, what you think you want.
“What does that mean?” I choke out. “What I think I want?”