CHAPTER ELEVEN
HOWHADHE ever thought her straitlaced? Buttoned-up? Because the sensual creature in his arms was anything but staid. She moaned, gasped, met him touch for touch as he explored her with his lips and tongue.
She’d touched herself. Thought of him while bringing herself pleasure. Despite his scars, what he’d shared, she still wanted him. Her desire for him, coupled with their undeniable chemistry, stripped away the last of his misgivings.
He leaned down, slid an arm beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms. Unlike their adventure out on the plains, where he’d barely been able to resist from tasting her, he now feasted. He carried her next door to his bedroom. He stopped next to his bed, his fingers sliding the zipper of her dress down. When the material pooled at her feet and his hands came up to cup her breasts, he nearly lost it when he realized she was completely naked.
“Rosalind...”
“There wasn’t any underwear in the trunk,” she said with a smile that turned into a moan as he stroked a finger down the slope of one breast. Her sharp inhale was music to his ears. He kissed her again as he continued to stroke and touch. He took everything she had to give, demanded more.
Selfish.
And he couldn’t stop. The only thing that could have made him stop was her, and she responded to every touch with a need that made him so hard it nearly hurt. He teased the seam of her lips with his tongue. She opened to him, gasped into his mouth as her fingers dug into his hair. Pressed her body against him. Deepened the kiss.
He stopped by the bed and lowered her down onto the silken cover. Reveled in her moan of protest as he straightened.
And stared.
His eyes consumed the sight of her. The swell of her breasts. The slope of her stomach, the flare of her hips, the dark curls, the curves of her thighs.
Her skin, still pink from the heat of her bath, darkened as a flush spread over her body. But she didn’t move to cover herself. No, his tenacious beauty shifted, slowly arched her back and looked right into his eyes.
“Are you sure, Rosalind?”
She nodded. The trust she placed in him, the desire that flamed in her forest green eyes as she looked him up and down, pierced his armor in one fell swoop. That she trusted him with something so important, that she still wanted him despite his scars, touched him in a way he’d never experienced before, enhanced the desire pulsing through him.
What if she knew it all? Would she still want you then?
He pushed those thoughts away. She knew how things stood between them, that what they were about to do wouldn’t go further than the chateau. When they both left, that would be the end of anything personal between them.
His fingers closed around the hem of his shirt.
“Wait.”
Disappointment felt like a cold fist around his heart. A sensation that disappeared almost immediately as she stood and reached for him, her hands tentative but her eyes luminous. Her fingers settled over his, slipped beneath his shirt and grazed his stomach. His eyes drifted shut as his breath escaped in a harsh exhale. She pulled his shirt off.
Then froze. He uttered a silent curse as he suddenly remembered.
The scars on his face paled in comparison to the marks down his left side. One scar stood out from the rest, an angry slash over his ribs down to his waist. Smaller scars branched out from it, some faded and pale, others more visible.
Slowly, she reached out, laid a hand on the most prominent scar. At his sharp intake of breath, she snatched her hand back.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.” Not even close. Feeling her touch had been...wonderful. A deep part of him wanted to beg for her to touch him, just once more. “No one other than the doctors and nurses have touched me there since the accident.”
She reached out again. He held his breath, only releasing it on a harsh exhale when her fingers trailed down over the scar.
“Griffith...”
He tensed. “Yes?”
“I want you.”
He kissed her. Raw, sensual, commanding, yet vulnerable, he took everything she offered and demanded more. She gave and gave as his hands roamed over her body, cupped her hips and pulled her tight against his hardness, caressed her breasts until her nipples puckered once more beneath his touch.
Her bare breasts grazed his chest, nearly drove him insane as the light touch stoked him hotter, higher than he’d ever been with a woman.
Then her nimble fingers settled on the waistband of his pants. His eyes flew open and he captured her hands in his.
“But I—”
He kissed her, a deep kiss that coaxed a response with strong, sure strokes of his tongue, which she answered with excited passion.
“If you take my pants off, I may not make it to the bed.”
Delight filled her face, giving him another glimpse of the dreamer she’d suppressed for so long.
“You want me that much?”
“More.”
He kissed her again, edged her back toward the bed until her knees hit the mattress and she tumbled back.
“Damn it. I don’t have a condom.”
“I’m on the pill.” At his arched brow, she frowned. “I planned on having sex one day. I wanted to be prepared.”
He chuckled. “And I’ve never been happier to hear that. I haven’t been with anyone since the accident.”
“And I haven’t been with anyone. Ever,” she added with a naughty grin.
His smile disappeared as he looked at her again, his eyes lingering on every inch of her body.
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me,” he repeated in a voice raspy with need, “how you were touching yourself.”
She watched him for a long moment, her beautiful breasts rising and falling, her lips parted.
One hand moved. Fingers trailed over her face, down the curve of her neck to her breasts. When she cupped herself, uttered a soft gasp as she tugged on the hardened peaks, he nearly lost it. He was so hard it hurt.
Then her hand slid lower. He widened his stance, imagined chains wrapped around his ankles keeping him anchored to the floor so that he didn’t interrupt this, didn’t stop one of the most arousing and beautiful things he’d ever seen. To see a woman like Rosalind, tenacious and intelligent and yet so innocent, take charge of her pleasure entranced him more than he had ever thought possible.
His breath caught in his chest. Desire tightened, squeezed the air from his lungs as her fingers slid into the dark hair at the top of her thighs. Her eyes drifted shut as she touched herself. Her hips moved, her legs shifting restlessly as her breathing grew heavy. He curled his hands into fists even as he moved forward, using his own legs to gently nudge hers apart where they draped over the edge of the bed. Imagined himself sliding into that slick, wet heat. Hearing his name on her lips when he took her for the first time.
Not yet. Soon, just not yet.
For nearly a year he had denied himself pleasure. He could survive another minute.
And then she arched up, her moan filling the air between them.
“Rosalind.”
She opened her eyes, panted as her gaze moved up and down his body.
“Griffith. I need you.”
He shucked off his pants and covered her body with his. Moans filled the air as his chest pressed fully against her breasts. Their hands moved, caressed. He kissed her mouth, the tip of her nose, grazed his lips over her temple. He trailed his lips down over her cheek, her jaw, her neck, inhaling the faint fragrance of rose that clung to her skin.
Then he shifted, pressed kisses with gentle grazes of teeth along the slopes of her breasts. She cried out, her fingers digging into his hair, as he sucked one tight nipple into his mouth. He wanted more, to move fast, to satisfy himself.
But something else drove him farther down her body, a need to make this moment intimate, special for a woman who had trusted him enough to choose him.
His hands settled on her thighs. He spread her legs, the scent of her arousal making blood roar in his veins.
“Griffith...”
He heard the hesitation in her voice, looked up even as his fingers pressed down on her skin.
“I want to taste you, Rosalind.” He turned his head, pressed a kiss to her inner thigh that made her tremble. “But only if you say yes.”
Slowly, she parted her legs even more, her fingers trailing over his face, moving with the same gentle caress over his scars and unmarked skin. Her touch, her lack of fear or disgust, made his throat tighten as he lowered his head.
The first touch was a brush of his lips against swollen, sensitive flesh. Her answering moan made him smile. He teased her with kisses and licks and nips along her thighs, the skin just above her mound.
But when he kissed her again, he tasted her desire.
And had to have more.
Gentleness disappeared as he devoured her. Her thighs clamped around his head. Her fingers tightened in his hair as she cried out, urged him on as she bucked against his mouth, incoherent sobs barely registering past the roaring in his ears.
Her body tightened, stiffened. She screamed his name as she peaked before sagging onto the bed.
He moved, slid up her body as he dropped a kiss on her hip, the slight swell of her stomach, the dip between her ribs. She lay still, her breathing shallow, her face turned to one side.
“That...”
“That what?” he prompted.
Her eyes fluttered open. She turned her head and smiled lazily at him.
“That was amazing.”
“I’m glad.”
He said it with no small degree of masculine pride. But beneath his own satisfaction lingered the tenderness that had surprised him in those first few moments, that had guided his actions as he had made love to her body with his hands and mouth.
Her eyes widened as he moved his hips, his hard length pressing against her thighs.
“Oh.”
She shifted, the action making her slick skin rub against him. He groaned, breathed in deeply to steady himself.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded. He placed himself at her entrance. Slowly, he eased inside. Her body closed around him, tight and hot and so wet he nearly came right then. She tensed as he came up against the barrier. He slid a hand into her hair, cradled her head and kissed her as he pushed deeper, swallowing her small cry of pain.
When he was fully inside, he stopped. Let her get used to the sensation of him inside her.
Even if it nearly killed him not to move.
“Thank you.”
Her whispered words swept over him. Prompted by a rising tide of emotion, he leaned down, kissed her. The kiss was gentle, warm, affectionate. A chance to savor the moment, the monumental change that had just occurred.
She wiggled. He groaned.
“Don’t do that unless you’re ready.”
She arched a brow as the corners of her lips tilted up. “Do what?” She moved again. Her eyes widened. “I can feel you getting bigger.”
“That tends to happen when a man is aroused.”
She slid her hands up his back.
“Show me what happens next.”
He pulled out, reveled in the shocked wonder in her eyes as he slid back in. He started slow, long strokes that drew out the sensation, gave him the chance to notice things he’d never paid attention to with previous lovers. The flush that spread up from her breasts to her neck, the hitch in her breathing when he sank himself to the hilt.
Their pace quickened. She started to meet his thrusts, her fingernails scraping across his skin as she moved beneath him.
“Griffith. Oh, God, Griffith, I can’t...”
“Don’t hold back, Rosalind.” He kissed her. God, he couldn’t stop kissing her. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
Pressure built. He couldn’t have stopped it if he had tried.
“Then give it all to me. Everything.”
She surrendered, her body clamping down on him like a vise as she came apart in his arms, his name uttered over and over. He found his own release a moment later, shuddering as an intense pleasure wracked his body.
He eased himself down onto her body. Enjoyed the comforting feel of her beneath him, her fingers gliding slowly up and down his back.
For the first time that he could remember, he wanted to stay.
Which was why, after letting himself have just a moment longer, he rolled off and got up.
“Griffith?”
He looked back and inwardly cursed. She lay on her back, her slender body looking even smaller in the vastness of the bed where he had just taken her innocence. Taken an incredible gift, used it and was now abandoning it.
Because he was scared. Frightened of what she stirred in him. What she made him want. He had thought the simple temptation of her was dangerous enough.
But these unexpected bouts of tenderness, of romance, were even more perilous. He needed safety, not risk. Isolation, not emotion.
Except that meant focusing only on what he wanted and needed right now.
Classic Griffith.
“I’ll be right back.”
He went to the bathroom, ran a hand towel under warm water. When he came back, Rosalind frowned, then glanced down at her legs. A blush burned in her cheeks.
“Um... I can do that—”
“Do you remember what we just did?”
“I was there.”
Her feisty reply gave him the chance to kneel on the bed, to slowly wipe away the traces of their lovemaking and her first time.
“You gave me something tonight. The least I can do,” he said as he tossed the towel into a hamper, “is give you something in return.”
“You did. Twice.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Then we’re even.”
Her brows drew together. Another curse rose to his lips. He’d been clear about how things would stand between them. But did he have to make their interlude sound transactional? Especially in the moments after she’d just been with a lover for the first time?
“I...”
She stopped. He saw the insecurity flash across her face, the doubt. This was the moment he could break the pattern of holding himself back, and let himself connect with someone beyond a mutually shared pleasure.
Except the words couldn’t come. That he had been moved to do something as intimate as care for her after sex, that he was even contemplating inviting her to stay, were signs he needed to reverse course and reintroduce distance between them.
So he said nothing.
“Thank you, Griffith.”
Before he could retreat, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. A simple action, chaste compared to what they had just done to each other in his bed. But the sweet gesture stabbed deep and wrapped around his heart. Made him want things he didn’t want to risk wanting. Things that would require emotion, risk, sacrifice.
She rolled away and stood, plucked her dress off the floor and walked to the door. Did he imagine her hesitation as she grasped the handle? The shudder that passed through her as she turned it?
Then she was gone, the door closing behind her with a soft click. Alone, he leaned back into his pillows, closed his eyes, didn’t even bother to keep his demons at bay as they came for him, ripping him apart with guilt and self-loathing.
Yes, she’d asked. He’d given her pleasure, paid attention to her needs and wants because he had wanted to, not simply because of masculine pride.
All things he could argue he did for her that made the situation slightly less horrible.
None of them justified the glimpse of pain he’d seen in her eyes when she’d rolled away from him.
It’s better this way, his demons whispered. She’ll never want you now.