Chapter Twenty-One
Lucian scanned the various placards on the walls, searching for the most boring possible exhibition room he could find.
He didn’t consult her, since he imagined she would find many of the exhibits interesting, due to her curious mind. In fact, as he read the signs, he himself got curious, which he thought was likely a by-product of spending time with her—their dialogues on various things, from the French Revolution to haphazard parents to philanthropic products for their parents’ factory.
It was just one of the reasons he’d fallen in love with her.
“Here,”
he said, steering her into a room, “let’s try Mesopotamia.”
Once inside, he saw a few large pieces, perfect for hiding behind, and noticed that there was only one person in the room.
He nodded to the other visitor, an older man who looked as though he had escaped from the manuscript room, and the man’s expression changed to one of annoyance. He left the room quickly, leaving them alone.
“I gather we are not the only people seeking privacy,”
she said, an amused tone in her voice.
Thinking, he turned and locked the door from the inside.
“Won’t someone notice?”
she asked.
“Not for a bit, I don’t think,”
he replied. “Come here.”
He held his hand out, and she took it, biting her lip as he met her gaze. “Let’s get ourselves settled.”
They walked through the exhibits, Lucian’s mind once again a scurry of squirrels.
“Here,”
she said, gesturing to what appeared to be a trough carved of stone. She hesitated, then scooted herself up onto the lid and lowered her legs into it.
She gave him a satisfied look. “See? It’s perfect.”
And then she lowered herself until he couldn’t see her anymore.
“Join me,”
she called from the trough’s depths.
He did, finding the trough narrow but long. Good for two people lying down, but not so good for squatting.
Which suited him just fine.
She sat, her knees up, her skirts flowing around her legs. She still looked delighted, and he was equally pleased that she was so eager for what they were about to do.
“I think we should get horizontal,”
she said, suiting her actions to her words.
Soon, they were face-to-face in the bottom of the trough, the cold stone hitting his back while her warmth was at his front.
“And now what, since you seem to have this all planned?”
She gave him a look that combined sultriness and innocence. Entirely appealing, and his body reacted as urgently as it ever had before.
He edged his arse back a bit, since he didn’t want to startle her with his cockstand.
“I want to be kissed. And I want to kiss you.”
“And I,”
he said, shifting his head forward, “want to bite that lip that’s been teasing me.”
He put his hand on her waist, then caught her lip in his teeth, biting down just a little, making her utter a little moan.
“Oh, you like that?”
he murmured, then put his mouth to her neck, biting her there, and then licking the spot. Her back arched, pressing herself closer to his chest, and she gripped his arm, squeezing it as he nibbled and licked his way from her neck to her collarbone to where the tops of her breasts peeked out from her gown.
Her hand, meanwhile, had found its way to the small of his back, and she was stroking his body, rubbing her palm up and down from his shoulder blades to his waistband.
“Grab it,”
he urged, and she paused, then lowered her hand to take his arse in her hand, squeezing as she did.
It felt glorious. The contrast of her soft, warm skin against the cold of the stone, the close quarters pressing them together, how her hand was now exploring the curves of his arse, her eyes closed as he returned to her face.
“Open your eyes, Diantha,”
he said in a low voice.
She did, meeting his gaze.
“Kiss me,”
he ordered and swept his hand from her waist to the small of her back, then lower, copying what she was doing.
Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and he saw the hunger there, saw just when she’d decided how she would kiss him.
And then her mouth was on his, and she was dragging his lip between her teeth, giving him a soft bite before she thrust her tongue into his mouth.
He closed his eyes, allowing her to explore his mouth, hearing the soft, sucking sounds they made as they kissed. It felt as though they were in their own world, where there weren’t disapproving parents, societal obligations, or the inevitability of their parting.
Her restless hands moved up to the back of his neck, her fingers tugging on his hair, a deliciously painful tweak that resonated through his whole body. His own hand, meanwhile, was caressing the soft plumpness of her bottom, feeling its shape under her skirt. Wishing, for a moment, that he could slide under her skirts and bite all that pillowy flesh.
Their breathing echoed in the space, growing more rapid the more intense their kiss got.
Soon Lucian was lost to everything but the moment, his fingers now moving to the curve of her breast, his palm edging over that roundness, finding her stiff nipple underneath the fabric of her gown.
He chuckled, low and deep in his throat, and she broke the kiss, making him open his eyes to gaze at her.
“I want more,”
she demanded, emphasizing her words by edging closer to him. “I want you to touch me without any fabric.”
His cock strained against his trousers. “Turn around,”
he ordered, and she flipped, his fingers immediately going to the buttons at the back of her gown. He slid them free of the buttonholes quickly, then tugged her arm to indicate she should flip back.
She did, and he pulled the now loose fabric off her shoulders as she shifted to accommodate the tight quarters and his movements.
The gown went to her waist, and then she was there in her chemise—a nearly transparent piece of fabric that did nothing to hide her rosy-pink nipples.
He groaned, then bent his head to draw her nipple into his mouth. The fabric was gossamer-thin, but it still wasn’t what she had asked for, so he reached up to tug the material aside, then looked at what he’d just uncovered. Her breasts were beautiful, nicely shaped and round, perfect for his palm. But it was his mouth that needed to work now: he licked her nipple, then tugged it into his mouth again, exploring the stiff peak with his tongue as she writhed beside him.
“Yes, goodness,”
she said breathily. She slid her palm over his hip bone, very close to where he ached for her hand, and he inhaled sharply.
“Is there—did I do something wrong?”
she asked, sounding concerned.
He released her nipple and gazed up at her lovely face. “Not at all. You’re doing everything right. Do you want to touch me?”
he said, thrusting his hips a bit to make his meaning clear.
“Yes, please,”
she said, sounding primly polite even as her hand went to cup him through his trousers.
Dear God, he might not make it out of here alive. Between the kissing, the touching, the soft warmth, her responsiveness, and their tiny, secluded world, he felt overwhelmed, battered by the most delicious of forces.
She was in what she guessed was a sarcophagus having the most transportive experience of her life.
Thank goodness she didn’t have to say that sentence aloud because just thinking of it made her giggle. Even crawling into the stone structure had felt like an adventure. Seeing him lock the door, knowing what was to come made her feel all tingly, as though something wonderful was going to happen and nothing could stop it.
And it had. But this was even more wonderful than she had imagined. He’d nipped her skin, and the combination of pain and pleasure made it exquisitely breathtaking, while their forced proximity due to the narrowness of the container added another element.
The kissing was as she remembered, only more so, because now she knew what to expect and what was expected of her. She didn’t feel any hesitancy, not like the first time they’d done this; instead, she’d anticipated it and participated in it, and it had felt as though she owned what she was doing, which made her very pleased, beyond the pleasure itself. Then he had put his mouth on her breast, on her nipple, and she nearly exploded.
Why had these sensations been denied from her for the first twenty-one years of her life? Because it wasn’t right that such things were possible, but this was the first time she’d been introduced to them. It seemed terribly unfair that these feelings were only allowed if one was married. One would hope that such pleasure should be free to all, regardless of one’s marital status.
“Just like that,”
he said, putting his hand over hers where it lay on his . . . male part. She could feel it, a rigid length that was surprisingly hard. She wanted to inquire more about it, to find out if it was like that all the time, or if it was just this activity that made it so. But now was not the time, because he was making guttural moans as she stroked him, and she felt an answering ache in the matching spot on her body.
“What do you want next?”
she asked, meeting his gaze. His eyes were the stormiest of blues, the most beautiful color she’d ever seen.
“What do you want, my adventuress?”
he countered. “Do you want me to touch you there?”
and his hand went to that aching part, and she gasped.
“Yes, please,”
she said, her breath hitching.
He smiled that wicked smile again, and he touched her more firmly, exploring the area with his fingers.
It seemed he knew what would feel the most pleasurable, which indicated—as though she didn’t know from his reputation—that he had already done these things without the benefit of marriage.
That was entirely unfair also. But now was not the time to demand equivalency between the sexes, not when his fingers were doing that to her, and hers were doing things to him.
Instead, she closed her eyes and let all the sensations flow through her, a liquid honey sliding through her body, making her forget about everything but now.
And then his fingers were doing something else, and she could feel her body was searching for something, and only he could make it happen, and then it hit, and she was lost—lost to everything except the explosion happening within her.
“Oh my God,”
she breathed, her whole body quivering.
He gave a satisfied chuckle, then placed a soft kiss on her neck. “I take it that is your first orgasm?”
he said, his voice low and intimate.
“Yes,”
she replied. “My goodness, that was lovely.”
He laughed, then looked into her eyes, his own eyes crinkling at the corners. “I appreciate how enthusiastic you are in your cleansing, my adventuress.”
When he called her that, it felt as though it was an honor, not a criticism. For so long Diantha had seen adventurousness or risk-taking as something to be avoided because of her family. But it wasn’t black and white like that; people could be adventurous without being foolish. It was just in how one approached it.
And he appreciated this side of her, a side that he’d brought out. She hadn’t known it was there, and it felt wonderful.
“My cleansing,”
she said. “Oh! I didn’t—”
and she wiggled her hand where it still lay, on his male part. “Do you want . . . ?”
He put his hand over hers again. “No, it is fine. It is more than enough to see your pleasure. Your cheeks got flushed, and you bit your lip again, and then you made a few exhalations. It was lovely to see.”
“But that hardly seems fair,”
she replied, even though she had just been thinking how unfair the other way was.
“It’s fine,”
he assured her. “It wouldn’t be practical now for reasons I can explain later.”
She nodded, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “We should—”
she began, then shifted herself upright, pulling her sleeves back on and patting her hair, since she knew it had likely fallen loose from its pins.
He sat up as well. He wasn’t as disheveled as she was, but he looked slightly untidy. His hair was mussed, but it only made him look more dashing, darn him.
“Mesopotamia was quite a satisfying experience, wouldn’t you say?”
he asked, a cheeky grin on his face.
His wit made her feel instantly comforted, and she returned his smile. “Absolutely. I do think, however, that we are slightly more alive than the person who would normally be in here.”
Noticing his puzzled look, she added, “It’s a sarcophagus.”
“I am glad to have such a fount of information on hand,”
he said, and he sounded sincere, not mocking.
She nodded, then twisted so her back was to him. “Do me up, please?”
she asked, and his hands went to her buttons.
He was adept at it, and she wondered how often he had done the same thing with other women. Though, his having done all of this before made what had just happened between them possible. If he hadn’t known just what to do, she wouldn’t have reached that remarkable height of passion. So she should be grateful he had an illicit past, since she was getting the benefit of his experience.
Soon they were both as respectable looking as they would get without mirrors and servants, and he unlocked the door, pulling it open and glancing around before beckoning her forward. “Nobody’s here,”
he said, and they left, striding quickly down the hallway.
She would never again be able to think of Mesopotamia without blushing.