Chapter 11 #5
His face was carved in anguish. It pained her just to look upon him, for she could feel his suffering as surely as if she had started to bleed from within.
Whatever misdeed he had committed, it was torturing him to the depths of his soul.
His jaw was clenched with emotion, as if he feared that if he spoke or otherwise permitted it to relax, he might begin to weep.
The knowledge that he could feel such anguish over an act of which he imagined himself responsible told her that whatever it was he had done, it must have been a horrible accident.
And the guilt of it was destroying him.
“It’s all right, Haydon,” she whispered, reaching out and wrapping her arms around his enormous shoulders. “It’s all right.”
He didn’t know which surprised him more, the incredible wonder of her granting him forgiveness without even knowing the nature of his sin, or how swiftly his body reacted to hers.
She was pressing herself against him, her silky cheek buried against his neck, filling his senses with the sweet floral fragrance of her hair.
She held him hard and fast, as if she would absorb his pain and suffer it herself if she could, sharing her compassion and her strength, giving of herself and her seemingly endless ability to nurture and comfort and care.
He didn’t deserve her. He understood that.
He could not name a single act in his useless, self-absorbed existence that merited even a droplet of her tenderness.
And yet suddenly he wanted nothing less than all of her.
He wanted to cleave her to him so that they could never be separated, wanted her blood to course through his veins and his through hers, wanted their flesh and their souls to be melded as one.
He groaned and crushed his mouth to hers, knowing as he did so that he would not be able to stop, and not giving a damn.
He would see her safely home to Inveraray and then he would leave her, not knowing if he would ever return.
Until then there was only the softness of her gathered in his arms, with the keen, black cold shimmering on the streets outside and the apricot light of the oil lamps glowing warm upon her skin.
In that moment, she belonged only to him.
He lifted her into his arms and strode toward the bed, aware of the swish of silk and lace as he lowered her onto the feather mattress.
He swept his tongue hungrily through the dark heat of her mouth, tasting the sweet tang of champagne.
He tore off his jacket and yanked at the stiff fabric of his cravat, anxious to be rid of the bloody thing.
It unraveled quickly from his neck and then his shirt followed it onto the floor, baring him to the waist. Genevieve’s fingers fumbled at the buttons of his trousers, inadvertently brushing against the hardness of his arousal.
She abandoned the buttons to caress him through the finely woven wool, but the sensation of her stroking him through a barrier of fabric was too much to be borne.
With a groan Haydon pulled himself away so that he could peel off his trousers and stockings.
Finally he stood naked before her, all hard planes and sinewy curves, his body etched in the shadows and light afforded by the bronze ripple of the small fire burning in the hearth and the soft wash of the lamps.
Genevieve stared at him, her eyes flickering with carnal desire, aroused and unashamed.
She had opened herself to him before, had lain panting and writhing beneath him as he kissed her and licked her and thrust himself into the deepest recesses of her body.
Any virgin sensibilities she might once have cherished were long gone, lost to the tempest of the burning splendor they had already known.
She wanted Haydon with a desperate passion, wanted him touching her and covering her and filling her with himself.
Soon he would leave her and she would be alone again.
She had not understood the depths of her loneliness before, for she was always surrounded by her children and Oliver, Doreen and Eunice, caught in an endless blur of meals and lessons and housework and bills.
But Haydon had delved beneath the carefully constructed facade of her hard-won independence.
He had opened her heart and filled it with something that was brilliant and glorious and utterly agonizing.
He stretched out beside her and covered her mouth with his while his hands hungrily roamed the silk and steel barriers wrapped around her.
It had taken Alice well over an hour to carefully pull and tie and hook Genevieve into the intricate enigma of her gown, corset, crinoline, and petticoats, yet Haydon was expertly versed in the art of freeing her from them.
One by one the layers gave way and were tossed upon the floor, until finally she wore only her corset and drawers.
Her breasts swelled above the tightly molded constriction of her corset, giving her a lush, wanton appearance, and the fine French lace trimming her drawers had ruffled up to her thighs, at which point the soft opening to the delicate undergarment lay teasingly unguarded.
There was a dark sensuality to the fact that she remained clothed in her intimate apparel while he was utterly naked.
She could see his desire for her in his magnificent erection and in every hard curve of muscle covering his body.
As he stared at her with hunger, she sensed her power over him as the object of his lust.
She rose to her knees and pulled at the pins in her hair, releasing her elegantly arranged coiffure into a glossy cascade of coppery waves.
Then she leaned over and placed her hands firmly upon his shoulders, pinning him to the bed as she lowered her mouth to his and swept her tongue inside.
Haydon growled with pleasure at her unexpected dominance of him.
Emboldened by this, she pulled her mouth away to trail kisses upon the rough skin of his cheek and jaw, then down the thick column of his neck to the massive granite of his chest. She nibbled and swirled her tongue in tiny circles as she explored him, taking the dark medallion of his nipple into her mouth and suckling hard, then grazing across the valley of his chest and teasingly flicking her tongue over the other one.
His skin was warm and faintly salty, and he smelled clean and distinctly male, a woodsy, spicy scent that enlivened her senses as she pressed her cheek against the ebony hair on his belly and inhaled deeply.
He reached for her and tried to pull her up to him, but she pushed his hands away and boldly continued her forbidden exploration.
She stroked the narrow swath of hair that grew beneath his navel, then brushed her fingers against the black curls surrounding his straining manhood, causing him to flinch and shift restlessly upon the bed.
The memory of his previous torture of her came flooding back, and the thought that he might endure the same kind of scorching pleasure that he had inflicted upon her enhanced her desire.
Her lips pressed gentle, teasing kisses along the iron muscles of his thighs, which tensed like massive tree trunks as she touched them.
Her fingers roved the flesh of his inner thighs, then slid lightly over the rounded ballocks between, causing him to draw a sharp intake of breath.
And then her mouth was skimming ever so lightly across the taut length of his arousal, her lips flitting over the warm velvet skin like the wings of a butterfly.
Haydon swore.
Genevieve hesitated, wondering if perhaps she had caused him pain. And then she remembered how desperate she had felt the first time his tongue had flicked into her coral wetness, paradoxically afraid that he would continue and terrified that he would stop.
Aroused by her newly discovered mastery over him, she took his erection in her hand and flicked her tongue across the tip, licking at him as if he were some delectable sweet that had to be slowly savored.
Haydon froze, unable to so much as release the breath that was trapped within his chest. She flitted her tongue over him again and again, thoroughly excited by her ability to pleasure him with such intensity.
And then she opened her mouth and surrounded him with its hot wetness, causing him to groan in torment and grasp at the rumpled blankets beneath them.
Up and down she moved along the throbbing shaft, sucking gently, using her lips and her tongue to pleasure him as her hand caressed his ballocks.
He reached for her thighs, found the opening between the delicately woven linen of her drawers, and his fingers slipped inside her aching cleft.
Slick dew seeped over them as he caressed the swollen petals, which were full and slippery from the incredible eroticism of being in control of his pleasure.
Genevieve moaned and parted her legs wider, opening herself to his swirling exploration as she sucked and stroked him harder.
He pressed a finger deep inside and began to move it in tandem with the rhythm she was inflicting upon him.
Finally she could bear it no longer, for the need to be filled by him was overwhelming.
She straddled his hips and positioned herself over him, barely grazing his arousal with her hot, slick wetness.
Then she laid her hands flat against his chest and planted herself upon him, sheathing him in silken heat.
Haydon groaned and drove his tongue deep into her mouth, tasting her as fully as he could.
Genevieve broke the kiss so she could loom over him as he thrust into her, stimulated by the sight of him lying naked beneath her, knowing nothing of the world beyond that moment and the exquisite ecstasy she was giving to him, and he to her.