Chapter 49 #2
She heard his swallow. “Yes.”
“You had no plan to ruin me when you returned.”
“No. I just… needed you to be safe.”
Eliza steeled herself for her next question. “Why didn’t you ruin me? That first night in the garden—I was already fallen. If you had been a little louder, a servant would have seen. Or after your match? I would have gone with you anywhere.”
“In the garden, I didn’t know it yet, but it was already too late. And after the match—our kiss? That was the moment I understood I couldn’t go through with it—that I couldn’t hurt you like that. In truth, I had probably failed the moment you called me dull-witted during our first dance.”
“Why?” she asked, though she knew the answer in her heart. Eliza could not resist tracing her fingers along the length of Benedict’s arm to cup the cheek not buried in her shoulder.
Benedict turned to drop a gentle kiss on her palm. As it always had, it set her heart aflutter. “Because I love you.”
“You do?”
His hair brushed along her cheek as he nodded.
“For a long time, I thought I was incapable of love. It was a fantasy for other, foolish, people. But you— Every touch of your hands, every kiss has healed some piece that was broken inside. And once you’d put enough of me back together…
Well, it turns out I am capable of loving you, quite desperately in fact, though not as you deserve. ”
“Benedict,” she whispered.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me right away—not ever, in truth. But, Eliza, when I thought you were…” His arms, still banded about her, tightened as he pressed his chin tighter into her shoulder.
She could take it no longer. Eliza pulled away. Benedict’s sound of protest was instant.
She spun and threw one leg over his, then the other, before scooting closer. His hands fell to her hips, clutching her tighter.
He dipped his head, seeking the crook of her shoulder—the place she was now beginning to understand was his—where he felt safe. But she needed to see his eyes. She caught his cheeks between her palms. Benedict met her gaze, his open and guileless.
“Say it again,” she whispered.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me—”
“No,” she croaked, shaking her head. “The other part.”
His eyes softened, searching for something in her own, before he spoke.
“I love you. No deceit, no tricks, no ulterior motives. Not because you’re an easy target—you’re quite the opposite—but because you make me feel safe and seen in a way I didn’t even know was possible.
And if you ever decide to give me a second chance, I will spend every breath ensuring you feel the same. ”
Eliza’s gaze dropped to Benedict’s full lower lip. Her own longed to be kissed by him again. Needed more.
“Eliza?”
“Yes?” she replied, trailing her gaze up to meet his.
“Tell me, please, do I have any cause to hope? Have I lost your affections forever? Is there any way to prove to you that my feelings are genuine?”
“Benedict, you nearly died to save my father. A man you swore to destroy.”
“We’ve reached an understanding,” he said with a shrug.
“So I’ve seen.” The words bubbled out in a quiet laugh. “I do believe that rescuing my father from certain death may mean that I’ll forgive you anything.”
His eyes widened, studying her before narrowing once more. “You forgive me, but your feelings have changed?”
“I thought they had. I thought I had given you up. I thought I didn’t know the real you.”
“But?”
“Was it part of your scheme to share your whiskey with me?”
“No,” he laughed.
“To punch a man on my behalf? Or to listen to me prattle about plants and bees? Did you intend to throw rocks at my window or to tell me about bringing weeds to your mother? Was it a scheme when you ripped open your wounds in your rush to reach me—twice? Did your plan require that you walk through fire to save me?”
“No, I never could have planned for you, Eliza.” He tucked a curl behind her ear as he brushed a thumb along her cheekbone. There was nothing but honesty in his expression, no hint of a bluff.
“And the next time you kiss me, will that be a lie?”
“Kissing you is the most fundamental truth of my life.”
“I do know you. And I know I cannot let you go. Even when I wanted to hate you, I could not.”
Benedict’s forehead fell to hers, his eyes slipping shut.
“So it would seem that I am in love with you. I am choosing to forgive you. Like your home, we can rebuild into something more, better, forever.”
No sooner had the last syllable left her lips than Benedict claimed them. Eliza’s heart soared. Just as he had for their first kiss, he pulled back too soon for Eliza’s liking. His dark lashes fluttered up as he searched her face.
Eliza was not content to wait and see if he would stop with such a polite caress. She leaned back in, knowing without a doubt that he would catch her—come to her—always.
Each time they had danced together, it had felt as though they had been partners for years, she and Benedict, and this kiss was no different. The give and take, the back and forth, was instinctive between them. Her hand trailed down his cheek to rest against his neck.
Benedict pulled away again, resting his forehead against her shoulder. He swallowed, throat bobbing beneath the tips of her fingers. After a breath, he pulled back, trapping her gaze.
“Are you certain?”
Her heart cracked. She could see the little boy beneath the question, so desperate for affection. And then there was the man, so certain he’d lost her forever that his head refused to believe any evidence that he hadn’t.
“Yes,” she whispered, her head bobbing.
It seemed the second assurance was all he needed.
His lips crashed onto hers as a powerful hand clutched at her nape, trapping her there—though there was nowhere she would rather be.
Benedict’s heart thrummed beneath her palm, matching her own beat for beat. The hand that had lingered around her waist chose that moment to trail up the loose silk of her robe and tighten around her rib cage.
He ripped his lips from hers with a gasp. “We should stop.”
She held his cheeks. “Don’t stop. You almost died yesterday—I almost died—without ever knowing what it would be like between us.”
“You want to—”
“Feel you inside me, yes,” she supplied, pleased with the steadiness of her voice despite the thrilling combination of nerves and lust.
“Eliza, if we do this, you’ll never be rid of me. I cannot give you up.”
“Good.”
He moaned, lips slamming back onto hers as his fingers tangled in the ties of her robe.
“I’ll be so good for you,” he muttered as he pulled away again, grazing her jaw with the edge of his teeth. “Everything you want.”
She knew what she wanted, and her fingers reached for the buttons of his trousers.
Benedict caught her hands between their bodies. “This is about you,” he whispered along the line of her neck.
“I want it to be about us.”
“But—”
“Let me explore, Benedict.”
Wide eyes with blown pupils met hers. Benedict’s lips parted. “Tell me what you want,” he panted.
Eliza swallowed her nerves. “If you lay back, will it hurt?”
“I promise you I am incapable of experiencing pain in this moment.”
Satisfied, she luxuriated in the feel of her palms tracing the planes and lines of his chest. And then, ever so gently, she pushed him to the ground. He was far too strong for her to direct without his cooperation.
“May I— I think you’ll like something,” he said, eyes beseeching.
When she nodded, his hands found her waist, and he raised her off his thighs before setting her down directly overtop his hardness still trapped beneath his trousers. The press of his thick ridge between her thighs drew a gasp from her.
“Good?”
She nodded. “So good.” Eliza returned to her exploration, luxuriating in the expanse of smooth skin, dusted with dark hair. Then her fingers bumped up against his breeches. “I would like some clothing off, though,” she added, tugging on the waistband.
“Anything,” he agreed. Between panting breaths, he tipped his chin toward her. “Your chemise?”
“That too.”
Permission granted, he dragged the soft cotton up and over her head, her curls spilling over her back.
“Eliza,” he groaned. “How are you even more beautiful than you were in my mind?”
It seemed this was a rhetorical question because he stole her breath when he surged forward, his lips claiming her breast.
“Most perfect breasts in this world,” he murmured as he switched from one nipple to the other. Every one of his touches fueled the arousal blooming low in her belly. And his words… they left her near insensible.
His hand slid along her spine before reaching her bottom. “And this arse…”
“Benedict…”
He hummed, lips too contented with her bosom to be parted from it.
“I want you to take your trousers off.”
That phrase seemed to penetrate his lust-addled head. His lips lifted off her nipple with an obscene pop. The sound sent her hips rocking against his member.
“Yes, yes.” He lifted her briefly before depositing her lower on his thighs. A dampness had bloomed from her, leaving a patch seeping into the fabric of his breeches. He grumbled, “Fucking soaking me… drowning me…” while his fingers fumbled at his falls.
When it seemed his fingers were incapable of cooperation, she batted them away and managed the buttons herself. He froze, eyes locked on her fingers working to free his member from between her splayed thighs.
Eliza undid two buttons before his gaze drifted to hers. “You are so damn beautiful. How are you real?” His hands reached up to cup the swell of her breasts and pinched both nipples.
She could no longer restrain a laugh. “Benedict,” she giggled. “If you cannot assist me in freeing your… appendage, you must at the very least cease distracting me.”
He stared up at her for the space of a single blink before his laugh joined hers. “Appendage?”
“Well, I do not know what you call it. Male organ seems too clinical. Hardness too vague.”
“Male organ?” he teased, a smile settling on his lips. “Say cock, Eliza.”
She waited until she had his gaze. Once she was certain of his attention, she slid her hand inside his unbuttoned breeches and wrap it around his “cock.”
His back bowed as his eyes fluttered shut. Breath escaped him in shuddered pants as she slowly, curiously explored his cock.
“Knew it,” he muttered. “Knew you would be so sweet with me.”
“Are there… What other words do you like?”
Benedict straightened up, sliding a hand along the outside of her thigh as he pressed his chest to hers. “You may call it an appendage if you wish—anything so long as you keep doing that.” The sentence trailed off with a groan as she twisted her wrist.
“Tell me. What words do you use for me?”
“Goddess,” he supplied, using one hand to sweep her hair from her shoulder. Soft lips trailed down her neck to meet her shoulder. “My violet.”
“Benedict…”
“Breasts, I prefer breasts,” he said, drawing a teasing finger down the teardrop line of hers. “It’s the perfect word to describe such luscious, supple skin.” His free hand trailed teasingly down her spine. “Arse, bottom, my handhold,” he smiled through the last one, grasping a cheek.
And then his fingers abandoned her breast to palm down her belly and cup her mound. “Quim, cunny, cunt.” Benedict’s middle finger slid along the folds of her cunny. She practiced saying it in her head. He passed over the little nub at the crest, earning a gasp. “Button, notch, pearl, clit, mine.”
He urged her down onto her back. His nose trailed along her belly as she lowered.
And then, without the slightest hint of warning, he spread her quim open with one hand, his lips closing around her pearl.
Generously, he gave her one entire second to accustom herself to the overwhelming sensation before he slid a finger inside her channel.
Her hands fell to his hair as her back arched off the bedroll. “Benedict!”
Thoughts abandoned her as he worked her higher and harder than ever before. Already, her abdomen was tensing in anticipation.
Benedict rolled a shoulder, urging her leg over it. Even in her insensible state, she fought to remind herself to lay it along his side—to avoid the tender flesh of his back.
Strong fingers clasped her thigh, dimpling the flesh as he feasted.
The first time he’d done this, he’d been cocooned, muffled under layers of skirts. Now though, she could hear it all. Every indecent slurp, every lewd groan drew a whine from her.
“So good,” she panted. In response, Benedict sucked her button tighter, thrusting his fingers in harder. Dimly, she sensed him grinding his hips into the blanket beneath him.
One hand was still tangled in Benedict’s hair, but the other wandered to her nipple, tweaking it in a poor imitation of his touch. Her vision dimmed at the edges, the world narrowing to their sweat-dampened bodies.
“You’re so good to me,” she murmured.
The sound that escaped his chest was animalistic—the vibrations delivered to her clit. Her toes curled along his side, her hand fisting harder in his hair, twisting her nipple.
Sound and vision abandoned her, leaving only the physical sensations of Benedict’s worship. He feasted on her cunny, half feral even as her back bowed and she thrust into his face wantonly.
He nipped appreciatively against her nub, at the same time he gave her a second finger.
The last of her sense was devoted to crying his name as the tension snapped and she left this earth.