Chapter Two #2
I don’t look up from the horseshoe I’m inspecting. “We’re closed for the day.”
“I know.”
My hands freeze.
That voice. That particular cadence with its careful enunciation and undertone that sounds almost like defiance.
I turn, and there she stands in the doorway—Maddy. Alone. In my forge. In the fading light of early evening, without a chaperone, maid, or anyone to protect her reputation.
She’s dressed in a powder-blue day dress, her golden hair slightly tousled, as if she’s been running. Her cheeks are adorably flushed and her breathing quick.
For a moment, I can’t speak; I can only stare at her as if she were a ghost, conjured from my own longing.
She closes the door behind her and steps further into the forge.
“Why didn’t you ever write to me?” The words come out like an accusation, like something she’s been holding inside for years.
I open my mouth, but then close it again, unable to find any words that will make sense.
“I waited,” she continues, her voice trembling with emotion. “For months after you left the manor, I waited for a letter. Something, anything, that would tell me you remembered me. That what had happened between us mattered to you.”
“Maddy—”
“And nothing came.” She moves closer to me, and I can see the tears gathering in her eyes. “It’s been six years, Tommy. And nothing. So, either you forgot about me entirely, or you chose not to write. Which is it?”
I set the horseshoe down with shaking hands.
“It’s improper,” I say, the words sounding hollow, even to my own ears. “A letter from me to you would have been discovered. Your reputation would have been destroyed. Your family would have—”
“So, you’re protecting me.” Her voice is sharp and bitter. “By pretending I never existed. By acting as though you never loved me.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Then what are you doing?” She steps closer, searching my eyes.
“Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you moved on.
Like you got over it. Like I was just a childhood infatuation that didn’t survive the distance.
” She halts. Her breath catches. “Did you think of me?” she asks, her voice soft and vulnerable. “Even once?”
I close my eyes before opening them again and looking directly at her.
“There hasn’t been a moment when you weren’t consuming my every thought.
” The words come out like a confession, like a wound that won’t stop bleeding.
“Not a single day. Not a single hour. I’ve carried you with me, Maddy.
Every breath I take, you’re there. Every time I close my eyes, I see your face. ”
She makes a small sound, as if I struck her.
“Then why?” Tears spill down her cheeks now. “Why would you push me away when I came to the forge? Why would you act as though I meant nothing to you? Like you didn’t remember me?”
“Because it was the only way to protect you.” My voice is rough, broken. “You are to be married. I can’t be the man who compromised you, who gave him ammunition to destroy you.”
She closes the distance between us, desperation in her eyes. Her hand reaches for my chest, for my heart. “You didn’t have to let me go.”
“How are you here?” The words come out strangled.
“I excused myself from my family’s party. I said I needed air. They were distracted; they barely acknowledged my departure. I have perhaps an hour before they realize I’m gone.”
An hour.
My entire body goes taut. Every muscle locks. Every nerve catches fire.
“Maddy, you can’t be here. If anyone sees you—”
“No one will.”
I can see the trembling in her hands, the way her breath catches. She’s terrified yet determined.
“I had to see you. I couldn’t … I couldn’t wait any longer.
I’m marrying Alister in three weeks,” she says, the words tumbling out fast. “In three weeks, I’ll be Lady Sullivan, and I’ll never have this chance again.
I’ll never have you again. I need to know what it feels like to feel, before it’s too late. ”
The forge suddenly feels suffocating. The air is too thick.
“Maddy—”
“Don’t tell me to leave.” She runs her hand up my chest. “Please. I know it’s improper. I know it’s wrong. I don’t care. I came here to be with you. Properly. Before the world takes me away.”
I should send her back. Should tell her to return home and forget this foolishness. Should protect her reputation, her future, her soul.
But I’m a coward, and she’s standing in front of me with hope in her eyes and desperation on her face. I’ve loved her for so long that the pretense of resistance crumbles.
My hands find her face. Her skin is warm, soft, and impossibly delicate against my callous palms. She grabs my shirt, pulling me flush with her.
“Are you certain?” I ask, searching her eyes for any hint of doubt. “Once we do this, there’s no taking it back. You understand that?”
“I understand.” She rises on her toes. “I want this. I want you.”
I give in.
My lips consume hers. It’s not gentle, but how could it be? Years of longing pour through me. She tastes sweet from whatever treats she must have had at the party. Her hands grip my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll pull away.
I won’t.
The kiss deepens as her mouth opens for me, and I take what I’ve wanted for longer than I’ve had any right to. My hands slide down her neck and across her shoulders, pulling her closer until there’s no space between us.
She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat that completely unravels me.
“Come with me,” I murmur against her lips. “My room is through here.”
She nods, breathless.
I keep one hand on the small of her back as I guide her through the forge to the modest room where I sleep. It’s sparse—a narrow bed, a washbasin, and a single window overlooking the street. It’s nowhere near fine enough for her.
But she doesn’t hesitate. She steps inside and turns to face me as I close the door.
“I’ve never done this before,” she says, her vulnerability in that moment nearly stopping my heart.
“I know.” I move toward her slowly, giving her time to change her mind or run away. “I haven’t either. I’ll be gentle. I promise.”
She reaches for the buttons of my shirt with trembling fingers. I stand still and let her undress me, aware of every place her hands brush against my chest and abdomen. When my shirt falls away, she stares at my body as if she’s trying to memorize it.
“Your turn,” I say softly.
I begin with her sleeves, pulling them down over her shoulders. The dress is intricate, buttoned at the back, and I work through the fastenings with patient fingers. She stands still, her eyes focused on my face, her breathing shallow.
When the dress finally falls away, she’s left wearing only her chemise. The linen is thin, and I can see the outline of her body beneath it. The curves I’ve only dreamed about.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her, meaning it with every fiber of my being.
She blushes deeply, but doesn’t look away. Her hands move to her undergarments, and I catch them gently.
“Let me,” I say. “Lie back on the bed.”
She obeys, and I remove what remains of her clothing with reverence. Now she is bare, completely vulnerable, and she trusts me with that vulnerability.
I settle beside her, stroking her arm, her waist, her hip. Letting her adjust to being touched.
“Tell me what feels good,” I say. “Show me what you like.”
She’s quiet for a moment, her chest rising and falling with each breath. Then, one of her hands slides down her body. My hand follows, and my eyes stay locked on the movement as she guides my fingers between her thighs.
“Here,” she whispers, and her breath catches as my fingers brush the sensitive core of her.
I take in her expression as I touch her, see the way her eyes close and her mouth opens, the flush spreading across her ample chest and graceful neck. Her nipples pebble as she arches against me. She’s so responsive, so eager, and I’m hardening just from the sight of her pleasure.
“I want to watch you,” I say, trying to hide the shakiness in my voice. “Will you touch yourself for me? Show me what feels good?”
She hesitates for a moment before moving her own hand between her thighs. Her fingers work deliberately, and I settle between her legs and stroke myself languidly as I drink her in. The intimacy of this moment, being allowed to see her this way, undoes me.
Her breathing quickens. Her back lifts slightly off the bed.
“That’s it,” I murmur, running my free hand up her soft thigh. It trembles under my grasp. “Don’t rush. I’m right here.”
She gasps as her pleasure peaks, her body going rigid. “T-Tommy!” She cries my name as an orgasm overtakes her.
I crawl over her quickly, my mouth tasting the flesh of her stomach, her left breast and right, before moving up to her open mouth and swallowing each of her gasps and cries.
When our mouths part, she sighs, “What was that?”
“Just the beginning, my dove,” I whisper against her full lips. “You did so well.”
Her bright blue eyes stare at me, glazed over with pleasure. “More, Tommy,” she pants. “I need you. I need it to be you.”
“Guide me,” I ask, my voice rough. “Show me where you want me.”
Her hand finds my hardness and positions me at her entrance.
I look into her eyes one more time. “Ready?”
She nods, her lip caught between her teeth.
I push forward inch by torturous inch, giving her time to adjust to me. She gasps, her fingers digging into my shoulders, and I pause.
“Hurt?” I ask.
“No.” Her voice is small. “Yes, it’s … a lot. Give me a moment.”
I wait, my jaw clenched with effort, buried inside her. Her body relaxes around me, and she nods.
I begin to move. Carefully at first, watching her face for any sign of pain. But there’s only pleasure there, and need, and the same desperate love that’s been burning in me for so long.
She begins to meet my thrusts, her hands stroking my back, my sides, her mouth finding my neck. I bury my face in her golden hair and lose myself in her completely. I’ve never felt like this before, and now that I have, with her, how could I ever experience it with another?
“Ah!” I gasp in pleasure as her teeth rake over my neck.