Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Draven
The Aerie
Charlotte’s Bedroom
He looked at her hand holding his, amazed. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had casually reached for him. Touched him without hesitation. All their touches that day had been initiated by him. She had never flinched from him, but she hadn’t reached out for him either.
Until now.
His lips still tingled from the wormwood-tainted kiss. He wanted nothing more than another.
“I cannot,” he said.
Her cheeks darkened with a blush, and she dropped his hand. “My apologies. That was forward of me.”
His darling, sweet bunny. He reached out to cradle the side of her face. “I appreciate a companion with appetites. Believe me, I’d like nothing more than to stay and taste you, but the wormwood in your system means I cannot.”
Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed. “How long will it remain?”
“A day, depending on the dose.”
“You shouldn’t touch me if I’m hazardous to you. My apologies.” She started to pull away, but his hand moved to the back of her neck, holding her in place.
“I risk exposure from fluids: saliva, perspiration, blood. Skin on skin is fine.” Before she could apologize about the kiss, he said, “The kiss was worth the risk. Do not apologize for what we both enjoyed. You did enjoy it, correct?”
“I did,” she said, her voice breathy. “I enjoyed it so much that I hoped we could continue.”
“I like that you are bold, sweetness.” His hand moved up, his fingers digging into her hair and knocking more of it free. He wanted to see her with her curls down and tousled from passion. “Rest assured, when it is safe, I will feast on you.”
Charlotte shivered and sighed as if the idea appealed. Judging from the spike in her heart rate, it more than appealed. It aroused.
“Until then, let me see you. Touch you.”
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Take your shoes off,” he ordered. She complied, stepping out of the slippers and pushing them aside with a stocking-clad foot.
He circled her, admiring the firelight’s warm glow as it flickered over her face and the fabric of the dress.
“As fetching as your gown is, I want you out of it,” he said.
Standing behind her, he slowly opened the row of buttons down her back. Inch by inch, the fabric parted, revealing the white cotton of her shift and the laced back of her stays. Modern fashion had entirely too many layers. With the gown undone, he pushed it off her shoulders. The rich fabric fell to the floor in a puddle. He unlaced the stays, being careful not to tug impatiently and tear the garment.
The final layer between him and his bride was a thin, gauzy fabric. Charlotte raised her arms as he pulled it over her head.
She twisted, perhaps to watch his reaction, one arm over her chest in some misguided act of modesty.
“Do not cover yourself,” he said, pushing her arm away. “There. Much better.”
Firelight kissed her skin, highlighting the curves he could not wait to explore. To hold. Her stomach was soft, her chest generous, and her hips perfect for grabbing. Violet ribbons tied around her thighs kept her stockings in place. The silver metal of the dagger glinted where it was discreetly tucked into the stockings. A huntress.
With a soft chuckle, he removed the blade. Charlotte tensed, expecting retaliation for the hidden weapon.
He said, “Relax, sweetness. It is a fine dagger and a finer place to keep it.”
Shadows hid where her thighs touched. He wanted to part them, to kneel at the feet of his huntress and worship but held himself back.
Charlotte’s posture relaxed, slowly blossoming as he admired her. She licked her lips, chest rapidly rising and falling.
“One last thing,” he said, fingers twitching with the need to unpin her hair. “Let down your hair.”
She followed his order. Dark curls tumbled down, firelight gleaming red on a few strands.
He gently tucked a lock behind her ear and leaned in to whisper, “Perfection.”
She gave a breathy sigh as he pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear, then shivered as his lips traveled along her jaw and down the curve of her neck. He licked and kissed, feeling her pulse thrum just under the surface. Heat radiated from her.
His arms wrapped around her. She was soft, but he felt the strength in her body, generous and giving, as he pressed her against him. She responded so favorably to his touch with no hint of revulsion. Only need and hunger. The temptation to bite was almost too much to bear. A desperate part of his mind tried to reason that one sip would not kill him. The poison would slow his reaction and dull his senses briefly, an acceptable price to pay if it meant tasting her.
He nearly gave in when she moaned as her pulse just beneath her jaw fluttered under his tongue.
She’s attracted to monsters.
The monster within him howled to sink his fangs into her tender skin, gorge himself on the taste of her, and drink his fill, damn the consequences.
“Do you like monsters, Charlotte?”
“I like this one.”
“Show me.”
Charlotte
“Show you?” Charlotte asked. Wasn’t she exposed enough?
She should be embarrassed, standing naked and brazen in front of Draven, but his gaze held her firmly in place. In this light, his eyes were scarlet. It was…Oh, for all the books she’d read, she didn’t have the correct words. Intense, yes. Hungry, very. Appreciative. Mesmerizing. Adoring.
There was nowhere else she’d rather be.
“Show me how you touch yourself,” he said. “Show me how to please you.”
He steered her toward the bed. Charlotte gladly followed. The sheets were cool against her overheated skin as he laid her down.
He licked her throat, groaning with want. His lips drifted down to the valley between her breasts. His tongue explored the heavy swell of her before circling her aching nipples. She gasped at the sensation when he took the tip into his mouth, his touch as cold as the winter air.
She arched her back and grabbed his head, knocking loose the ribbon that tied it back. Pale silvery hair cascaded upon his shoulders; the silken strands escaped through her fingers, like trying to catch moonlight.
Draven raised his head, the expression on his face feral. The mask of control had slipped and offered a glimpse of the monster under his elegant facade.
He licked his lips and pulled her to the edge of the bed. His hands rested on either thigh, on the patch of exposed skin above her stockings. “Let me see. Open your legs.”
Charlotte was out of her depth. She enjoyed everything they’d done, but she was a novice being played with by a master. Briefly, she regretted that she had read more historical memoirs than sordid novels. No one spoke like Draven did outside one of those books. What experience did she have? A few hasty tumbles—fully clothed, by the way—and what she gleaned from the memoirs of Captain Beckford.
The captain had been frank about her love life—quite the scandal to a young Charlotte—and how much she enjoyed sex but never explicit. Sex happened in euphemisms and between entries.
What would Captain Beckford do?
Tell her lover what she wanted, often in tantalizing detail.
“I shouldn’t be the only one undressed,” Charlotte said, rising on her elbows. “I want to see you too.”
“Is that so?” he asked in a reserved, cool tone. The mask was back on.
“Yes,” she said, unable to explain the pangs of disappointment she felt. Draven was controlled. Safe. Not a wild, hungry fiend. “It only seems fair.”
With his hands still on her thighs, Draven pulled himself up until he loomed over her, and leaned in until their noses nearly touched. There it was, the flicker of the monster in his eyes.
Charlotte gulped.
“Never let it be said that I ignored a lady’s request.” He pushed himself to his feet. His tone was imperious, but his grin was sinful.
Charlotte sat upright, tucking her legs up alongside herself, as she watched him remove his coat, carefully fold, and drape it over the back of a nearby chair. The coat’s cut was not the most modern, too long and unfitted, in the style popular thirty years ago, and Charlotte could not believe that the most gorgeous being she’d ever seen was undressing in front of her and she was thinking about fashion.
The firelight warmed the stark white of the cotton shirt and picked out the golden threads of his waistcoat. That item quickly joined the coat. His gaze never left her as he undid the buttons on the shirt’s cuffs, then the buttons on the front. Each small movement of his thumb and forefinger exposed more and more skin. Soon—but not soon enough for her liking—the shirt was gone. He crouched down to remove his boots.
He stood before her, astonishing with his sharp and dangerous beauty that was impossible not to notice. Firelight gave a soft golden glow to his otherwise pale skin. His hair hung well past his shoulders. A prominent bulge at the front of his trousers stole her attention.
“And the trousers,” she said, absolutely burning to see the bulge.
“Those stay on.” He stalked forward until his legs bumped into the edge of the bed frame. He planted his hands on either side of her and leaned in. He kissed the tip of her nose in an oddly intimate gesture, like they were familiar lovers and not two veritable strangers driven by lust. “Just for tonight. I don’t trust myself to resist all this temptation.”
He climbed into the bed, settled with his back against the headboard, and arranged her to lay against him with her back to his chest. His skin was cool to the touch, causing her to tense. He pushed her hair to one side, exposing her neck, and peppered her with kisses there.
“Comfortable?” he asked, murmuring in her ear.
“Yes.”
She relaxed into his hold. He caressed and squeezed her, appreciating the shape of her. His hands stroked her thighs, particularly the top of her stockings.
“Now, my sweet bunny, show me how you touch yourself,” he said, positioning her thighs so they draped over his own.
Charlotte was open and exposed like she had never been before.
“Take your time, sweetness,” he said, one finger stroking the length of her neck. Soon he had her breasts in his hands, gently cupping and brushing his thumb over her nipples.
“I’m not sure—”
“Let me help you.”
He guided her hand down her stomach until she cupped the apex of her thighs. Her curls were damp, and her folds parted easily for herself. She gave herself a lazy stroke, his hand hovering just over hers.
Somehow this was easier without Draven looking directly at her. Yes, he peered over her shoulder, but she doubted he could see much over the swell of her breasts or the bulk of her belly. Other than the unusual pillow behind her, this was no different from all the other times she had explored and pleasured herself. Soon she fell into a familiar rhythm, circling the sensitive nub and plunging a finger into herself. Her hips lifted and her thighs trembled, wanting to squeeze together. His strong hands kept them open.
Charlotte pushed against the solid bulk of him, her head falling back against his shoulder. He pressed his face into her hair, whispering encouragement. How sweet she looked. How delicious the little noises she made were. How he couldn’t wait to taste her, to feast on her.
Warm, tingling pleasure spread throughout her. She chased the sensation as the intensity ratcheted up. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. He was cold behind her, making her skin pebble, and she wanted his hands everywhere. She pushed against him, feeling his hard member press against her bottom. Her thighs trembled, and she lifted her hips, so close to release. She needed more, and she needed it harder. She cried in frustration, on the edge.
His hand covered hers, pushing down for extra friction.
Charlotte gasped, her body all at once quaking and a warm, boneless mess. She sagged against him, grateful for the coolness of him against her overheated skin.
Draven lifted her hand and licked her fingers. He groaned like it was the best flavor he’d ever experienced. Not it. Her . Like she was the best.
“Aren’t I poisonous?” she asked.
He hummed in agreement, his tongue swiping across his lips. “A little taste won’t kill me, and I rather enjoy the tingle.”
“What about you? Should I—” Charlotte twisted in place. She might not be terribly experienced, but to only see to her pleasure and ignore his seemed frightfully rude. Manners mattered.
“Sweetness, you are a temptress.” He removed her spectacles and set them on the bedside table. “I can wait. Try to sleep. You’ve had a busy few days.”
“Will you stay?” she asked. While there were a great many things she had not experienced in life, sharing a bed was the one she longed for the most.
“Until you fall asleep.”
She didn’t voice her disappointment, but it must have shown. Draven added, “I don’t require much sleep and I have duties to attend to.”
It would have to do.
“In that case, can you hand me the nightcap there?” she asked.
Draven passed her the silken bonnet, which she affixed over her hair to protect against tangles. Once done, they shifted on the mattress until Charlotte curled against his side, her head on his chest. Warm and floating on what they had done, Charlotte didn’t think she’d fall asleep.
She was wrong. Her eyes grew heavy. Draven’s heart was a slow, steady beat. Not fast, but regular. One beat for every three breaths she took. She counted them out until her mind finally quieted.