Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
He held her a long while in the library before either of them spoke again. Amelia stood with her cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and felt something in her chest finally loosen after a month of careful, guarded distance.
"I have missed this," she admitted quietly, into the fabric of his coat. "More than I wanted to admit, even to myself."
"I have missed you completely." His hand moved slowly along her back, careful still, as though relearning the shape of what he was once again permitted to touch. "I do not wish to presume anything further tonight, Amelia. I meant what I said, whatever comes next is yours to choose."
"You are not presuming." She drew back just enough to look up at him, and found his face open in a way she had come to treasure, no careful composure standing guard over it at all.
"I have chosen, Sebastian. I have watched you become a man I recognize again, over these past weeks, and I find I no longer wish to hold the distance between us simply because I am afraid to trust it. I love you too."
Something shifted in his expression, hope breaking through carefully, and he lifted a hand to her face, slow, giving her every chance to step back.
She did not. His thumb traced the line of her cheek, tender in a way that felt entirely different from the hunger of their first stolen moments, more careful, more deliberate, a man relearning something he had nearly lost rather than simply wanting it.
He kissed her slowly, his hands framing her face as though she were something rathermore fragile than she actually was, and Amelia let herself sink into it, into him, feeling the careful distance finally dissolve into something warmer than she had known to hope for.
When he lifted her into his arms, she went willingly, wrapping herself around him as he placed her on the mahogany desk.
He undressed her slowly, reverently, pausing at each new expanse of skin as though relearning her by heart, his mouth following the same unhurried path his hands traced, and Amelia arched into every touch, understanding, with each careful, deliberate press of his lips, that this was not merely desire but apology, gratitude, promise, all woven together into something larger than either alone could have carried.
"You are so beautiful," he murmured, against her collarbone, "and I very nearly threw away the chance to ever say so again."
"You did not throw it away. You are here."
"I am here," he agreed.
He kissed her again, with the same careful restraint he’d been showing, and Amelia found herself suddenly impatient with it. She had asked for distance when she needed it, but she did not need distance now.
She caught his coat in both fists and pulled him closer.
“Stop being so careful with me, I will not break.”
Something changed in his expression. “Are you certain?”
“Entirely.” She drew him down to her. “I want you.”
His mouth found hers, rougher and hungry, with all the desire he had been holding back.
His teeth scraping her lower lip before his tongue pushed past, claiming her with the same intensity he used to take her.
Amelia moaned into the kiss, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
He moved into her slowly at first, and her breath caught as her body yielded to him, the familiar fullness almost overwhelming after so long apart.
The library around them—the scent of old books, the faint creak of the desk, the distant tick of a clock—all of it drowned out by the sound of their bodies meetingand the ragged gasps that tore from her throat.
Amelia’s back arched against the desk, the cool wood a sharp contrast to the heat of his hands.
Her thighs trembled around his waist, slick with sweat that coated them both.
She felt every thick, hard, and pulsing inch of him pushing inside her, stretching her with slow, deliberate thrusts that made her breath hitch.
And she clenched greedily around him, pulling him deeper, desperate for more.
"Harder," she begged, voice raw, hips rolling up to meet his.
He answered with a growl, driving into her with brutal, perfect rhythm.
Each thrust punched the air from her lungs, her breasts bouncing with the force of it, nipples tight and aching.
She felt his length drag against that perfect spot inside her, over and over, until her vision blurred and her thighs shook.
Her bud throbbed, swollen and sensitive, every brush of his pelvis sending sparks through her core.
Tears slipped down her temples, not from pain but from the overwhelming rush of being so completely taken, so thoroughly known. She could feel him everywhere, his breath hot against her neck, his fingers bruising her hips, his cock buried so deep she swore she could feel him in her belly.
"I love you," she gasped again, the words breaking on a sob. "I love you, I love you—"
He slammed into her harder, the desk scraping against the floor, books rattling on nearby shelves.
Amelia’s orgasm crashed over her like a wave, her core spasming around him, milking him as she cried out, loud and unrestrained.
Her whole body shook, pleasure ripping through her in sharp, electric pulses.
He followed her over the edge, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural moan, flooding her with hot, thick heat that leaked out with every final thrust.
They stayed locked together, panting, foreheads pressed close, hearts hammering together.
Amelia felt the tremor in his arms, the way his body curved over hers like he couldn’t bear to let go.
She wrapped her legs tighter around him, holding him inside, feeling every twitch, every drop.
The vulnerability was terrifying, but the raw, aching intimate connection was everything.
She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to lose this feeling of being so utterly, completely his.
His forehead rested against hers, his breathing gradually slowing as he looked at her. Then he kissed her once more, softly this time, with none of the desperation that had marked the moments before.
"I love you," he said, low, against her mouth."All of you. Not the version who wins arguments. Not the duchess London expects. You, Amelia, exactly as you are."
"I love you too," she managed, her own voice breaking on the words, as he picked her up tenderly and carried her to his rooms where they lay afterward tangled together in the quiet dark, her head against his chest, his hand tracing slow, absent patterns against her bare shoulder, both of them entirely at peace in a way that felt, finally, earned rather than merely given.
"Whatever comes next," Sebastian said, quiet, into her hair, "I do not intend to face it without you standing beside me."
"Good," Amelia said, smiling against his skin, feeling, for the first time since the ball, that the marriage they had built out of scandal and obligation had finally, properly, become something else entirely. "Because I do not intend to let you."