Chapter 4 #3
He was a slave to the slick glide of her lips and tongue. He could not get enough, especially when her fingers tightened in his hair and tugged him closer still. Her arms rose up and locked around his neck, pulling him closer with surprising strength.
He lifted her clear off the snow with one arm and, in one stride, had her back against the broad trunk of a nearby tree.
Another moan rose from her throat, low and hungry, as his bared chest met her bodice.
His free hand swept down her curves, mapping every gentle shift of skin and finding them more tempting than any fantasy.
She arched into him when his palm cupped her breast, and he drew her flush against the hard evidence of his need.
He had never touched a woman after the change, never felt skin and warmth and willing softness while the beast prowled so close beneath the surface, never known such ravishing sweetness after the moon had loosed him.
His fingers dug into the swell of her bottom, lifting her higher so her thighs parted around his hips. Every curve under his roaming hands felt made for him alone. The scent of her arousal drove the beast wild with wanting. He pressed fully against her, pinning her gently but completely.
She pressed herself against him in response, her soft curves molding to his hardness as her tongue danced boldly with his.
Her hands slipped inside the open greatcoat, palms spreading over the bare skin of his chest, and the shock of her warm touch against his chilled flesh snapped him back to brutal reality.
He tore his mouth from hers with a ragged groan, stepping back as he gasped, “Forgive me, Miss Hale.”
Yet even as he forced distance between them, the sight of her pink lips, flushed cheeks, heaving bosom nearly tempted him again. Her eyes were full of want, mouth still partly open, lips wet and swollen from his sucking.
He moved a bit further away to steady himself against the pull of desire.
The knowledge that he could still be wanted like this threatened to undo him entirely.
The need in him was immediate and primal, and he had to fight not to lose himself in her.
His pulse hammered. He could not remember ever wanting anything more.
She blinked, then seemed to recall herself, rapidly and nervously straightening the hair on the top of her head, then pressing her palms against her thighs. The flush on her face was crimson.
“I …” she began and faltered. “I am not …” She shook her head as if trying to clear it.
“I am sorry, Miss Hale,” he said, voice shaking. “That was unforgivable. I have no right?—”
“No,” she interrupted, cheeks still burning. “I … I liked it. I only—” She looked down at her hands, wringing them together. “I am a chaste woman, my lord. I have never …”
He understood, in a rush, and the shame nearly buckled his knees.
“No, of course,” he said, desperate to spare her. “I am sorry. It is entirely my fault. My … animal spirits overcame me.”
It was the truest thing he had ever uttered.
Animal spirits, indeed.
She laughed, a bright, raw sound, and he felt himself smile again despite everything. “You are a terrible liar for pretending I did not participate, my lord,” she said. “But thank you for saying that.”
He wanted to reach for her again, but knew that he must not. Instead, he reached for her hand. He took it in his, brought it to his lips, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, holding her gaze.
She trembled, but did not pull away.
He bowed his head for a moment. “Forgive me, Miss Hale. It will not happen again.”
Her eyes shone as they met his again. “I hope you are wrong,” she whispered softly, the sound of her seductive suggestion racing through his veins to settle in the region of his groin.
Still holding her hand, he smiled at her gently despite the overwhelming urge to sweep her into his arms and carry her to his bed. “You must say it was my fault alone, Miss Hale. I will not have you torturing yourself.”
“Oh no.” She searched his face, uncertain. “I could not.”
“I insist.” He shook his head, still keeping her hand gently captive. “Please … you must.”
Finally, she gave a small reluctant nod. “It was your fault, my lord.”
“Thank you.” Only then did he lift her fingers once more, pressing a lingering kiss to them that tasted of regret and longing. “You will understand if I do not offer you my coat, despite the cold?”
Verity gave a small chuckle, inclining her head as her gaze strayed to the bared column of his throat, which had no business being exposed.
Lucien smiled in response, releasing her other bow low, and turned away before he could change his mind, striding off through the snow, the coat flaring behind him.
He could feel her eyes on his back, could taste the memory of her mouth, and he knew that he should never allow himself this luxury again.
He would never risk her. He would bury the memory, and if it meant a lifetime of hunger, so be it.
Abandoning the path for a more direct route back to the root cellar, he shifted his focus, reminding himself of what he needed to do. He needed to find his clothing and command his body to calm down. He fought himself, not trusting himself to look back.