Chapter Seventeen
Hours later, I’m tossing and turning in bed.
I’m holding my wrist over my head, moving my bracelet in the moonlight as I think of Simon.
We didn’t get to talk much tonight, but our few hidden moments are fresh enough in my mind that I feel them on the top layer of my skin.
The teasing touches. The whispered words in my ear.
I want to lean into them, but I can’t. I’m so fidgety that I roll onto my back with a groan.
I try to take soothing breathes to clear my head.
They don’t work. I know there’s only one thing that will cure my pent-up energy, but I haven’t done that here. Not yet at least.
I tilt my head over and Theo isn’t anywhere in sight.
He must be sleeping in his favorite chair in my sitting door.
Reaching down and under my blanket, I run my fingers up the top of my thigh over my nightgown.
The material dances across my agitated skin, and just when I begin to bunch the hem up to find what I’m after, there’s a quiet knocking on the door.
I instantly sit up, but I don’t move otherwise.
My ears strain to decipher if the sound was the wind or an actual knock.
I hear it again a moment later, and I cross the room knowing that I probably shouldn’t.
It could be anyone at the door. The king might have come home early.
Mistress Marshall could have decided she hates me again and is here to murder me.
My curiosity still wins out, and I open the door by the smallest degree.
Simon is standing outside, and I swing the door wide in shock. I have no idea how he got past the guards and into my apartments, but as I frantically look behind him to see if anyone’s around, the outer room is completely vacant.
“Lady Rochford snuck me in,” he says. “I told her I had to see you.” I shake my head and pull him into my room, shutting the door behind him.
I don’t know if I’m more stunned by the fact that he’s here or that Lady Rochford was the one who got him here, but I’m in a near daze as I take in the sight of him.
He’s wearing just his britches and a white linen shirt.
His cheeks are rosy, and his breathing is faster than normal. He’s just as restless as me.
“I know I shouldn’t be here,” he says. “I know it in my mind, but when I try to stay away, I feel pulled back to your side and I have to find you.” He takes my hand and pushes it against him, over the thrumming of his heartbeat. “Whatever this is, I’ve not felt it before. Do you feel it?”
“I feel it,” I tell him.
An endless beat goes by as we stare at each other. My chest is tightening, and I slip my arms around his neck, drawing him down to me and pressing my lips to his because if I don’t, I might implode.
Our kiss is a balance of need and fear. We know the consequences, but they’re not here now.
We’re trying to keep our feet on the cliff, but we’ve already jumped.
His tongue steals inside my mouth to collide with mine, and when he gathers me against him, I can feel the heat of his skin in a way I haven’t before.
The material of my nightgown is hardly a barrier, and the thin shirt that he’s wearing allows me to uncover every sculpted muscle.
I pull at the hem of his shirt, ready to lift it up and off him when he stills my hands and leans back.
“Lily, wait.” He’s breathing hard. His pupils are dilated. It takes real restraint to not launch myself at him again, especially after he’s called me Lily.
“Are you sure about this? About me?” he asks.
His question makes me want him even more.
“I’m very sure,” I answer.
His mouth edges up in a smile, and it sets a warm floating feeling through every inch of me.
I lean in, anticipation sparking as his hand catches the back of my neck and pulls me forward.
His lips move over mine with uninhibited recklessness and the world goes quiet.
It’s just us now. Fever dream or real life, it doesn’t matter.
All that matters is that our bodies are finally pressed tight, straining and clawing as we race against time, even as we try to make it go on and on.
His mouth plunders mine, and I groan at the sensations it sets loose inside me.
I tangle my hands into his hair, tugging at the roots, and he lets out a small hiss.
His hands shoot down to clutch the fabric of my nightgown, bunching it at my waist in a rough, urgent grip.
The cold air blows across the bare skin of my ass, and he fills his hands up with each round cheek.
I feel so exposed, and I want more. A swirling breathlessness sweeps through my abdomen when he squeezes hard and lifts me from the floor, and a moan rises from deep in my throat.
Simon swallows it down with a grunt and grips me harder as my legs wrap around his waist.
I shimmy down and move closer, already able to rub the hard length of him where I want it the most. He twitches inside his britches and lifts an arm to grasp a handful of my hair, tipping my head back. “I have dreamed of this. You have no idea how much.”
I think I do, but I don’t say it. Instead, I slip down again, dragging myself over him in a slow, torturous churn of my hips. He blinks his eyes closed and takes a labored breath. When his eyes open, they’re deep-set with fire and barely managed restraint.
His hand tightens in my hair. “Don’t rush this, Lily. We are going to take our time.”
I wasn’t aware that I wanted to die via a heart attack instigated by dirty talk, but apparently I do. I don’t say anything. Only take his hand from its hold on my hair and press it down between us to slip along my too-ready entrance.
There’s a wolfish edge to his smile as he walks the room to gently place me down on the bed, flat on my back.
He steps as close to the mattress as possible, gazing down at me as my shift stays gathered halfway up my body.
Trailing the tips of his hand past my knee, up the outside of my thigh, and delicately between my legs, he leans down on one arm as he slowly slips a finger inside me.
He circles and stretches the walls of my folds, and I push my head back hard into the mattress.
“Tell me you were made for me,” he whispers, curling his finger and bringing his face close to mine.
“God, yes,” I answer, lifting my hips and forcing him deeper.
“I was made for you.” His thumb slides up in a small circle, thrumming around my clit, and my stomach clenches.
I’m trying very hard to keep still, but it’s starting to feel impossible.
Simon is still hovering over me, watching me with measured dominance as he works me with his deft fingers.
This isn’t how I usually am in sex. I like to be on top.
In control. In this moment, I feel almost completely at Simon’s mercy.
I need to get the upper hand, and as much as it pains me to do it, I ease his fingers out from my soft flesh.
Pushing up against him, I climb onto my knees, bringing us close to eye level.
I keep my gaze trained on his as I reach down, pulling my nightgown up and dropping it to the floor at Simon’s feet.
His eyes trail my body, so focused and intense that I can almost feel him under my skin.
“Tell me you were made for me,” I say in a hushed voice, feeding his own words back to him.
He takes a beat. “I was. I’m yours.”
I take his hands and pull them to me. Two of his fingers are still wet as I draw his palms to my now-bared chest. Simon’s stormy eyes flick to mine as he massages my breasts.
His thumbs brush at my nipples and an icy-hot shiver races through me, settling right at my core.
The more he teases me, the more he seems bewitched, almost in a dream.
“You’re overdressed,” I tell him.
He shifts a hand lower to the underside of my breast, propping it up higher as he dips down.
He sucks the peak into his mouth, and I swallow hard to stifle a groan, tilting my head down to watch him.
He turns his attention to my other nipple, giving it the same ravenous attention before looking at me again.
“I’m afraid you’ll disappear if I take my hands from you.”
His words shock me into momentary silence as my skin starts to tingle.
“I can help you.” My voice is barely above a whisper, but Simon hears me.
He only draws his hands away when I take the bottom of his shirt and lift up, pulling it fully over his head.
I place it down onto the mattress beside me, paying no attention to where it falls because I’m too busy taking in the sight before me.
I always knew that Simon was toned, but the truth of his perfectly developed muscles is another thing completely.
I run my fingers across his skin as I watch him in a near daze.
“You’re very beautiful,” I murmur. “But I’m sure you already know that.”
“The only thing I’m sure of is how much I want you.”
My hands ghost down his stomach to pull at the strings of his britches. “Show me how much.”
I hear his breath catch, and as I look up into his eyes, the fire is back.
The one that promises to consume me, and I’m ready to go up in flames.
I’ve only just got his pants open when he hooks his hands behind my knees, pulling my legs out from under me so that my back hits the bed.
He pulls his bottoms off with deliberate slowness before he leans forward, covering my body with his as he nudges me up the mattress until my fingers can reach the headboard.
Simon pushes onto his arms, caging me in as he gazes down at me. “You are just as I pictured you,” he says. “The world could burn, and I wouldn’t leave this bed.”
He kisses me like the world really is burning, and I’m not leaving this bed either. My head spins, and my legs wrap around his hips to pin his weight against me. So much for my staying in control.