Fifteen
Her lips formed a soft “oh” and her eyes took on the hazy otherworldly quality of a Botticelli angel.
Nate was willing to wager none of that artist’s models had smelled so intoxicating.
Her unique scent wove itself around his insides and threatened to turn him into a kneeling supplicant.
Anything to be near her, to breathe her in, to—
She leaned over and blew out the candle. “I want you too, Nate.”
With a low groan, Nathaniel gathered her into his arms. His mouth closed over hers. He’d been holding his breath, waiting for the answer to his unspoken question. This was too much to hope for. He didn’t deserve her.
And she certainly didn’t deserve what he was about to do to her. She was meant to be royalty. He was about to steal more than her maidenhead. He was stealing a crown.
He couldn’t let himself think about that. Especially not with the way she pressed her lips against his neck and then under his jaw. Gently, her mouth touched, featherlight, beneath his ear, and then softly in front of it where the knobby protrusion of cartilage met his cheek.
“Whatever trouble you’re in with that devil of yours, it’s not your fault,” she whispered, then continued to plant soft kisses on his temple, first on one eye, then the other.
He’d meant to ravish her, but instead he grew still beneath her tenderness.
Her face hovered before his for a moment. Her long hair, which she’d neglected to braid for the night, trailed down on either side of her face, a fair, slightly curling nimbus. She was as disheveled an angel as he could wish. An angel he was bound to ruin.
He closed his eyes.
“Look at me, Nathaniel Colton.” She put both hands on his cheeks, willing him to open his eyes. When he looked at her, he feared she saw his soul, shimmering black. In her clear-eyed gaze, he saw her soul as well, radiating healing and a benediction for his tortured conscience.
If she only knew.
She pressed her lips gently against his. It was a kiss sweet enough to make cherubs weep.
“It’s not your fault.” Georgette kissed him again, deeper this time, parting her lips slightly in invitation.
He was quick to answer her, slipping his tongue in to explore her delectable mouth.
Finally, she pulled away and to his utter surprise, she slipped off her wrapper and laid down on the banquette.
His heart threatened to batter its way out of his rib cage.
Nate lay down beside her, his body snugged next to hers. He kissed her slowly. If he was going to ruin her, the least he could do was make sure she enjoyed it.
Then he released her lips and traced his fingertips from the part in her hair, along the edge of her brows, and past her temples.
He buried his hand in her hair, holding her immobile.
Lightning flashed outside, and in the brief moment of illumination, he caught a glimpse of Georgette.
Her eyes were shining and her lips softly parted.
It was a look of utter trust.
Thrusting his conscience aside, he bent to kiss her again.
But she turned her head shyly, so his lips grazed the corner of her mouth.
He left a trail of moist kisses over her jawline, and down her neck, lingering in the soft hollow at the base of her throat.
His lips hovered lightly at the lacy edge of her night shift.
Her breathing hitched.
His hand traced the same path his mouth traveled, lightly skimming the surface of her silky skin.
Teasing and circling, he occasionally dipped beneath her shift to stroke the upward curve of her breasts.
One tug on the lace bow at the center of her neckline was all it took.
The knot gave like a cowardly sentry, surrendering without a fight.
He found her mouth once more, as one by one he undid the tiny buttons that held her night shift closed.
Slowly, his fingers grazed her breasts as he laid back each side of her shift, baring her upper body to the navel.
Goose bumps rippled across her skin. Nate laid his head on her soft shoulder, sending his warm breath swirling over her exposed flesh.
Her breasts rose and fell in little hitching breaths.
He rose up and looked down at her. Her breasts were perfect, her nipples drawn up into hard knots. He planted a soft kiss on one. She quivered a little, as if in anticipation of where he’d touch, he’d kiss, he’d taste next.
She inhaled sharply when his hand settled on her flat belly, his long fingers splayed as though claiming her. Slowly and smoothly, his hand traveled upward, over her navel and rib cage, and came to rest in the sweet valley between her breasts, his thumb cradled under one of them.
Beneath his palm, Georgette’s heart hammered like a small, wild creature, freshly captured and terrified. He nuzzled one of her breasts, taking the nipple gently between his teeth. A tiny gasp escaped from her lips.
“Georgette,” he said huskily. He stroked the underside of her breast with his thumb in small, unhurried circles. His conscience was back and bearing a hooked barb this time. It poked at his soul. “This is your last chance. Do you want me to stop?”
Georgette bit her lip, but she didn’t make him wait long.
“No. Don’t stop.”
***
Nate kissed her again as his hand closed over her breast, softly kneading and flicking her nipple with his thumb. Tiny jolts coursed through her with each thrum.
His mouth left hers and began a trek downward, his teeth grazing her collarbone on their way to her breasts. His lips, wet and warm, traced a lazy figure eight around and between the taut mounds. Then his tongue brushed her nipples in a leisurely series of whorls and flicks.
Georgette squirmed beneath him, her breathing ragged. She liked his mouth on her, but it only seemed to compound her problem. She still wasn’t sure what it was she needed him to do, but the need was so strong if he didn’t do it soon, she’d be reduced to pleading.
“Please,” she heard herself gasp, as she instinctively arched her back to thrust her breasts upward to him. The pounding storm outside the house paled beside the one building inside her.
Nate took her tender, swollen nipple into his mouth and sucked. Georgette moaned softly.
“Oh, yes.”
But with the ache in her breasts momentarily appeased, the pounding drumbeat began to build elsewhere. She was so empty. Then the heat began. It was as if a set of signal fires had been lit, one after another, till she was ready to burst into flames.
Nate’s hardness pressed up against her thigh through the thin fabric of her night shift. His body rocked slowly, raking his full length against her. His arousal was fresh kindling for her fire. A throb from the small folds between her legs answered his slow knock.
On top of the fire, now her whole world was growing wet and languid.
Nate’s hand began to roam again, this time rucking up her shift and running his palm along her thigh, up over her abdomen, and down the other leg.
Shivers of anticipation slid over her with each pass as his hand inched toward the inside of her thigh.
Almost without her volition, her legs parted, but he avoided her triangle of soft brown curls.
His long capable fingers danced ever closer, but never quite invaded her most sensitive, personal parts.
She ached so. Never in all her life could she have imagined wanting someone to touch her there, of all places. She couldn’t even feel shame over it. The raw need was so strong it drove out all those smaller, more virtuous urges like modesty and restraint.
She’d always wondered about the obscure wording in the marriage rite, the part about “with my body, I thee worship.”
This didn’t feel like worship. It was more like delicious torment.
A clambering riot of sensations raced through her, seething, demanding…what? If he touched her there, what then? Would she spontaneously combust this time?
She didn’t care. If he didn’t touch her nethers soon, she’d have to force his hand between her legs or die.
“Nathaniel.” She chanted his name over and over in a dazed whisper.
“Hmm?” His mouth left her breast long enough to make this vague inquiry before he transferred his attentions to the other stiff peak.
“I want—”
A shuddering moan slipped from her lips when he finally cupped her sex.
She couldn’t have finished that sentence if her hope of heaven depended upon it.
It was all she could do to force herself to keep breathing as he explored her slick wetness.
He tenderly eased the swollen lips apart to slide three fingers down the length of her moist cleft.
She cried out when his fingertip grazed that sensitive spot again. When his fingers returned to stroke it, a coil seemed to tighten within, like a watch spring being wound beyond the breaking point.
She arched herself into his hand. She was standing too close to a precipice, drawn inexorably to the edge, unable, unwilling to pull back from the headlong fall. Her hips rose and fell to meet his hand, urging him to stroke her.
Harder. Faster. Dear God…
Against her expectations, she didn’t erupt into flames. Instead she unraveled. The coil snapped and her entire body bucked with the strength of her release.
Pleasure radiated outward. It spread the length of her from fingertips to toes, flooding her with an ethereal sense of lightness and well-being. If Nathaniel hadn’t anchored her to the banquette with a leg hooked over hers, she might have floated right up to the library’s high ceiling.
When her breathing returned to normal, Nate eased himself on top of her, resting the bulk of his weight on his elbows. A flash of lightning brightened the alcove, and Georgette looked up into his face.
A lazy, self-congratulatory half smile tugged at his lips. Then he met her gaze with an intense look.
A knowing look, Georgette realized. Suddenly, the oblique biblical reference to the marital act rose in her mind. “And Adam knew his wife, Eve.” She’d always assumed the King James translators were being coy. Now the wording took on fresh depth. Nate definitely knew her now.
I’m going to have to start paying better attention in church.
There was no doubt Nate knew her body better than she did herself. All the secret places, her earlobes, her neck, all the shivery spots on her skin. He knew how to drive her beyond rational thought, beyond her wildest imaginings, beyond caring whether it was right or wrong.
He caressed her mouth with his, lightly nibbling her lower lip. His banyan, which had only been closed with a sash at his waist, was open now. Skin on skin, she felt him. His chest on hers, their breathing in rhythm. His belly on hers all warm. Him, hard and smooth, between her legs.
Surprisingly, the ache that had so recently been banished returned with a vengeance, sharper edged and still hungry. The empty void inside her whimpered to be filled. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down to feel the full weight of his body on hers.
“Easy, now,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He edged forward slightly, filling her opening snugly. Even though he was goodly sized and she ought to have felt a bit of maidenly dismay, she was so wet, there was no pain as just the tip of him entered. Instead relief washed over her. Relief to have him.
To hold him.
He took a deep breath and stopped his forward progress before more than an inch of his considerable length was inside her. A muscle ticked in his cheek and his eyes were squeezed shut.
Frustration raked her. Georgette rocked her pelvis in an effort to draw him further in. The throbbing had returned in earnest. She was sure he must feel the drumbeat, the heat, the infernal ache.
Why was he waiting?
Oh. Something wilted inside her. Anne.
She worked both her arms between them and pushed against his chest.
He rose up on his elbows and looked down at her, but still didn’t push himself all the way into her.
“Nate, I have to know. Did you and Anne ever…” She couldn’t finish the question, but she didn’t need to.
His mouth gaped and he blinked hard.
“I just…I just want you to remember that I’m not Anne.”