Chapter 33 #2
He moved closer with deliberate care, watching for the slightest sign that she wished him to stop, as though approaching something both fragile and immeasurably precious.
When she did not retreat, he raised his hand and touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
The gesture was reverent, almost worshipful.
Her skin was warm beneath his knuckles, and the pulse at her throat fluttered wildly.
“I am sorry,” he whispered. “For the letter. For making you believe that what passed between us meant less to me than it did.” His thumb brushed beneath one shimmering eye. “Nothing has ever meant more.”
He reached for the ribbons of her mask and loosened them slowly.
When the mask fell away, he could only stare.
Her face was flushed with anger and hope, her lashes damp, her mouth soft and slightly parted.
She was not merely beautiful. She was beloved, and the knowledge altered every feature he had once thought he understood.
“Will you do me the honor of allowing me to court you?”
“Court me?” she repeated, almost breathless.
“Yes. Properly. Publicly. With marriage as my intention, if I can persuade you to trust me again.”
Her expression wavered. “You cannot say this merely because another man wished to touch me.”
“I say it because the thought of a life without you has become unbearable. Beaumont merely forced me to stop deceiving myself about it.”
She searched his gaze for a long moment. Then her hand rose and settled against his chest, directly over his heart. He felt the delicacy of her palm and beneath it the faint tremor she tried to hide.
“Your heart is racing,” she whispered.
“It has not behaved sensibly since I met you.”
A broken laugh escaped her, half sob and half wonder. In her gaze he saw fear, longing, and a love so naked that it brought him close to his knees.
“Darcy,” he murmured. “I love you.”
Her fingers curled into his shirt, not to push him away but to hold him there.
He was quite aware that Darcy had not agreed to his courtship, and Sebastian knew he had much to do before he regained her trust. He lowered his head and touched his mouth to hers with exquisite care.
There was no conquest in the kiss, no demand.
He kissed her as though asking forgiveness with every slow press of his lips, as though her mouth were something sacred entrusted to him.
Darcy trembled and then leaned into him, one hand sliding to his nape while the other remained over his heart.
The answering tenderness in her undid him.
Her thumb stroked the vulnerable place beneath his ear.
When her lips parted beneath his, it was trust she gave him, and he felt the magnitude of it in every quiet touch.
He drew her closer, his hands moving over her with reverence.
One settled at the curve of her waist; the other traced the line of her spine through the sheer silk.
He learned her anew beneath his palms, not as a body he desired, though God knew he desired her, but as the woman he loved.
Each shiver, each breath, each small movement toward him felt like an answer.
Darcy drew back only far enough to look at him. Her eyes were still wet, yet fierce resolve had returned to them. She touched his face, tracing the hard line of his cheek and the shape of his mouth.
“I love you,” she whispered, as if the truth frightened her even now. “I am still angry with you, but I love you.”
Sebastian closed his eyes and turned his lips into her palm. The admission entered him like warmth after a long winter. “You may remain angry for as long as you please.”
“Even when you’re courting me?”
His eyes opened. Hope struck so sharply in his chest. “Especially then.”
Her smile was small, trembling, and devastating.
She rose onto her toes and kissed him again.
This time desire unfurled through the tenderness.
Their mouths met more deeply, but the rhythm remained slow, sensuous.
Sebastian gathered the blue peignoir in his hands, feeling the silk glide over her thighs.
He paused before lifting it farther. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” she said, holding his gaze.
Fierce and vulnerable, furious and loving, she was every contradiction that had ever enthralled him.
Sebastian lifted her into his arms, and she wrapped herself around him willingly, her mouth finding his as he carried her toward the bed.
He laid her upon the coverlet as though placing something precious upon an altar, then stood for a moment simply looking at her.
In the firelight, the blue silk framed her softness, her dark hair spread across the pale linen, and her eyes held his with an intimacy more provocative than nakedness.
He bent over her and kissed her brow, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.
His lips moved down the graceful line of her throat while his hands followed slowly, learning the rise of her breasts and the inward curve of her waist. Darcy’s fingers entered his hair, not urging haste, but holding him close.
Each time he lifted his head, her gaze met his, and in it he felt her love as surely as he felt the caress of her hands.
He eased the peignoir upward.
She was bare.
“Christ…” he rasped.
A rough breath escaped Sebastian, but he did not surrender to impatience. He kissed the inside of her knee, then higher, taking his time, teasing her pussy with soft kisses until her breathing grew uneven and her body softened beneath him.
“Sebastian,” she whispered on a moan.
He pushed himself from the bed and stripped away his clothing, intensely aware of her gaze moving over his nakedness with undisguised admiration.
When he returned to her, Darcy opened her thighs to welcome him between them, then reached for him.
Her hand slid between their bodies and closed around his cock with a boldness that made his breath break.
He was already hard, already aching with a need that bordered on pain.
Yet Darcy moved her fingers slowly, exploring rather than merely arousing, her gaze holding his as if she, too, were learning the body of someone cherished.
Sebastian braced himself on one elbow and covered her hand with his. Together they guided his cock lower until the head rested against her pussy, and he felt the slick, undeniable proof of her desire.
Sebastian groaned. “You are already so wet for me.”
A soft flush filled her cheeks. “I want you,” she breathed.
Darcy tilted her hips beneath him.
The invitation nearly undid him. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her as he pressed forward, entering her inch by careful inch. Darcy’s lips parted beneath his on a soft gasp, her fingers tightening against him as he sank deeper, until at last he was fully seated within her.
The sensation of her, warm and tight around his cock, was exquisite, but it was the tenderness of her hands and the trust in her gaze that truly undid him.
For a moment, neither moved. Their foreheads rested together, their breath mingling, his body buried deeply within hers. Her hands roamed over his back, his shoulders, the tense muscles of his arms, touching him with a tenderness that made something ache beneath his ribs.
Sebastian kissed her again. Slowly, he drew his hips back and pushed into her once more.