17 #2
He smiled and came close to her. Her breath hitched in her chest as he took her wrist in his hand, wrapped the object about her wrist, felt side in, and twined the ribbons about, tying them securely. Still she looked at it uncomprehendingly.
“It’s to protect your wrist,” he said gently. His fingers, still cradling her hand, caressed the tender skin just beneath the cuff. “You can scratch and pick at this canvas to your heart’s content, all without damaging yourself.”
Her gaze jerked up to meet his. “But how?.? .? .? ? Who?.? .? .? ?”
His gray eyes twinkled. “I am not without talent,” he drawled, before his expression turned sheepish. “Though I did have my mother instruct me on much of its assembly.”
“You made this yourself?”
“I did.”
The breath left her in a rush. She looked back to the cuff again with new eyes, taking in the slightly uneven edges, the carefully placed stitches, the green ribbon that somehow was the exact shade of her eyes.
“You made this,” she whispered, tracing her fingers over it. “For me.”
She looked at it for a long moment, unable to do anything but. When he spoke, his voice was tight with uncertainty.
“Do you not like it?” And then, the words coming fast, “I know it was presumptuous of me, and it is not the most elegant article. But every time I saw you damage your wrist it hurt me as well, so I wanted to fashion you something to protect your skin, especially after the kindness you did for my mother in gifting her the oils for her hands. If you don’t like it or if it’s uncomfortable in any way you can throw it in the rubbish heap?. .? .”
She stepped forward then, winding her arms about his waist. He froze beneath her touch.
“This is quite possibly the nicest gift anyone has ever given to me,” she said into his lapel through a throat tight with tears.
He exhaled, the warmth of his breath stirring her hair as his arms encircled her. “It was nothing,” he murmured into the crown of her head.
She looked up at him. “It is everything,” she countered.
His gaze was soft as it caressed her face, his hand gentle when it came up to cradle her cheek.
He looked at her a long moment, appearing as if he wanted to say something.
Instead, he lowered his head and kissed her tenderly.
Their lips moved in slow concert with one another, breaths mingling, as if they both wished to savor it.
And she did want to savor it, this heat building between them, how perfectly they fit against one another, how very right this felt.
How could someone you had not known a fortnight turn your life on its head so completely?
How could someone you thought was your enemy turn out to be the very center of everything?
He pulled back, the barest hairsbreadth, his eyes searching hers, asking some unspoken question that she nevertheless heard deep in her soul.
And she answered it, rising onto her toes, pressing her lips to his once again.
It was like a spark set to dry kindling, the sweet tenderness from a moment earlier gone in the face of a raw, untamed passion.
There had been a time when she was a child, when she had been so focused on the latest botanical book her mother had acquired that she had forgotten to eat all the day long.
Even through dinner she had ignored her food, preferring to read the weighty tome.
When the time had come for her to go to bed, however, and she finally looked up from her reading, she had been so famished she had cried for the cramps twisting her stomach.
Her mother had brought her a large slice of cake, and she had devoured it.
To her, it had been the most delicious, the most decadent bit of food in all creation.
Kissing Oliver felt like that, his mouth covering hers and their tongues tangling and their breaths mingling.
She felt as if she had been starved all her life and had been given a veritable buffet, had been parched for the past decade and could now drink her fill of the sweetest, headiest wine.
His arms crushed her to him, his hands splaying across her back before bunching in the fabric of her gown.
She twined her arms about his neck, arching up into him, her body vibrating with need.
How was this not close enough? Her breasts pressed flat against the wide breadth of his chest, their legs tangling in a search for something more.
And there, jutting into her stomach, the proof of his desire for her.
She shivered, opening her mouth on a gasp as heat flared in the juncture of her thighs.
He took advantage of it, trailing his mouth across her jaw to the sensitive spot just beneath her ear.
Her eyes rolled back as her head listed to one side to give him better access.
He obeyed the silent plea, his mouth opening warm and wet against her skin, teeth scraping, tongue caressing.
He bent over her, his large body easing her backward.
One large hand splayed over her back to steady her as his mouth moved down the column of her throat, while the other hand came up to cup her breast. She whimpered as his thumb rubbed over the stiff peak, arching farther up into his touch.
His low, desperate moan rumbled against her throat just before his fingers hooked in the edge of her bodice and pulled, exposing her breast to the air for the barest second before he drew the tip into his mouth.
Never in her wildest fantasies had she imagined the intense pleasure that could be wrought by such an act. Oh, she had known that the breast could incite incredible physical responses in men and women alike, on both the giving and receiving ends of stimulation.
This, however, went beyond anything she could have dreamed.
It was as if there were a glowing golden string connecting her breast to that place between her thighs, and each tug of lips and caress of tongue could be felt there, turning it molten.
Her fingers dived into his hair, tightening in the thick, silky strands, urging him on.
He complied, drawing her nipple deep into his mouth, making her cry out and clench her legs together to try to relieve the pleasure and pain there.
“Oliver?” she panted, somehow knowing he would understand the question in the one tortured word.
And he did. Immediately his arms swept beneath her, cradling her against his chest, pulling her close.
He strode to the door, turned the key in the lock, then just as quickly made his way across the room to the low couch there.
He lowered Iris to sitting, dropping to his knees before her.
But he did not fall upon her and renew his attentions.
No, he paused, hand cupping her cheek, eyes blazing with fire but also something gentler, something that tugged at her heart as his gaze caressed her features.
“You are certain?” he rasped.
She blinked blearily up at him, confused. “Certain?”
“That you wish to continue.” When she didn’t say anything, simply stared uncomprehendingly at him, he went on, the words faster, his expression somehow more tender. “Iris, I want to make love to you, more than anything. But I will stop if you wish it.”
Realization blossomed. Why did that statement make her want to cry?
Was it because her late husband had never asked permission in the short time they were together during their ill-fated marriage, just taken what he’d seen as his?
Or was it because she had never expected to receive such respect for her own desires?
Whatever it was, it changed something in her, shifting her preconceived thoughts that she was undesirable, that she could never deserve something like this because of her oddness.
Here was a man who not only wanted her but was willing to stop if it was not something she wanted herself.
“Don’t stop, Oliver,” she choked out. “Please.”
The carefully banked fire in his eyes flared.
“Thank God,” he breathed before his mouth descended to hers once more.
But while his mouth stayed glued to hers, his hands were everywhere.
Skimming over her breasts, her torso, moving up to knock the pins from her hair, then down across her back, her hips, down the length of her legs.
And then he was reaching for the hem of her skirts, pulling them up, up, so slowly up.
The feel of his fingers trailing over her stockinged leg, reaching the edge of her garter, then giving up on her skirts and curling around her bare thighs even as he moved higher, higher toward that place that burned for him made her fairly wild.
Suddenly needing him to touch her there more than she needed to breathe, she reached between them, grabbed his hand, and spreading her thighs, pressed it to the core of her.
He tore his lips free, pressing his forehead to hers, his harsh, uneven breath fanning her face. “Iris,” he managed, his palm hot against her, fingers searching and finding the center of her through the thatch of curls there. He shuddered. “My God, you’re so wet.”
She opened her legs wider and pushed against his hand, fingers still curled around his wrist. “Wet and very achy,” she whispered.
He let out a sound that was half laugh, half groan, both sounding incredibly tortured.
“My God, Iris, you are the most amazing woman I have ever met.” And then his mouth was back on hers and he was slipping his lean hips into the cradle of her thighs.
In the next moment he had the fall of his trousers undone, and the hot, smooth, incredibly hard length of him was pressing into her.
When he paused once more, however, Iris found she was done waiting.
Closing her fingers around him, she wrapped her legs about his hips and guided him into her.
He groaned, the desperate sound filling her mouth even as his member filled her body.
His hands found her bottom, holding her while he pushed fully into her.
There was a delicious stretching, made so much more wonderful when he began to move in slow strokes.
She clung to his shoulders, whimpering into his mouth as each thrust stoked the fire within her, making the flames burn hotter, brighter.
That feeling persisted, growing in strength, making her wild with need.
Just when she thought she would go mad from the tension, wanting to cry out her frustration at not being able to find that elusive thing her body was searching for, he gripped tighter to her bottom, tilting her ever so slightly, bringing him even deeper.
She broke apart, every cell in her body exploding out before coming back together again, only to be overwhelmed by the reverberations of pleasure that washed over and through her in an unending wave.
Just when she felt them begin to recede he tensed, shouting her name as he tore his mouth free.
And then he gripped her tight to him, pressing his face into her neck as they both fell to earth in each other’s arms.