Prince of Hearts (29 page)

He surrounded her from behind, giving her no quarter, his body warm and solid against her back. He moved his lips to the nape of her neck in a whisper of a kiss, causing her breath to seize and the place between her legs to grow damningly hot.

She sank to her knees, and he came with her, catching her wrists in one hand, pulling them away from the lock. He turned her, and his other hand slid over her backside, pushing her hips firmly against his own, so that she could feel the hard prod of his erection at her belly. She gasped in outrage and despair as a tremor of pleasure spiked down her toes from their glancing bodies.

He tried to kiss her lips, and she arched away. "I'll bite you if you don't let me go this minute," she warned.

This did not act as a deterrent however. He seemed to grow even more against her belly, and his lips curled into a devilish grin that didn't reach his desperate eyes. "Please do."

With that, he released her hands and brought both of his to the front of her beleaguered dress. With one fluid motion, he ripped the material aside. She gasped as the cool air hit her bare flesh. She struggled to cover herself. He swatted her hands away and lowered his head, taking her left breast into his mouth. He suckled her, pulled her erect nipple taut with his teeth, sending a tremor of lust streaking through her body so fierce, so overwhelming, that the fight in her sputtered out.

She arched against his mouth on instinct, relishing the sensations he provoked, all of her resolve to never succumb to him again flying out of her head.

She felt his hands pushing the remains of her dress and corset down her body, stroking her skin as they went. Then they were under her skirts, tearing at her underclothes. At last his fingers found that perfect spot, already slick with fierce arousal.

They both gasped. He raised his head and met her glance. Lord, he was beautiful, his black hair tumbling over his brow, his clever lips drawn taut with his passion. Color stained his exotic, high cheekbones, and his eyes glittered wickedly at what he felt beneath her skirts, his breath becoming as labored as her own. As if he were as mindless with pleasure as she was.

Suddenly boneless, she fell back against the door, her back grinding against rough wood, and she gasped, more shocked than hurt. Sasha followed her on his knees, dragging himself up her body. He pulled her against him, insinuating himself between her legs, her crinolines and skirts tumbling about them.

The exotic scent of him invaded her senses, making her traitorous body want to melt against him, soak up his scent and his heat inside of her. He reached between them again and ran two fingers between her legs, causing her to quake.

His animal eyes bored into her as he stroked her. "Tell me to stop,
milaya
."

She couldn't form the words. He felt so good, she didn't want him to stop.

"Never stop, Sasha."

She felt him shiver at her words, saw his eyes turn nearly translucent with need. He groaned desperately, causing her heart to pound so hard against her chest it hurt. She burned like fire in her belly, arching into his hand, so near the brink already.

With fingers that trembled, he unfastened his trousers, lifting her higher against the door. Then with one stunning thrust of his hips, he was inside of her to the hilt, never taking his eyes off her. They both cried out helplessly, clinging to each other. It felt even better than before. Damn him. She still didn't see how he fit inside of her, but he did, and so perfectly that she wanted to weep.

He dropped his head back, the grimness fleeing his expression, a look of wonder taking its place. That she was responsible for it gave her a fierce, hot throb of satisfaction. He coaxed her hips down on his lap, filling her even more, then he stilled, as if he wanted to freeze them in that moment.

"I've been wanting to be here all morning," he whispered.

She couldn't disagree with that particular desire. Because as much as she'd fought it, she'd wanted much the same ever since she'd awakened to find him gone from the bed.

Her mind floundered as she tried to recall the thousand reasons why she should be anywhere but here, in his arms, joined together in the most inappropriate manner imaginable. She could not recall anything, as his lips were currently covering her face with sweet, hot kisses, as if attempting to memorize her face. He found her mouth and plied it into submission with tender insistence. His tongue tangled with hers.

Quickened desire, hot and incapacitating, stole through her limbs with his kisses. She’d lost her mind. Her body relaxed into his own, taking him further inside, to the edge of her womb. She felt so full of him, but it wasn't enough. She willed him with her hands and hips to move.

Breathing raggedly, as if remembering where he was, he drew back, nearly leaving her, and she whimpered in protest, following with her hips. He stopped her and held her in place as he thrust back inside of her, hard and swift, then did it again. It would be painful, if it didn't feel so good.

"I can't go slow," he breathed against her neck in anguish. "I want you now. Now." Then he licked her from the base of her throat to the tip of her chin, a gesture so erotic she felt the warmth of release already stirring in her blood. She cried out again and pressed closer to him, tilting her hips, opening herself to his thrusts in complete abandon. He drove into her, the power of his ardor slamming her against the door, nearly knocking the breath from her body. But she knew he wouldn't hurt her.

God help her, she liked the power of his body surging against hers, so much stronger, so much bigger. She liked the earth shattering strokes of his manhood within her. He would leave bruises from his hands, from the impact of their bodies coming together, but she didn't care.

"I can't wait. I can't ... Come for me,
milaya
," he whispered, pounding and pounding into her, his breath a frayed torrent against her throat.

She came for him. She fractured into a million, sizzling pieces, and for a moment in time her body and soul ceased to exist. He moaned and clutched her hard against him, shuddering from head to toe, the heated power of his own climax spilling into her.

"My God," she breathed, much later.

He held her close for a moment, caressing her with languid hands. "So sweet," he murmured. "So lovely. You make me feel so good, Aline. So young. You make it go away."

"What? What goes away?" she whispered earnestly.

He didn't answer. He buried his nose against her hair and breathed deeply, his arms tightening around her as if he'd never let her go. And she didn't want him to. She didn't think she could ever let
him
go. Not now.

At last, he moved away from her, repairing his clothes, his head bowed. But she could see enough of his expression to start to worry all over again. Their moment of respite had been too short. He looked ... ravaged. A thousand years old.

She shuddered to think what she must look like to his eyes. She looked down at herself. She was falling out of her torn bodice like some Seven Dials tart. She attempted to right herself, but she discovered her hands were shaking too hard.

He let out an anguished sound and reached out to help. She flinched without thinking, hating that he had to see her in such awkward disarray, and he froze, his hand halfway outstretched. When she dared to look at him again, her skin crawled at the pain in his eyes. Such utter horror. Such self-loathing.

She placed her hand in his to reassure him – though it didn't – and he pulled her to her feet, fixing her dress for her in silence, his movements mechanical, as if he didn't truly see what he was doing. She stared at his face, grim-set, anguished, as he set her to rights, every second that ticked by widening the chasm between them.

She wished she hadn't flinched. Somehow she knew that was a critical error. Not making love with him. Not
loving
him. Never that. But she
had
flinched, right at the end, as if he frightened her, and that had shattered him. She could see it in his eyes.

"I must leave you," he muttered. "I must let you go."

Her heart plummeted. She fisted her hands at her sides to keep them from shaking. "So you are finishing with me? Now? After what just happened? Have you lost your mind?"

He barked out a laugh. It sounded raw, dreadful. "Yes. Utterly." A pause. Another wretched intake of breath. "We both know I can never give you what you need. Go back to your bone-hunter, if that is what you wish."

So he'd finally accepted the fact that he had to leave her, just when she'd accepted the fact that
she
could not leave
him
. She'd laugh at the irony if it were at all funny. He spun away, rubbing at the scar on his chest. Why had he given up now? Now, when she could still feel the imprint of him inside her, the evidence of their love-making still wet on her thighs?

Finally the tears that she'd held back all morning started leaking down her face, all of the shame and frustration she'd tried to squash rising to the fore. She'd had enough.

"Is that it? You've got everything you wanted from me, already?"

He groaned and wrenched her against him. His eyes were blazing with a righteous fury.

"I got nothing I wanted!" he rasped. "I do not want to break you. I do not want to hurt you. But that is all I seem capable of doing. My love is a poison.
I
am poison."

She gazed at him, thunderstruck. She'd known that he cared more than he let on. But this ... this couldn't be true. "Sasha,
do
you love me?"

He didn't even hesitate, which was further shocking. He gave her a fierce, devastating look. "Yes, I love you, Finch," he said. “As much as a monster like me can love.”

Her heart soared at his words.

"I think I always have," he continued, causing her heart to quake. "And that is why I must go. I can't bear to hurt you any more than I have already. Look at what I just did to you. Against a
door
," he said with self-loathing.

"But it was glorious," she retorted.

He was momentarily speechless. He recovered enough to say, "Don't say such things, Finch. Say you'll be happy when I'm gone."

"I can't," she said through her tears. She drew a ragged breath and continued. She had to say it too. Just once. Just so he'd know. "I can't be happy when you're gone, because I love you too, Sasha. I love you, and I don't want to lose you."

He looked at her as if she were mad. Then he turned away from her and ran an unsteady hand through his black curls. If anything, her confession seemed to upset him even more.

"I'm not marrying Charlie," she said. "I was never going to. How could I, when I love you? I was prepared to let you leave, Sasha, because of what you are. How could I bear to be cast aside when you're through with me? Or grow old by your side while you remain unchanged? How could I bear it at all, when I didn't think you even loved me? I can still hardly believe it."

"Why is it so unbelievable?" he demanded. "Do you think that I cannot love? That I am entirely a machine?"

"I don't think that you're a machine at all," she protested. "I just never thought you'd love
me
."

"Well, I tried my damnedest not to," he muttered.

She took a deep breath, her heart filled with trepidation. There was a way to solve all of their problems, if Christiana was to be believed. She wasn't sure she was quite convinced in the wisdom of it, but it was the only thing left to try.

"There is one way, Sasha. Christiana explained everything to me. What you are. What she is."

He grew rigid at her words, and his expression shuttered. "No," he said simply. "I will not Bond you. I will not do that to you."

"You'd rather leave me?" she demanded.

"Yes, by God. Don't you see? Have you not realized it yet? I hate what I am. How could I consign you, or anyone for that matter, to such a fate?"

"But we would be together," she said quietly.

Her words seemed to give him pause. But finally he shook his head. "Would you give up everything? The chance of a normal life? Children? A Bonded woman can never have them. You'd be stuck as you are, forever. Stuck with me. Forever. Tell me, is that enough?"

She couldn't answer him, because she didn't know if it would be. She could accept never having children. She could accept being stuck with him. Or at least with the man she knew he could be, the teasing, mercurial Professor she'd known and grown to love over the last five years.

But how could she bear a life with a man who hated his very existence? How could she bear an eternity enduring moments like this, when the blight in his soul made him lash out at the world – at her?

When she made no response, he sighed, and something crumbled in his eyes, as if he'd held onto some small hope she'd contradict him. "You know it is not. It is precisely because I love you that I could never do that to you. You'd hate me for it, in the end."

Her shoulders slumped. "No, you don't love me enough," she said sadly. "And you hate yourself too much to believe you could ever be happy. That
we
could be happy." She sighed. "Perhaps you're right. There is a darkness inside of you that I can never fix, not in a dozen lifetimes. Only you can do that."

"It's not so easy," he said.

"All you have to do is to forgive yourself, Sasha." She went to him and began to smooth out the wrinkles in his jacket, then reached up to retie his neck cloth, knowing with a bittersweet certainly that it would be the last time. Such an ordinary act after so much tumult. Yet she wished she could tie his neck cloths forever.

He watched her movements, his body tense and wary, as she worked to untangle the knots. "I read my uncle's letters that you kept in your drawer," she began. "I never knew he was in the War. But it explains a lot. Sometimes he would be in the middle of a sentence, and he would just drift away. I always attributed it to his eccentricities, but he'd get this terrible look in his eyes that used to chill me to the bone. I'd never seen that look in anyone else, until I met you. Sometimes at night, I would hear him scream. He had terrible nightmares. Just like you."