The Dark Affair (18 page)

M
argaret stood on her tiptoes, lacing her fingers over James’s shoulders, completely dazed. Her limbs were floating, and she wanted to jump entirely into his arms.

As if he sensed her wishes, he grabbed her about the waist and pulled her up against him.

She let out a cry of amazement as her feet left the ground. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his hips.

Without shame or a second thought, she allowed him to cradle her bottom with his arms, locking her legs about his waist.

Her full skirts spilled about them, and she found herself being grateful that she didn’t wear a crinoline for more than just practical reasons.

The core of her body pressed against his hips, and much to her shock, she found herself wanting to be closer. Even now, there wasn’t room for a sheet of paper between them, let alone something as dignified as the Holy Ghost.

Holding her firmly, he began to walk. All the while, his lips skimmed her neck, teasing it in the most delicious torture. Her back met the silk brocade covering one of his bedroom walls, and she leaned against it, realizing that she had purchase now.

She readjusted her thighs so that they were tighter about his waist. After a long moment without his lips on her, she opened her eyes.

She blinked. In the short time she’d known him, she’d never been at the same eye level. Not really, and as she looked into those icy orbs, she shivered. Not with fear but anticipation.

His long hair danced about his face, brushing her collarbones. Slowly, she raised her hands from his shoulders, then brushed the silvery strands away from his face.

That face that was usually so hard and unyielding held an expression like none she’d ever seen before. That expression seemed to declare that she was a miracle here on earth and in his arms. And more important, that he would never let her go.

More than anything, she wanted to believe that. That he did see her in such a way. Even if it made no sense. His soul spoke to hers in a way that no other had ever done.

He leaned his hips in toward her core, and she gasped again as heat danced up and down her skin and centered between her thighs.

“Margaret—”

She moved her forefinger to his lips, silencing him. “Don’t think. Not now.”

If he did, if she did, they’d both find all the reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this.

For once, she wanted to let go of reason, as he’d urged. It was frightening. She felt as if she were flinging herself into a dark abyss, and her heart was pounding as if her body agreed with her feeling.

Unsure, but determined, she replaced her finger with her mouth, kissing softly.

He growled with pleasure, and his tongue slipped between her lips, caressing.

Her eyes flared at the intrusion, but then she closed them, allowing herself to float on the pure pleasure of his mouth moving over hers.

His hands gripped her thighs, then began to move upward toward her hips.

She wove her fingers into his hair, holding on, half afraid he might stop.

But he didn’t. In fact, those hands of his yanked at her skirts, exposing her legs to the coal-heated air of his room.

It was shocking.

She’d seen men and women in alleys, but she’d always assumed the woman felt little. Or so it had often seemed.

In this instant, she felt far too much. The air caressing her bare thighs; his hands, roughened from boxing, brushing up her legs; and his hot mouth seducing hers. Never in all her life had she felt so many sensations at once.

As she breathed into his kisses, feeling dizzier and dizzier, she jolted when his fingers skimmed the juncture of her thighs. She yanked her mouth away. “What are you doing?”

He lowered his forehead to the wall beside her. “I want to please you.”

She frowned, trying to find a full breath of air. “I don’t understand.”

He gently pressed his cheek against hers. “This isn’t some rough coupling, Margaret. Your body is the most beautiful thing in the world to me, and I’ve wanted to worship it since the moment I saw you.”

“Since . . .”

“Yes,” he said roughly. “Ever since you inserted yourself into my cell and demanded to make me well. I wanted to touch you then as much as I do now. But I won’t if you don’t wish it.”

She swallowed. “I don’t really know what I’m agreeing to.”

He groaned. “Do you want me to tell you?”

She nodded.

“I’m going to slip my fingers into your drawers and touch you in a place that you may have touched yourself before. And I’m going to tease you and caress you, and then when you’re wet and swollen, I’m going to find the spot that will make you cry out with sheer bliss, and I won’t cease worshipping it until you come.”

“Until I—”

He laughed, a tortured sound. “That I can’t really explain, except that you’ve felt nothing like it before.”

His fingers lingered over her center. “Well?”

“Please, James”—she arched her hips toward his hand—“show me now.”

“Oh, Margaret, those are the sweetest words I’ve ever heard.”

She didn’t know what feelings to expect, but the moment his fingers slid over her folds, she could barely think. He’d said she would be wet, and she was. His fingers smoothed over her easily, sending tingling shivers all along her lower belly.

Digging her fingers into the fabric of his robe, she dropped her head back against the wall, panting.

With every stroke, she moved closer to something wild and elusive.

She stared at the ceiling, and then without any embarrassment, she lowered her gaze to his. Wanting to see his face, to see if this meant as much to him as he’d said . . . as it did to her.

Those eyes of his burned with passion and something more, but just as she was about to understand it, his thumb pressed against her core and wave after wave of intense pleasure washed through her. A cry tore from her mouth, but she didn’t close her eyes.

Lost in the pleasure and his gaze, something frightening happened. Her heart, that heart that she had kept behind a high, hard wall for so long, demanded to be freed. For him.

Oh, dear God. She was falling in love.

•   •   •

He was hard to the point of pain. But it was worth it. Maggie’s cries of pleasure had pierced his soul, filling him with hope that perhaps he did deserve to touch something so beautiful.

Once he might have pressed on without any thought, but with her, it would be enough if it was all she wished. It didn’t matter that the primal part of him demanded that he take her now, branding her as his own. Her pleasure and her feelings were more important than anything of that baser urging.

Inch by slow inch, he let her legs lower to the floor.

She leaned her head back, gazing up at him. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

Nodding, she let her lids half close, and despite his reply, she said, “You were right.”

“Aren’t I usually?” he teased.

She
tsk
ed. “Hardly ever.”

“Oh,” he said with exaggerated woundedness. “Then what was I so lucky to be right about?”

“I’ve never felt anything like that,” she marveled. “It was the most remarkable thing.”

A ridiculous dose of pride sent him grinning. Stupidly, no doubt. “If it were up to me, that experience would become quite common.”

“Can it be?” she asked.

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “For many? No. But for you and I? Yes.”

She pressed her hands into this chest. “I suppose I should go to my room.”

“Why?” He stepped back, hating the feel of air replacing where her body had been. He longed to make love to her, but they’d taken the first step, and he wished this experience for her to be one of pleasure not pressure. “Stay with me.”

“But—”

“There’s nothing scandalous in it,” he offered, willing her to stretch out these moments when they were together without any rules separating them. “Quite the opposite. You’re my wife, after all.”

“Yes,” she said softly. “I am.”

“Now, then, come to bed.”

She pulled against his hand. “Wait.” Biting her lower lip, she looked askance.

“What is it, Maggie?” He felt his heart tighten, half afraid she was about to insist on leaving.

“You didn’t receive any pleasure.”

He let out a relieved sigh. “Not tonight.”

She squeezed his hand. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

God, how he loved the feel of her palm against his. “Of course you’d be concerned about the fairness of it all.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” she protested.

“No, and it gives me hope.”

“Hope?” she echoed.

“That we will be intimate again and that you wish to touch me.” He leaned down toward her. “Do you?”

“Yes,” she replied simply, honestly.

“Thank God for that.” He tugged her lightly toward his bed. “Tonight it is enough that I hold you in my arms.”

“But . . .”

He paused, turning back to gaze down on her flushed face. “Yes?”

“I don’t wish this to be enough,” she rushed. “I want to see you. To touch you.” Her kiss-swollen lips parted. “I want more. I want to finish what I have started.”

James’s breath froze in his throat. He’d never been asked in such a way, so forthcoming, so beautifully. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

When he reached the bed, he took her hands and lifted them to his robe.

She nibbled her lower lip thoughtfully.

It was fascinating, seeing authoritative Margaret be unsure. But for all her inexperience, she was determined.

She pushed her fingers beneath the fabric and then worked it over his shoulders.

The robe tumbled down to his waist.

A half smile tilted her lips.

“Are you pleased with what you see?”

“I’m sure you know you are very beautiful,” she said factually, her eyes hungrily taking him in.

Was this what it was like to be with a woman? To have them both be honest and open—and dare he say it—loving? “As are you.”

She might not have heard him, her focus was so intense. She took the tie at his waist and gave one firm yank. The robe fell to the ground, leaving him entirely naked.

Her eyes widened but not with shock. And then they heated with clear admiration.

“I forget you’ve seen many men,” he observed, trying to keep himself in check. So long had passed since he’d last been with a woman that he was suddenly nervous. And yet how perfect that his return to this would be with Margaret. It felt as if they were teaching each other so many things.

Stretching out her fingers, she stroked them over the hard planes of his stomach. “I have seen many men. It was entirely clinical. I never wanted a single one of them.”

He tensed as her delicate fingertips flitted over his muscles. “You want me, though?”

“Oh, yes.”

Those simple words filled him with such pride. That was the only word for it. His fierce Miss Maggie wanted him above all others.

“May I?” she asked, her fingers lingering above his cock.

He let out a pained laugh. Even now, there was a reserve in her that was far too ingrained. If he had his way, he would rid her of that at the earliest opportunity. “Please do.”

Her fingers skimmed his length as if she were trying to memorize every vein, every part of the hard shaft. And when her fingertips circled the head, a groan of sheer torture tore from his throat.

“I never really believed men and women could give each other such pleasure,” she marveled.

“I’m glad you’re finding that with me,” he whispered.

“What next?” she asked, her fingers still stroking him, learning him.

“Well.” He swallowed, loving the feel of her smooth hands. “I think it best if your gown came off.”

“Aha.” She removed her hand from him and started to reach for her back.

“Let me,” he protested.

She gave him a curious stare, then turned.

Oh, so slowly, he unlaced and peeled back the fabric of her gown. “You need more gowns,” he said softly.

“No, I don’t.”

“I will buy you as many as you like,” he offered, wishing to give her anything that might bring her joy.

“I have exactly what I need,” she whispered.

“Needs and wants are very different things, love. If you want a new gown, there is nothing wrong with that.”

She laughed softly. “It’s not important to me.”

Well, he would see about that. He wanted her taken care of, her every requirement met and more. If he could, he would eradicate every memory she had in which she’d had to deny herself.

He wound her skirt ties about his fingers and tugged. The slowness of it all was growing too much, and so he bent, pressing a kiss into her shoulder, and made quick work of her corset and underthings.

“You’re rather good at that,” she observed.

“Does that bother you?”

She shook her head and twisted in his arms, facing him. She pressed her lips together, then asked, “Do you like what you see?”

“Maggie,” he breathed. How could he ever explain how perfect she was?

Wordlessly, he picked her up and laid her out on the bed.

He caressed her small, beautiful breasts, teasing the pink nipples, already hardened with her desire.

Leaning over, he kissed her rib cage.

She let out a soft moan.

As he continued to stroke her breasts, he kissed lower and lower, until at last he lightly bit her hip.

She jerked against his mouth. “That is most shocking.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he teased.

“What?” she asked breathlessly.

“This.” And he lowered his mouth between her thighs, tasting the sweet saltiness of her core.

Her hips lifted off the bed.

He looked up, desperate to see the pleasure on her face.

Her mouth was open and her chest strained up.

He flicked his tongue over her folds, then began to circle and tease her in earnest, ensuring he found the exact spot that gave her pleasure. Each little moan helped him drive her further along, until she cried out, her hands seizing his hair, holding his head close.

He raised himself onto his elbows and then crawled up her body.

Her eyes were closed and she was gasping.