In the dark she could feel everything. In the dark it was just Nick and his taste and smell and touch. In the dark there was no fiancée and no scar around his neck and no ship to America.
He devoured her, consuming all her strength, and she let the wall support her weakening body.
Her skirts rustled when he lowered his hand to slide them up. Yes, she prayed. Yes, yes. He tucked them up in one heavy bunch, and then his hand spread over her thigh, each finger an individual brand on her skin. This is Nicholas, she reminded herself, smiling as they kissed. This is Nick sliding his hand up my bare skin.
His palm traveled higher, and he pushed her harder to the wall as if to brace her. Cynthia gasped for breath and let her head fall back, pressing her skull to the solid wood behind her.
When his fingers brushed the hair that covered her sex, a whimper slipped free of her throat. Then he touched her fully. His hand cupped her, and his fingers slipped along the seam of her body with shocking ease.
“Ah, God,” he groaned as she gasped in surprise. The pads of his fingers slipped deeper as he caressed her with short strokes. “My God, Cyn, you’re so damn wet.”
She was. Her face blazed with humiliation. That had never happened before. “I’m sorry.”
Nick nuzzled the skin beneath her ear. “Mm?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know…why.”
“Why what?”
He didn’t stop stroking her, and Cynthia found that his fingers were somehow stealing her breath. “Why I’m so…” she gasped, “so damp.”
His fingers froze, much to her disappointment. He raised his head as if he might look at her despite the dark. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Of course, you wouldn’t…” Nick was frozen, the pressure of his hand decreasing as the seconds ticked by. He was going to stop, because of her.
“No,” she whispered. “Please don’t stop.” Tears sprang to her eyes. She only wanted this. Just this, and it didn’t seem too much to wish for. “Just touch me. Please.”
His breath quickened on her cheek. His fingers shook against her sex. He pressed in, and one finger slipped deeper.
“Yes. Oh, Nick, yes,” she begged.
He was panting now, despite that she wasn’t touching him. But as his finger rubbed tiny circles against her, he shuddered. “You’re wet,” he breathed, “because you’re excited.”
There was a tight pressure, and she felt him slip suddenly deep inside her body. “Oh!” she cried out as Nick groaned her name.
“You’re wet because your body wants to take me in.”
He was stroking her now, pushing inside her before pulling out to rub those same small circles over her wet flesh.
“It wants to ease my way,” he panted, “against the…tightness.”
Yes, that was exactly right. She wanted to be filled with him. Stretched by his body. Taken. Her whole world became that place inside her where his finger thrust. The pressure increased. She could feel her flesh squeezing him.
“Cynthia,” he breathed. His teeth touched her neck, his tongue pressed against her.
She needed…something. Needed him closer.
She let go of his coat and slipped her hands higher to pull him tighter to her body. When she felt the cool softness of his hair, she curled her fingers into the strands and tightened her grip, holding on as her body rose.
He’d never been afraid of the dark, but he should have been. Out of the darkness, a nightmare grabbe
d him. A hand in his hair, forcing him down.
On your knees, boy.
He tried to pull away.
Don’t worry. You’ll learn to like it.
The hand curled harder.