CHAPTER TEN
HERSKINWASlike velvet, flawless and smooth, the palest cream colour all over, except for her breasts, which were peaked in strawberry-pink, delightfully full and round, the perfect size for his hands. He held them, felt their weight, massaged them until he knew he had committed every detail to memory, then he kissed her. Hard and fast at first, befitting his need. He’d thrown off all shackles, all hesitation, and given himself over to temptation completely. It was a betrayal of the pledge he’d made the morning after his parents’ deaths, and he knew he’d regret this, even at the same time he suspected he’d always feel grateful for it, and her.
She was wrong about not being a reprieve. She was. For when Lucinda was in the room, she brought sunshine and warmth and somehow that pushed back the darkness, just for a while. He could never allow the darkness to go, though. He deserved to feel it. He needed to feel it. Only in submitting to that pain could he live with what he’d done.
But for tonight, there was this. Her skin, softer than a rose bud. His hands caressed her body, his mouth tasted hers, then ran lower, teasing each nipple in turn, flicking and rolling until she was a whimpering mess beneath him. Lower still, over her flat stomach and rounded hips, holding her to the bed, pinning her beneath him as his mouth roamed lower. Slowly, sensually, tasting her, nipping her with his teeth, until he reached the pale hair at the apex of her thighs and flicked her there with his tongue.
She cried out, arching her back, but his hands were firm. When she stilled, he relinquished the grip of one, moving it instead to her legs, separating them. He gloried in the feel of her femininity beneath his fingertips, parting her for his tongue, tasting her and pleasuring her until both were almost at breaking point.
He made a growling sound against her sex then shifted his mouth to her inner thigh, pressing his lips to the flesh there and sucking, unrelenting. This was less about pleasure and more about possession. Though it was something he’d never done before, Thirio wanted to mark Lucinda, here, in one of her most private places, so that she would see it tomorrow and know that he had touched her there.
When his work was complete, he moved lower, tasting his way down her leg, to her ankles, before standing at the foot of the bed and simply staring at her.
This was everything he had fought for six long years and yet he gloried in her presence, he revelled in his mastery of her body even while acknowledging she held a similar, if not greater, power over him. He wanted to make it last, but at the same time he needed to feel her, to bury himself inside her, to reassure himself that he wasn’t dreaming.
It had been years since he’d slept with a woman, but certain instincts were ingrained. Such as needing to use a condom. That was something he didn’t have here at thecastile.Why would he? He swore under his breath in his native Greek, his heart ricocheting through his chest with disbelief.
She pushed up onto her elbows. ‘Please don’t stop this again.’
‘I don’t have any protection.’ He dragged a hand through his dark hair until it spiked at strange angles. ‘I haven’t been with a woman in a long time. I’m out of practice.’
‘You don’t seem it,’ she said with a soft, husky laugh. But Thirio wasn’t laughing. He felt as if his body were being split in two. Could they risk not using one?
His eyes dragged up her beautiful body to her face, flushed pink to the roots of the hair.
‘I—um...’ She darted her gaze towards the window, where the trees sat verdant green against the dusk sky. ‘I brought some.’
He wanted to screamHallelujah!He wanted to laugh and praise the heavens, but, most importantly, he wanted to melt into the ground with the force of his gratitude. His reaction was proof—as though he needed any—that he really did want this to happen.
‘Where?’
‘In my handbag.’
‘Which is?’
‘In my bedroom.’ She groaned, and he understood why. He’d intentionally put her in the room farthest away from him, in an attempt to prevent exactly this.
He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together, pulling her naked form against his own. ‘Come with me.’ The words were a gruff command, one he hoped she wouldn’t question.
She didn’t.
On his own, the walk to the western towers took perhaps five minutes, but with Lucinda, it took twenty. They kissed the whole way, their hands tangling, running over one another’s bodies, relishing the sensations of being free to do this, at last. It was a form of torture. By the time they finally reached the room he’d allotted for her use, his blood was raging in his body, so fast and hard he could barely hear over its thundering torrent.
‘Where?’ he ground out, pulling his mouth away just long enough to ask the question. She spun around, looking over her shoulder, and he followed her gaze to the bag. He moved, long strides, picking it up and tipping it onto the bed, ignoring the jumble of lipstick, pen, notepad, phone, and landing on a strip of four condoms with a bubble of relief and amusement, all rolled into one.
‘Thank God for your forethought.’
‘God had very little to do with it,’ she quipped in response. ‘It was all wishful thinking.’
He spun around to face her, holding out the condoms. ‘Care to do the honours?’
Her eyes flared wide and she nodded, her fingers trembling as she took the foil square from him. She used her teeth to open it, and his eyes hungrily chased the gesture, staying on her full lower lip, right until she liberated the rubber from its wrapping and came to stand in front of him.
When she knelt down, he almost regretted suggesting this. He hadn’t been with a woman for more than six years and he seriously thought he had the stamina to stand still while she touched his arousal with those beautiful hands of hers?
When her mouth connected with his fractured, ruined skin on his hip, he startled. It was not what he’d expected. Her caress was so gentle, like silk, and on a part of his body that he had long ago associated with loss and guilt and self-flagellation; it was impossible to feel her kiss and not want to recoil. It was his scar. Burned, broken skin that spoke of horrors and had no place here in this moment of unimaginable pleasure. But it was a part of him, the truth of his soul, and he could never ignore it, could never forget what he’d done. And most vitally, he could never allow himself to hurt another soul.
Her lips moved sideways, slowly, as he had done to her, and he realised the cruelty in that torture now, for he yearned for her in a way that was immediate and wild, which could barely be contained by this slow, cautious exploration. But then, her lips kissed the base of his erection, her tongue flicking at the taut flesh there, before running over him, following a dark, throbbing vein to his tip, where a bead of pleasure shimmered. She lifted her eyes to his, confusion in the depths of hers as she darted out her tongue and tasted him, moaning softly as he filled her mouth. There was nothing soft about the sound Thirio made. His response was an eruption in the room, a loud, guttural groan that bounced off the walls, filling his ears with his own surrender.