26
EVERYTHING SEEMED TO stop: his heart, his lungs, movement, time. For a moment Thom forgot the anger, forgot the hurt, forgot the betrayal, forgot that he didn’t love her anymore. All he could see, all that mattered, was the beautiful woman standing before him naked. The beautiful woman who’d held his heart since childhood. The beautiful woman he never thought could be his. The beautiful woman who was now offering herself to him like the proverbial virgin to the sacrifice because she wanted to marry him.
Christ, she was gorgeous. His fantasies hadn’t done her justice. The dimensions had all been right, but the creamy flawlessness of her skin, the berry pink of her nipples, the height and firmness of her breasts, the dark blond of the triangle between her legs . . . he’d gotten those all wrong. But the details would be etched in his mind forever. Every incredible inch of her.
The pink blush on her cheeks darkened with each passing moment of silence. She started to shift, and he knew it was taking everything she had not to cover herself as he continued to stare.
But God almighty, he couldn’t have turned away if the first Edward of England had risen from the grave and was breaking down the door. And he sure as hell couldn’t think of anything to say, not when his mind was filled with erotic images of what he wanted to do. And not when his cock was throbbing so hard he had to concentrate on not embarrassing himself.
It was only when he noticed what was on her wrist that he jolted back to reality. She was wearing it again—his bracelet—and somehow the sight of the brass band was like salt being ground into a wound. She wasn’t his. She’d never been his. He’d only been fooling himself.
He forced his gaze away from her nakedness and turned away. He wasn’t going to let her do this to him. He wasn’t going to be manipulated by desire.
He started walking toward the door.
“Thommy . . . ?” He heard the panic in her voice as she rushed toward him. “Wait!” She grabbed hold of his arm to stop him. “You can’t go.” He couldn’t look at her face because he was scared what it would do to him. Scared that her fear would find a way to penetrate the ice around his heart. “Are you going to say anything?”
His fists clenched; the effort not to take what she offered had turned every muscle in his body as rigid as stone. “What do you want me to say? That you are exquisite? That I’ve never seen anything more beautiful or desirable?”
Her expression fell; apparently compliments weren’t what she wanted to hear. “I hoped you might say that you forgive me. That you love me, and still want to marry me.”
Hearing the words that he was fighting so hard to deny slip so easily from her lips snapped the last threads of his control. He hauled her up against him. “What did you think, Elizabeth? That two perfectly formed, lush, and pink-tipped breasts were going to make me forget having my insides torn out as you promised yourself to another man? That a tight, curvy bottom and long sleek legs were going to repair the heart that you shredded apart when I had to watch you kiss him? That taking off your clothes was going to make me love you again?”
Her eyes had widened at his outburst of rage, and her cheeks burned with shame. “No . . . Yes.” She looked up at him pleadingly. “I didn’t know what else to do. You weren’t listening to me, and I wanted to prove how much I loved you. To lay myself bare.” She took a deep breath. “I know I hurt you when I rejected your proposal, and I just thought that if somehow . . .”
She looked at him helplessly.
“You put yourself in the same position we would be even?” he finished. “But I bet you never thought I would reject you, did you? You thought I’d be so overcome with wanting you I’d fall to my knees in gratitude.”
She appeared genuinely taken aback and hurt by the accusation. “I didn’t think that at all. I thought you would see how much you mean to me, and how much I want to be with you.”
He ignored her. “Well, sorry to disappoint you. But it’s not that easy, Elizabeth. I’m not just going to forget everything that happened because you strip naked and tell me you want to suck my cock.”
No matter how incredible that sounded, or how the sight of all that velvety soft nakedness tempted him. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her that.
Whether it was his crude words or tone, he didn’t know, but something made her temper flare. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and met his gaze square on. “Actually, it is that easy. Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me the whole time? If I love you nothing else matters, isn’t that what you said? I’m sorry my feelings weren’t clear enough to do the right thing at the precise moment you wanted me to. But this is new to me. I’ve never been in love before. You’ve had years knowing you loved me; I only realized how I felt last week. I was confused. I made a horrible mistake. I let you down. I didn’t jump when you asked, but I’m trying to jump now.” She took a deep breath. “It is simple: either you love me and want a future with me or you don’t.”
His eyes met hers. “I don’t.”
His words landed with the sting of a slap. She flinched and sucked in her breath as if the pain was unexpected and sharp. Her hand fell from his arm.
One glance at her face was all he could bear. If he’d wanted to crush her—to hurt her as badly as she’d hurt him—he’d succeeded. She looked . . . heartbroken. Destroyed. Vulnerable.
He had to get the hell out of here before he did something stupid and pulled her into his arms and proved himself a liar. Showed her just how much her explanation and last-ditch ploy at seduction had come to breaking him. How much he wanted to forgive her. She’d made a mistake, but maybe under the circumstances it was understandable. She was caught up in the rush of the betrothal and trying to sort out her feelings—feelings that unlike his were new and uncertain.
He made it as far as the door. His hand squeezed the metal of the handle. Open it, he told himself. Walk away. He wanted to. Just like he wanted to stop loving her.
But wanting, he realized, wasn’t the same thing as actually doing. He could hide his feelings behind anger, but they were still there.
She was right: it was simple. He was furious with her, hurt beyond belief, and his pride was stinging, but the inescapable fact was that he loved her. He would always love her, whether she married someone else or she married him. He had two choices: he could be miserable and self-righteous or he could swallow his pride and maybe—just maybe—find the happiness of which he’d always dreamed.
It wasn’t a hard decision. He latched the door.
She couldn’t see what he’d done—or realized its import—but she’d recovered enough to call after him. “Go then. Walk away just like you did last time.”
He turned around, eyes narrowing. “What?”
She lifted her chin. He tried not to let his eyes drop below it, but it was damned difficult. In her anger she’d forgotten she was naked, and she stood there boldly and unself-consciously, and it was spectacular.
“I didn’t react the way you wanted me to on the rooftop three years ago, so you cut me off, refused to let me explain or work out my feelings, left for three years, and told yourself you hated me. And I didn’t react the way you wanted me to this time either, so you’ll hate me and try to cut me off again. But just like last time, I’ll be here waiting. Whether it takes you three years or twenty, I’ll be waiting for you to find a way in your stubborn, pigheaded, too-proud mind to forgive me.”
Thom frowned, realizing there was more truth in her accusation than he wanted to admit. But they were obviously going to have to work on her apologies.
She wasn’t done. “And eventually, you know what? You will forgive me, because that’s who you are. But by then, God knows, our children will have parents who are old enough to be grandparents.” Something in her voice broke and tears started pouring down her cheeks. “So go, but don’t blame me when I’m old and wrinkly and you can’t bear to bed me, because it will be all your fault!”
He cocked a brow, his eyes scanning over her smooth, creamy, and definitely not wrinkled skin. His frown deepened as he looked her over again. “How many years do you think I have?”
She was so busy trying to wipe the tears away it took her a moment to realize what he said. She drew back with a start. “What?”
“Before I can’t bear to bed you?”
He wasn’t going to tell her he couldn’t think of anything more wonderful than growing old with her—and wrinkles sure as hell weren’t going to keep him out of her bed.
She blinked, tears clumping on her long lashes like diamonds sparkling in the sun. “That is what you respond to? I splay my heart open for you to see, beg for your forgiveness, humiliate myself with a failed seduction, and you want to know how many years you have before I get a few wrinkles?”
He shrugged. “It might take awhile for me to forgive you, but I can try to speed it up if it means I’m not in bed with a prune.”
Her gasp of outrage was followed by a widening of her eyes with understanding.
“And I wouldn’t necessarily say it was a failed seduction,” he added with a long, heated look down the length of her.
She trembled, and he felt himself thicken.
“You wouldn’t?”
He shook his head. “So how long?”
Her gaze met his and the hope he read in her eyes filled his chest with warmth. The ice around his heart that had been cracking since she arrived started to break away in thick sheets.
“I wouldn’t wait past tonight,” she said with a sad shake of her head. “I fear I’m getting older by the minute. The wrinkles are already starting.”
“Well, then I guess we better hurry.”
The tentative, carefully restrained hope in her eyes felled him. “Does that mean you forgive me?”
He moved toward her, letting the back of his finger slide down the velvety softness of her bare skin. Her shoulder, her arm, the hard tip of her breast. He let it linger there, rubbing back and forth—in lazy circles—over the delectable pink tip.
He couldn’t wait to suck it. To circle his tongue around it. To take it between his teeth and tug until she squirmed and arched into his mouth.
His voice softened as he looked into her eyes. “Aye, it means that I’ve never wanted anyone so badly in my life. That I have been well and thoroughly seduced. That I couldn’t walk away if my life depended on it.” And it might. In the back—the very back—of his mind he was aware that it wasn’t just honor he was risking. “That I love you and can’t wait to make you mine.”
The look of joy that broke across her face was not something he would ever forget. It made the euphoria of the past couple of days pale by comparison. “Oh, Thommy.”
She threw herself into his open arms and he was kissing her. Hungrily. Passionately. Maybe a little desperately. Now that the last barrier between them had been torn down, the floodgates had opened and everything came rushing out hard and fast.
He’d been good for too damned long. As long as he was going to ignore his honor, he would bloody well make the most of it.
He kissed her until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He broke away as much to catch his breath and try to get a rein on the lust teeming through his body as he did to take off his clothes.
He let her look her fill, which wasn’t easy given how easy it was to read her thoughts. He was glad she liked his body, but Christ, those lusty looks weren’t helping his restraint any.
“You sure have a lot of muscle.”
There wasn’t much to say to that. He did.
“I like it.”
His mouth twitched. “Good.”
All of a sudden she frowned. “Will they go away if you stop using the hammer at the forge? Because if they will, I might have to insist you keep—”
“El.” She was killing him. He’d waited long enough.
She looked up from his chest. “Yes.”
“Come here.”
She did as he asked, and he helped lower her down to where he’d covered the ground with his cloaks. It was hardly a romantic bower, and less than ideal for their first time, but in a way there was something right about it. The forge was where they’d spent so much time together in their youth; it had helped bring them to this moment.
She seemed not to mind the makeshift bed, and when she pulled him down on top of her, he didn’t either. The first contact of skin on skin was like a combustion of pleasure, firing everything else in its wake.
Elizabeth’s heart was beating so fast she thought it might explode. Her senses already were. The feel of Thommy on top of her, of his hot skin pressed against hers, of his solid weight and rock-hard muscles . . .
She moaned, groaned, and begged for more with her body as his mouth covered hers in a frantic, heady kiss.
It was hard to know where she left off and he began. They seemed fused as one. It was magic. It was perfect. It was meant to be. Never had she been more sure of anything in her life.
She was finding it hard to be patient. She couldn’t get enough of his mouth, his hands. They covered her body, skimming, caressing, squeezing. And she wanted it harder, faster, rougher. She gripped the muscles of his shoulders, her fingers digging in to show her need, as she dragged his body against hers—the pressure, the friction, the rubbing, exquisite.
He growled low in his throat, responding to her need. She could feel the scrape of his jaw against her fevered skin as his mouth traveled down her throat, her chest . . .
She cried out as he took her nipple in his mouth, the suction of heat incredible. He sucked her deep and hard, letting his tongue circle the aching tip as his hands slid between her legs.
A rush of heat and dampness followed. She remembered what he’d done. How it felt when he touched her. How much she liked the feel of his finger stroking her, and how it had felt when he’d made her explode.
He did it again. His mouth on her breast, his finger between her legs, she cried out as the spasms of pleasure racked her.
He lifted his head, a pained expression on his handsome face. God, how had she almost given this up? How could she have been so foolish to think love didn’t matter?
“You are so responsive that you are making it difficult to go slow, sweetheart.”
“Then don’t go slow,” she said. “I want you inside me.” She put her hand on him to show him what she meant.
She didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t the softness of a thin, silky glove over steel. As it seemed the most natural thing to do, she circled him.
He made a sound of pleasure that was so deep and intense it almost sounded like pain.
“Am I doing it right?”
“God, yes.”
“Show me.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
But he did. He showed her how to stroke him. How to find his rhythm. How to squeeze as she milked him.
And still it wasn’t enough.
She stopped. “Show me the rest, Thommy. I want to take you in my mouth.”
She’s a virgin. You can’t. Thom kept telling himself that over and over. But it wasn’t working. He wasn’t listening. All he could hear was the siren call of her mouth. The soft voice asking him if she could fulfill his most sinful fantasy.
It would take a far stronger man than he to resist that kind of offer.
So he told her—or showed her. He didn’t know which. But somehow he was on his back, she was sliding down his body, and her mouth was on his cock. Her soft pink lips were sliding inch by inch down the thick, long length of him, and he damned near shot out of his skin.
He came a little, and when she slid her tongue around to lick it up and made a sound of pleasure low in her throat, he knew he was in danger of letting go.
He held her head against him for one agonizing moment, committing to memory every wicked sensation, the heat, the dampness, the softness of her lips and tongue as she sucked, and then he pulled her off. “Stop.”
She looked up at him, shocked. “But I like—”
“And so do I—too much.”
She let out a startled gasp when he flipped her on her back, but a moment later she was gasping for another reason when he slid down between her legs, looped her legs over his shoulders, and pressed his mouth against all that honey sweetness.
She bucked at the contact and tried to protest, but he gave no quarter. Cupping her bottom, he lifted her to his hungry mouth.
She came at the first swipe of his tongue, and then he made her come some more. He rubbed and sucked, flicked until she was shaking, and then finally gave her the long, slow drag and pressure that sent her over the edge. When he was done, she was achingly warm and ready.
And so was he. He was on bloody fire and harder than he’d ever been in his life.
He braced his hands on either side of her shoulders and positioned himself between her legs. He would give her one more chance. “Are you sure, sweetheart?”
Her eyes were still soft with pleasure as they met his. “I have never been more certain of anything. I love you.”
His heart was damned near bursting. “And I love you.”
Slowly he started to enter her. Pushing gently, nudging with rhythmic circles of his hips. She was soft and warm and ready for him—and tight. Very, very tight. But he tried not to think about that as sweat dripped down the side of his forehead with the effort it was taking for him to go slow when all he wanted to do was go fast. When restraint had turned every muscle in his body to steel. When all he wanted to do was pump in and out of that tight, wet fist and—
She tensed. He stopped.
Her eyes went to his. “I’m not sure this is going to work.”
She looked so worried he tried not to laugh. But damn, she was sweet. He dropped a soft kiss on her mouth. “It’s already working, sweetheart. Your body just needs time to adjust to me.”
Clearly she didn’t believe him. “You’re too big!” she blurted, her cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink.
He couldn’t help grinning at that, but he didn’t think she’d believe him if he told her she’d appreciate it later. “Trust me, El, it will be fine.” Suddenly he sobered. “It may hurt for a moment—you know that, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“Does it hurt now?”
She thought for a second, and then shook her head. “It just feels . . . full.”
Christ. He groaned and sank in a little deeper, kissing her again. She responded, and slowly he could feel her body opening to him again. But there came the point when it resisted, and he knew he was going to have to hurt her. He hesitated—hating it but telling himself only this once—and thrust.
She cried out, her entire body stiffening with pain.
He forced himself not to move, which wasn’t easy when every inch of his body was screaming with pleasure. She was so hot and tight, gripping him like a fist.
They were joined—connected—in the most primitive way. She was finally his, and he wanted to roar with satisfaction. But, most of all, he wanted to move.
With soothing words and tender kisses, he waited patiently—or not so patiently—for the pain to subside. He met the silent accusation in her eyes with whispered apologies and promises between kisses that it would get better.
She didn’t believe him. But she would.
When at last he felt her body relax, he began to move. Slowly at first, with more gentle little thrusts and circles of his hips calculated to tease. To entice. To make her body yearn for more.
He made love to her as he’d never made love to a woman before. Because no one had ever been her. It had always just been her.
It didn’t take long before she started to make those half-eager, half-surprised gasps that drove him wild. When she started to lift her hips, her body unconsciously seeking more, he lengthened his strokes. Deeper, harder, faster, until they were both lost in the delirium of pleasure.
Virgin.
It was hard to remember when she met him stroke for stroke. When her body responded to every touch with demands that matched his own.
She liked it hard. Liked it fast. Liked it raw and a little rough.
She felt the same frantic need and wicked desire. He didn’t need to hold back. Not anymore. It didn’t matter if she was the lord’s daughter and he was the smith’s son. Passion had stripped away the barriers between them. In bed they were one. He gave her everything. And she gave it back.
Their bodies started to move on their own, control and deliberation giving way to sensation and feeling. He didn’t know what he was doing, only that it felt incredible and she liked it. She was telling him so, urging him on with words, moans, and frantic pounding of her hips against his.
“Oh God . . . that feels so good . . . please, Thommy . . .”
It was too much. Too perfect. And he’d been waiting too damned long.
He loved her so much.
The pressure twisting into a tight ball at the base of his spine was too intense, the urge to release almost overwhelming. But he had to hold on. Just a little longer . . .
Her gasps started to quicken; her moans turned more urgent. She couldn’t meet his gaze anymore, the pleasure was overtaking her. He watched her face as her head fell back, her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed and lips parted.
Oh God, yes. He thrust hard and deep—as deep as he could go—and it was as if he’d set off an explosion.
The first spasm of her release gripped him hard, snapping whatever threads he had left of his restraint. They came together, their cries of pleasure mingling in the sultry air of the forge as their bodies shuddered with release.
He’d never experienced anything like it. The sensations seemed heightened and more intense—more significant somehow—and the emotions deeper. He felt transcended to a different place—a different level of connection—that he’d never imagined.
They were bound together in a way that could not be undone.
It took Elizabeth a moment to regain consciousness—or rather return to any semblance of her senses. The feelings, sensations, and emotions that had taken hold of her were so overpowering they did not give way easily—or quickly. Only when the last ebb of pleasure had slipped from her body did some level of awareness return.
She felt so deliciously exhausted. Her body was warm and melty; she didn’t think she could move if she had to. But it was a different kind of exhaustion—a satisfied kind. A contented kind. Although contentment hardly captured the happiness that glowed inside her and seemed to fill her to bursting.
But it wasn’t until Thommy rolled off her—taking his heat and solid weight with him—that her thoughts became cohesive enough to speak.
“Thommy?”
She heard the heavy fall of his breathing before he answered. “Aye, love.”
He drew her against him and she snuggled into the warmth of his body as if she’d done so a hundred times. Propping her chin on his chest, she stared up at him. He was so unbelievably handsome sometimes it took her breath away. Like now.
“You were right.”
He seemed to be having difficulty regaining his senses as well, but he managed to cock a brow. “About what?”
“It did work.”
He gave a sharp laugh, and the smile that turned his mouth was so boyishly charming it wrapped around her heart and squeezed. “I think that’s an understatement, El.”
Having no previous experience to rely upon, she was enormously pleased to hear it. “It is?”
He tipped her chin to look into her eyes. “That was . . . I don’t even know how to describe it.”
She grinned back at him. “It was pretty spectacular, wasn’t it?”
“Very spectacular.”
“Does that mean you want to do it again?”
He groaned. “God, sweetheart, are you trying to kill me? I need a little time to recover. And so do you—you will be sore. I should have been . . . easier on you.”
Was he blushing? She didn’t think she’d ever seen him blush before. It was adorable. If a man as physically imposing as him could be characterized as such. “Don’t say that—it was perfect.” And worth any soreness she might feel. She started drawing little circles on his chest and stomach, the muscles clenching into tight bands at her touch. “How much time?”
He laughed gruffly. “More than five minutes.”
But it turned out not much more. The second time he made love to her was slower and less frenzied, but every bit as powerful. Maybe even more so. There was no pain this time, and when he held her gaze as they broke apart, it made everything seem more significant—deeper somehow. The emotions, the sensations, the force of the spasms racking her body, the intensity of the love she felt for him, and the connection between them . . . everything was stronger.
And so was her exhaustion. This time, she didn’t regain much of her consciousness at all before falling into a contented and sated—extremely sated—sleep.
She was still smiling when Thom shook her awake. But the smile didn’t last long.
He cursed, the word he used conveying the urgency before he spoke. “Hurry”—he jumped to his feet and tossed her her gown even as he began to put on his own clothes—“there’s someone at the door.”