“But that’s why you came.”
He shook his head. “No. I came for you. Because I can’t live without you.”
He looked out over the fields and down the lane, spinning his wheat stalk between his fingers like a pinwheel.
“Marcus,” she began.
“You left without even a note.”
“I was going to send one,” she rushed to say.
He nodded. “Milly told me. She refused to give me one. Said I would ruin you.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “You ruined me a long time ago,” she admitted.
He chuckled. “And I thought I was the one ruined.”
She chucked his shoulder with hers. “We’re a sad lot, aren’t we?”
He put a hand to his chest. “I’m not. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I’m sitting in the land of the fae with the woman I love.” He smiled at her. “What do you want to do today?”
What had she planned today? She couldn’t remember, so she shrugged instead. “What do you want to do today?”
He threaded his hand beneath the hair at the back of her neck and pulled her so close that his next words brushed her lips, as surely as any kiss would. “I want to take you somewhere we can be alone, and then I want to hold you close and never let you go.”
She nodded, her nose brushing against his, they were that close. “All right.”
***
Marcus held her close to him, so close he could feel the beat of her pulse in the air between them. She’d said, “all right,” like he’d made the most reasonable request in the world.
“I’m going to marry you,” he warned.
“Don’t ruin the moment,” she whispered with a grin. “Just let me enjoy it.” She held up a single finger. “One day. Give me one day.” She poked that finger into his chest. “One day with you.”
He nodded and pulled her to her feet. It was one day that would start the rest of their lives. “One day,” he repeated like an idiot as he walked side by side with her down the lane. She turned around backward and walked that way, looking at him like he’d hung the moon and the stars.
“Am I forgiven?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Don’t ruin it,” she warned.
He held up both hands as though in surrender. “Not ruining it. Yes, I nearly forgot.”
“Where are we going?” she asked, her grin cheeky and infectious.
“We’re going to take a walk in the woods until we get to my grandfather’s hunting lodge,” he said. He could barely speak past the lump in his throat. But she was so damn beautiful walking backward in front of him, all of her attention focused on him, her smile so bright that it outshone the sun.
“Then what?”
“Then we can play cards.”
She frowned, her lip turned down in a pout.
“We can organize the cabinets and wardrobes in the lodge?”
Her lip poked out even farther, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss it. But that would come later.
“We can walk in the woods down by the stream and watch the sunset.”
Her pout disappeared. She liked that idea.
“We can lie on the settee and take a nap.”
She smiled. She really liked that idea.
All he could think about was lying with her on the settee and pulling her into his arms, and maybe even falling asleep with her head on his chest. His trousers were growing unbearably tight at the thought of it.
“I could undress you slowly and make love to you.” He choked out the last, nearly overcome by the emotion. Her smile faltered and turned into an expression he’d never seen on her face before. It was unadulterated lust. And she liked the idea, if the flush creeping up her chest and neck was any indication. But that could also be the exertion of the walk.
“I like that idea best,” she said, and she turned around and fell into step beside him. She was quiet as they crossed the hills and dales, and his feet were aching by the time they reached the hunting lodge, but it was worth it.
“You remember this place?” he asked.
“Of course,” she chirped. It had been a long time since they’d been there. Too long.
“I want to talk about the future,” he said as they crossed the threshold, but she held a finger to her lips and didn’t let him utter what he was thinking.
“Not today,” she warned.
“Today, Cece,” he began to argue.
She slammed her hand against the doorjamb hard enough to make him jump. “Not today!” she cried. “Today isn’t for regrets.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Just let me live. For today. Please,” she said.
“All right,” he agreed. And then he reached for her.
Thirteen
Cecelia fell into his arms and let him pull her even closer as soon as the door closed behind her. She needed this. She needed one day, one hour, one minute she could call her own. Her heart didn’t have many desires. Not anymore. But she wanted this. She wanted him. And she would have him this day.
His mouth touched hers, his hands bracketing her face as he licked gently across her lips. She didn’t want gentle. She wanted Marcus. And they’d spent enough time kissing in the past that she knew he was holding back. So she stepped up on her tiptoes, pushed her body closer to his, and slipped her tongue into his mouth.
The velvet rasp of his tongue against hers left her quaking in his arms, but she forced herself to take him farther, to pull him deeper into her. She pulled his tongue between her lips and suckled it gently. He groaned at her need and showed her his own. He put inches between them that she didn’t want, and she protested, moaning low in her throat until she realized that he was unbuttoning his coat and shoving it from his shoulders.
He was still wearing the trappings of the other world, so she began to unfasten his waistcoat and helped him shove it from his shoulders.
When he wore nothing but his shirtsleeves, he put his hands at her waist and kissed her, at once gentle and tender yet raging with the fire of a thousand grates, and she thought she would melt right there in a puddle of lust if he didn’t end the torment soon.
“Marcus,” she protested against his lips.
“Too fast?” he asked, pulling back ever so slightly.
She laughed. It was an uninhibited sound, and she barely recognized it in herself. “Too slow,” she warned instead.
She raised herself on tiptoe, and his hands slid down to cup her bottom. He hoisted her in his firm grip and she threw her legs about his waist. “Let’s move to the bedchamber, shall we?”
“I thought we might just do it on the floor.” She giggled against his neck. He groaned and kissed her again, not even looking where he was going.
She would have been fine with the floor, but she assumed this was supposed to be done in a bed when one did it for the first time, wasn’t it? She laughed at her own silly thoughts.
“I love that sound,” he said, and she could feel his smile against her lips.
“What sound?” she mouthed back at him.
“When you’re happy. It makes me happy.”
“Just today,” she whispered, pulling back and looking into his eyes.
“Just today,” he whispered back, but he smiled at her like he knew a secret she didn’t know.
He lowered her to her feet and stood her beside the bed, and her traitorous legs nearly buckled at the thought of what they were about to do. “Marcus, I’m scared,” she whispered.
But suddenly he was there. He was brushing the hair back from her face and pulling her into him, like they were one person, and the thoughts of moments ago passed. This was Marcus. She had nothing to fear.
“Have you ever done this before?” she blurted.
He stilled.
Oh, no. He had. He’d done it without her. He’d done it with someon
e else.
He brushed her hair back and looked into her eyes, his brown eyes so full of longing that it stole her breath. “I’ve never done this before,” he admitted. He kissed her forehead with tender lips and breathed heavily against her skin. “How could I have ever done this without you? I’ve waited for you my whole life.”
“Are you afraid?” she asked.
He took her hand and placed her palm on the center of his chest. “Terrified,” he admitted, and his heartbeat kicked like a mule in his chest.
“What if I’m really bad at it?” she breathed. It was a ridiculous question she knew, but she was suddenly consumed with worry.
“Not possible,” he said with a chuckle.
He turned down the counterpane and looked at her as he reached behind him and pulled his shirt over his head.
“Oh, my,” she breathed.
His naked chest was dusted with a light down of dark hair that was springy and curled against the tips of her fingers. She let her fingers trail through it slowly, until he took her hand and stopped her exploration.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I’m afraid of what will happen if you keep doing that,” he said, his voice muffled by the way he kissed the side of her neck, his lips trailing across her skin, leaving a cool, wet path behind.
“What do you mean?”
He chuckled. “Nothing.”
***
She was wearing entirely too many clothes. And it was his job to remedy that situation, if he could just think of the best way to do so. Instead, he sat down on the side of the bed and tugged his boots from his feet, and then he began to unfasten the fall of his trousers. He pushed his stockings down his feet and shoved his trousers down until he wore nothing but his small clothes. She reached out to touch him, her inquisitive fingers hesitant but searching. She pressed the head of his manhood with the pad of her thumb and he squeaked like a mouse. A very lusty mouse, but still a mouse.
He’d taken himself in hand enough times to know that he was very close to spending. Painfully close if the ache in his stones was any indication. She squeezed him between her thumb and forefinger, and he bit his lower lip to keep from coming.
It didn’t work. He was painfully erect. And weeping, if the way his smalls were dampening was any indication. Her pretty little brows drew together, not understanding at all what was happening.
“Very normal reaction,” he grunted.
Then he pulled her to stand between his spread legs and began to tug her dress up. It was made of spider’s thread so it could grow and shrink with her, and it slid over her head like shedding a second skin, leaving pink skin behind. Her breasts were pert and round and perfect, and he pulled her close so he could lick across one distended tip. The sound that left her throat was painful in its intensity.
He’d never last long enough like this. He turned and lay back on the bed, bringing her over him as he did so. She looked down at him, her hair falling like a cloud over them both, tickling his chest. He tucked his hands behind his head and looked up at her. Her breasts were unbound, and the curly patch of hair at the apex of her thighs called to him. But if he so much as moved, he would disgrace himself. He knew it. He shut his eyes tightly. She was naked but for her stockings, and he wore nothing but his smalls and he was afraid to touch the woman he loved because he couldn’t control himself.
He wanted this to be pleasant for her. He wanted her to find joy in it. He wanted to make it perfect.
But then she touched him. She reached her hand inside his smalls and took him in her grip. He protested, grabbing for her hands. “I just want to see it,” she whispered, laughing in that way only Cecelia could.
He shoved his small clothes down over his hips and off his feet, and kicked them to the side. She laughed, but then she grew completely serious. She came up to sit beside him on the bed, crossing her legs and putting a pillow in the center to protect her modesty, he assumed.
“Quite daunting, isn’t it?” she asked, looking down at his manhood, her lip drawn between her teeth as she appeared puzzled.
“Yes, you are,” he laughed.
“Me?” she cried, laying a delicate little hand on her naked chest. “I’m not the one who’s all purple and… hard.”
Yes, he was hard. Good God, he was hard.
“Can I touch you,” she breathed.
He swiped a hand down his face. “I wish you wouldn’t,” he grunted.
But she paid him no heed. She reached out one tentative little finger and brushed the weeping slit, swirling it around the head of his manhood. “Cece,” he warned, raising a knuckle to his mouth and biting down.
“What?” she whispered back, a shaky giggle tainting her mirth.
“You’re going to unman me,” he warned.
“That sounds like fun. How do I do that?” she breathed.
But then the dam burst. With her sweet little hand holding his manhood, squeezing him tightly, he couldn’t keep from coming. He spent, his essence hitting his belly as he grunted. The damage was done. He’d come without even being able to get inside her. So, he did what any man would do. He wrapped his fist around hers, and worked it up and down his shaft as he grunted, his seed spilling across their fingers as he worked her hand up and back. She squeezed just hard enough that it hurt like the devil, in a really good way. He looked up, wanting to make eye contact with her, but she watched his manhood, her mouth hanging open as he came.
He reached for her, pulling her down to kiss him in one harsh move. She kissed him back, apparently emboldened by his response. Her tongue slid against his, and he pumped out the last of his seed as she lay on her elbows on his chest, kissing him with passion. She finally pulled back and looked at him, her hand stilling on him when he couldn’t stand any more.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said by way of apology.
“I think it was,” she whispered with a giggle.
“Not until I was inside you,” he said. He sat up and reached for his shirt and used it to clean their hands. Then he crossed naked to the washstand and pulled out a cloth. There was fresh water in the pitcher. Why was there fresh water in the pitcher? It didn’t matter. He wet the cloth and walked back to her, offering it to her, biting his lips together to keep from apologizing again.
She pointed toward his manhood. “It appears not to have affected your rigidity.” Her face flushed crimson as she cleaned her fingers. He took the cloth and wiped his belly.
He would probably never soften again, not while she sat naked like that. He climbed over her, pulling the pillow from her lap as he pushed her to lie back on the bed. “That’s the beauty of the male appendage. It can disgrace you one minute and then be ready to do so again in a moment, apparently.” He couldn’t keep from laughing.
But she wasn’t laughing. She was smiling, yes, but it was a silky siren’s smile, one that shot straight to his groin, and then he didn’t worry about having embarrassed himself. He was going to be inside this woman, and he was going to do it soon.
He lay atop her for a moment, looking down into her inquisitive face. “I love you so much it hurts sometimes,” he confessed.
She closed her eyes tightly and wouldn’t look at him. “One day,” she whispered.
So he would give her one day.
He cupped her breast, plumping it in his palm as he thumbed across her nipple. She squirmed and he settled more firmly between her thighs. Drawing her nipple between his lips, he tongued it gently, and a little noise left her throat. She arched her bottom upward, rocking against him.
“Does this feel good?” he asked.
“I didn’t give you the Spanish Inquisition when I was exploring your body, did I?” she said with a grin.
“How am I supposed to know what pleases you if you don’t tell me?” He blew against her puckered little nipple, which was the same color as her pre
tty little lips, and saw that her nipples were growing just as rosy as her well-kissed mouth.
“You please me,” she said again.
“I let you explore me,” he warned, and then he sat back and settled his shoulders between her thighs.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked.
Her thighs were perfect. They were fleshy and supple and strong. And he wanted them wrapped around his hips. “Shhh,” he crooned. “I let you look around. Now you have to do the same.”
He shoved her thighs wider, though she protested for a moment. “Pretty,” he breathed, and she shivered as she clenched the bed linens in her fists.
He used one finger to strum up and down the weeping slit, and he applied pressure until he found the center of her and then slowly slid one finger inside. She gripped his finger like a silken glove, and he was glad he’d come in her hand, because he would never have survived the tightness inside her if he hadn’t. She cried out as he slid his middle finger in and out of her, and he let her pick the speed with which he entered her. His thumb pressed above her slit as he tried to find purchase inside the silken depths of her and she froze.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, stopping.
“Do that again,” she coaxed.
“Do what?” He had no idea what he’d done.
She reached her fingers into her wet curls and touched the swollen spot at the top of her cleft. “Here,” she said. “Touch me here.”
So he did. He pressed his thumb against the rigid little bump and she groaned. So he did it again. She began to thrust against his questing finger and he pushed a little harder and worked his thumb in small circles.
“Yes,” she cried. She was so wet that his hand glistened with the essence of her, but he’d never seen anything so beautiful, never felt anything so right as being inside her. “Don’t stop.”
There was no way he would stop. But he did climb back up her body so he could look into her face as she squeezed his finger and he strummed across that place that made her so happy. Though happy really wasn’t the right word. Hot. Molten. Spilling. And then she broke. With a keening cry, she arched her hips, and her body began to quaver. She spilled very similar to the way he had, and he watched her face as he worked her, as she shook in his arms, as she came for him, as he took the essence of her inside himself in the most elemental of ways.