She stared for a moment and then looked up at him. “Take them off.”
Her tone was probably too commanding, for he half smiled at her, but she didn’t care at the moment. She wanted him entirely nude; she wanted to imprint the sight of him on her mind. He shucked his leggings and the rest of his clothes, and she stood to push him back onto the bed, slipping out of her wrap before climbing in next to him, wearing only her chemise. He lay on his back and immediately felt for her, but she slid down his length, out of his reach.
“Emeline—”
“Shhh.”
She was at the level of his manhood, and the creature fascinated her. One fingertip traced his length, bumping over his veins. She knew that there were women who found a man’s genitals ugly and rude, but she had never been one of them. Had Danny lived longer, had she been a more experienced wife, eventually she would’ve explored him, but they’d never had that time. Now she was determined not to lose this opportunity with Samuel.
She studied him, beguiled by the way his foreskin pulled back to accommodate his erection, enthralled by the slight curve upward. She flicked her eyes to him and saw that he was watching her intently as she examined him, and a thought occurred to her that, at any other time, she never would’ve voiced. They didn’t have years to overcome shyness and the strictures of polite society. They had only tonight and she would not waste this little time.
So she asked, “What do you do when you’re alone?”
He raised his eyebrows, and for a moment she was disappointed. He would pretend not to understand her vulgar question. But, still holding her gaze, he moved his right hand down and wrapped it about his length. Her eyes dropped from his then so that she could watch. He held his penis much more firmly than she would’ve dared and moved his hand up and down. On the up stroke, the head of his cock nearly disappeared into his fist.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” she asked.
She heard him chuckle raspily but couldn’t take her eyes from the sight of what he did to look at his face. “Far from it.”
And then she did something truly beyond the pale. She leaned forward and licked around the head of his penis.
He paused in his movement, and she heard his inhale before he breathed, “Do that again.”
She braced herself on her hands and hovered over him, licking and kissing the head of his cock while he continued to move his fist up and down. It wasn’t a sophisticated act; her tongue sometimes hit his hand as well as his penis, her breasts swung free inelegantly under her shift, but she didn’t care. She loved the taste of him, salt and spice; she adored the faint gasping sounds he made, and she was aware that she was becoming increasingly wet just from ministering to him. Why such an act should be so erotic, she had no idea, but there it was. His hand moved faster, and she attempted to engulf the entire tip of his cock in her mouth. His hips arched involuntarily off the bed.
“Emeline,” he gasped, and the extremity in his voice sent a thrill of sexual triumph through her. “Emeline...”
She looked up just as she sucked strongly on him, flattening her tongue against the underside of his penis. His eyes narrowed, his head arced back, his teeth gritted, and she tasted sweet salt in her mouth.
“Emeline.”
She closed her eyes, feeling tears behind her lids and sucked again, and again tasted a gush of salt. Finally, his hips fell, pulling his manhood from her mouth. She wiped her lips on the bed linens. Stupid, stupid tears were running from her eyes, and one splashed on his leg. Helping him do this made her want to sob, and she wasn’t even sure why.
She felt more than saw him lift his head. “What—?”
“Shhh,” she said again, choking this time.
There was no way to explain her emotions. How could she tell him that she already mourned his loss? That she wished she were a different, more adaptable person? She couldn’t, so she didn’t. She crawled up his body instead, until she settled herself, straddling his groin.
His hands grasped her hips, comforting and steadying her. “Are you all right?”
“Of course,” she whispered, although the tears she could not control gave lie to her reply.
She closed her eyes so she couldn’t see the worry and love in his gaze and lifted her shift over her head. She was nude now, just as he was. She didn’t wear so much as a hairpin. They were as God had made them, man and woman, without the clothes and trappings that designated rank, relative wealth, and means. They could’ve been Adam and his wife, Eve—the first humans, unaware of the many gradations that would come to divide their children.
She opened her eyes and leaned forward to place her palm on the center of his chest. “You are mine right now.”
“As you are mine,” he replied.
It was almost like a vow.
But he didn’t demand more. A little part of her died then, even as she reveled in the moment. Samuel had given up on having her in his future, she knew. It’d always been inevitable that they couldn’t be together, but for him to have accepted that fact...
She pushed away the thought and bowed over him, smiling as she kissed the spot where her hand had lain. It was wet because her tears had dropped there as well. She kissed across his chest, small wet kisses, until she reached a nipple. Here, she opened her mouth and licked around the tiny point, tasting man, tasting Samuel.
He sighed beneath her and reached up to stroke her hair. She could feel his manhood, still half-erect, under her stomach. She shifted a little, rolling against him, and moved to the other nipple, licking at it with a pointed tongue. Tears were pricking at her eyes again, but she no longer paid attention to them. They were a physical manifestation of her internal turmoil—something completely beyond her control. Tears fell to his chest, and their salt mingled with the salt of his skin, so she couldn’t tell them apart as she licked.
She straightened and looked down. His cock was thick, not entirely erect, and lying on his stomach. She wanted to feel that part of him against herself, wanted this last connection. She slid forward until the tip of him lay under the tip of her. She was wet, open and sensitized, and the feeling was so right, so perfect, that she groaned softly. Just a little pressure, just a little shift of her hips. Warmth blossomed at her core. She bit her lip and ground down some more.
Her eyes were closed, so she started a little when large hands palmed her breasts, both at once. She gasped and slid against him. He brought his thumbs together with his fingers and squeezed her nipples. Oh, Lord! He was growing under her, burrowing into her folds. She leaned into his hands, pressing down harder, caught up in the sensation, trying to ignore the tears that still coursed down her cheeks. His cock slid to the side. She whimpered in frustration and grasped him, holding him against her body as she rubbed her clitoris over his cock. So close, so close...
“Put me in you,” she heard him say.
She shook her head, wanting to feel him here always. To stay in this moment for eternity as if in a dream. To never wake up. She moved faster over him, frantically, twisting her hips, sobbing, her cheeks wet.
Almost there, almost there...
He squeezed her nipples and still it wasn’t quite right. She couldn’t complete. She was gasping now, weeping openly, and suddenly she knew that she needed him inside her to reach that point. Quickly, she lifted her hips and placed him at her entrance and bore down. And then...
He was inside her, full and heavy, the feeling exquisite as he stretched her. She paused, savoring the sensation, wanting it to last forever, him filling her. She leaned over him, and in that moment felt his mouth close over one breast, pulling strongly. Her muscles contracted around him, and she came in long, lovely, warm waves. She sobbed aloud in gratitude, in wonderful release. She rubbed herself over and over against his hard body, her head hanging down in surrender, her hair draping over his chest.
He muttered something and released her nipple, catching her hips. He pumped into her in quick, powerful thrusts, grunting with each plunge, his cock hard and hot and long within her. His movements, his obvious desperation, prolonged her pleasure, and when she felt his warmth flood her, she was still in bliss. She fell against his heaving chest, his hand tangling in her hair, his breath rasping against her damp temple. She heard his whisper in her ear.
“I love you.”
THE FIRE IN Emeline’s hearth had died down long ago, probably some time in the middle of the night when he’d still held her. Sam considered relighting it; her bedroom was chilly in the not-quite-dawn darkness. But she lay under piles of thick blankets in the bed, and he wouldn’t be staying long. Besides, he wasn’t sure a fire could warm him anymore.
He sat in a chair by the dead fire, fully dressed. There really wasn’t anything keeping him from leaving. The servants would be up soon, and he knew that she would be embarrassed and cross if he was discovered in her room. Yet, he still lingered.
He could watch her from the chair. Try to memorize the way two fingers clutched the blanket under her chin. She lay on her side facing him, her mouth relaxed in sleep, her lips half parted. With her sharp eyes closed, she looked much younger, almost sweet.
He nearly smiled at the thought. She wouldn’t thank him for the observation. They’d never had time to discuss it, but he thought she might be a little sensitive at her years. He’d like to argue the point, make her confess that a lady of thirty was as beautiful—more beautiful, in his opinion—than a lady of twenty. Then when she continued to argue—for she would, she was so stubborn—he would kiss her into submission and maybe another round of lovemaking. But they were past that now. They would have no more arguments, no more kisses or lovemaking. No time to settle any little problems.
Their time was over.
She sighed and snuggled the blanket over her mouth. He watched the small movement greedily, drinking it in, committing it to memory. Soon. Soon now he would get up and walk to the door, leaving this room and making his way through the silent house. Let himself out into the dawn. Go back to the town house that wasn’t truly his. In two days, he would board a ship and spend over a month watching the waves as he sailed back home. And once there? Why, he’d continue his life as if he’d never met a woman named Emeline.
Except, while his life might look the same from the outside, it would be entirely different on the inside. He wouldn’t forget her, his warm lady, even if he lived for six decades more. He knew that now, sitting by her cold fire. She would be with him all the days of his life. As he walked the streets of Boston, as he conducted his business or chatted with acquaintances, she would be the ghost beside him. She would sit with him as he ate, she would lie beside him as he slept. And he knew that when his time on this earth was at an end, his last thought as he entered the void would be of her.
The scent of lemon balm would haunt him forever.
So he sat a little longer, watching her sleep. All the days of the rest of his life stretched before him, and he needed to store up these few seconds with her.
They would have to last him a lifetime.
Chapter Eighteen
The guards tied Iron Heart to a great stake and then piled thorny branches about his feet and legs. He looked around and saw his sweet wife standing by her father the king, weeping. Iron Heart closed his own eyes at the sight, and then the thorns were set alight. They quickly caught fire, and the flames leapt into the dark sky. Sparks fled upward as if seeking to join the stars, and the wicked wizard screamed with glee. But an odd thing happened. Although Iron Heart’s clothes burned, and indeed were soon reduced to ashes, his body did not. Instead, as he writhed in the flames, his iron heart could be seen beating on his strong, bare chest. An iron heart white-hot from the heat...
—from Iron Heart
Samuel was gone when she woke the next morning. A maid was clattering by the hearth, trying to light the fire. It must’ve been banked badly and gone out during the night.
Emeline closed her eyes for a moment, not wanting to face the day. Perhaps not wanting to face her life without him. And as she did so, she felt liquid seep from inside herself. She thought it was his seed, but when she looked, it proved to be a more familiar stain. Her monthly visitor had come. And this was the truly horrible part: Instead of feeling relief that nothing now stood between her and her marriage to Jasper, she was flooded with wild disappointment. How foolish! How utterly stupid, to want to be filled with Samuel’s child. To have no choice but to marry him.
