The Magic Between Us

  Her breath left her quickly, and she forced herself to focus on her task. Focus on the bath, Cecelia. “I’m not crying now,” she said.

  His brown gaze caught hers and held. “I never want you to cry again.”

  “I can’t promise that,” she warned. “There will be events like births and marriages and anniversaries that might make me weepy. I’m warning you.”

  “Those I can tolerate,” he admitted. “But I never want you to be sad again. Not like you were then.”

  Cecelia soaped her hand and ticked his abdomen with it, and the muscles of his stomach rippled beneath her touch. “Enough of that,” he warned playfully, grabbing for her slick hands. He drew her to lie on his chest, one of his thighs between hers, and he took the soap from her, running it up and down her spine, and down her arms slowly. If they didn’t get out of the tub soon, she would go mad.

  “Marcus,” Cecelia said. “Do you think we’re clean enough?” she asked.

  “Clean enough for what?” he asked, flipping her over so that she lay atop him again.

  “Clean enough to get out of this tub.”

  “Not yet,” he breathed, taking her earlobe in his teeth and nipping it gently.

  His slippery fingers parted her thighs, and he draped one leg over each side of the tub. She still lay atop him, with her head upon his shoulder. “Marcus,” she complained.

  But then his slick fingers slipped into the tuft of hair at the top of her mound. He tugged it gently, and she stilled. She opened her thighs in invitation. His fingertip raked gently up and down her folds until he found the little nub that had been pounding like mad ever since he’d touched her. He circled it with his finger, as he said very close to her ear, “How badly do you want to come?”

  She whimpered, clutching his thighs below her. “Badly,” she admitted.

  The length of him pressed against her backside. She shifted, letting him slide along the crack of her bottom, until he hissed between his teeth. “Be still,” he warned with a laugh.

  “I want you inside me,” she told him, turning her head so she could kiss the side of his mouth. He took her lips with his, a fierce mix of teeth and tongue, as his fingers continued to play around her nub.

  “Put me inside,” he taunted, lifting his lips for only a moment.

  “Me?” she asked.

  “You,” he breathed, pressing his manhood against her forcefully.

  He reached down and arched his staff away from his belly, and she balanced herself on the edges of the tub, sliding back far enough that he could push at her entrance.

  “Take me inside,” he whispered, his lips grazing her neck.

  “I don’t know if I can do it here,” she said.

  But then Marcus took over and lifted her bottom. She grasped the edges of the tub, hovering over him as he fed his length inside her. “Sink down on me,” he said, his voice broken and harsh.

  Cecelia impaled herself on his shaft, taking him inch by slow inch. “I’ve never felt so full,” she breathed.

  “You should see the view from here,” he chuckled. “Amazing.” That was when Cecelia realized that he could see his manhood being slowly fed inside her. He pulled her hips lower and she took more of him. And more. And more, until he was inside her fully, and her bottom was pressed against his stomach. “Sit back,” he said.

  Cecelia leaned her back against his chest, his fullness adjusting to her new position. Marcus let out a hiss between his clenched teeth.

  “Don’t move anymore,” he warned.

  “Why not?” she whispered playfully.

  “Because you’re all warm and snug around me. And I want to stay like this forever.” He licked the rim of her ear, and Cecelia felt his manhood jump inside her.

  But then his fingers started their slow slide around her nub again, and Cecelia rocked against him. The warm water of the tub lapped against her breasts, and Marcus must have seen it, because he took one breast in his hand and cupped it, pinching her nipple gently between his thumb and forefinger.

  “I’m going to come if you can’t be still,” he warned.

  She stilled. But she squeezed him inside her, her walls pulsing madly around his length.

  “Don’t do that either,” he said, and she tightened around him again. “Oh, God,” he cried.

  He bit down on her shoulder gently, his teeth abrasive and tender at the same time. Heat shot straight to the center of her, and her breath rushed out in tiny pants. “Marcus,” she cried.

  “You feel like a silken glove on me,” he growled next to her ear. “You’re tight and wet and hot, and you’re squeezing me so tightly.”

  “I think you’re too big for me in this position,” she said. “I can’t even move on you.”

  ***

  Thank God she couldn’t move. If she didn’t stop fisting him within her depths, he would come. And he wasn’t ready to come yet. He wanted to pleasure her. He wanted to take her in their bed, with their magic surrounding them. He wanted all of her, and he’d yet to have it. He wanted it. Dear God, he wanted it.

  But first, he would make her come. He would make her gasp with pleasure. Then he would pull himself from her silken depths and carry her to bed.

  His fingers traced a circle around that sensitive little nub, his touch growing less and less gentle as her body responded. Her sheath quivered around him, squeezing him tighter as she moved closer and closer toward the peak.

  “Cecelia,” he called. “Please come for me,” he whispered into her ear. He kissed down the side of her wet neck, and he licked and sucked his way across her shoulder.

  With his other hand, he tormented her breast. He tugged on her nipple, elongating it with his fingertips, tugging it none too gently. “Am I hurting you?” he asked.

  But his only reward was a loud growl from Cecelia as she thrust his hand away. She pulled her legs inside the tub and sat forward on her knees. Marcus adjusted the angle of his back so he could arch to meet her as she rose and fell on him. Her pace was frantic, and he could tell she was reaching for something she couldn’t find.

  “Marcus!” she cried.

  Marcus lifted her off him. She protested loudly, crying out at their parting. He stepped from the tub, nearly sliding on his arse in the process. But he didn’t care. He needed her. He needed her in a bed. He needed to be inside her. God, he needed this woman.

  Marcus picked her up and carried her to the bedchamber, where he dried them both quickly. The water he didn’t get off her with a cloth he licked from beneath her breasts, from the side of her neck, from the dip where her spine met her bottom.

  She was quivering in his arms, and where love had led them, need now took over. “Please,” she begged.

  Marcus forced himself to slow down, looking into her eyes as he cupped her face in his palm. “I love you,” he said.

  “I know,” she said, her voice shattered. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

  “Let me see them,” he said.

  She looked down at her naked body. “What’s left to see, Marcus?”

  Her nipples were rosy and abraded, and he’d done that. He’d loved her until she was weak and ready. “Your wings,” he said. “I want to see them. I want to touch them. I want to join our magic. Please.”

  “Oh,” she said, her brows drawing together.

  Suddenly, there they were, arching behind her, the same flushed color as her skin. They were covered in fine hairs just like her forearms and the rims of her ears. It was a downy softness, and he reached out to touch one. She sucked in a breath.

  “Does that hurt?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “It feels like when you touch me here,” she whispered, and she lifted her breast toward his waiting mouth. “Please,” she said.

  He closed his mouth gently around the peak, drawing it slowly into his mouth. “Not like that,” she s
aid. “Like before.” Her eyes were open and needy, and she nearly begged him to roughen his grip on her.

  He caught the tip of her other breast between his thumb and forefinger, and drew on it harshly, elongating it, while he took the tip of the other between his teeth and started to gently worry it. Her head fell back, her breath hissing from between her teeth. He had so much to learn about this woman, and a lifetime to learn it.

  Marcus pulled her to him and gripped her bottom, tugging her tightly against him. Her wings arched down to her bottom, but he gently lifted her and set her on the bed. “On your belly,” he said. She crawled naked across the counterpane, settling on her stomach in front of him. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, and her wings called to him.

  “Can I touch them?” he asked.

  “You can do anything you want to them,” she said, laughing. She pushed her bottom back toward him. “I wish you’d do it while you’re inside me, though.”

  She didn’t have to ask him twice. He straddled her thighs, looking down at the rosy softness between her legs. A drop of moisture seeped from her channel, and he caught it with his finger, lifting it to his lips. “My God,” he groaned. She looked back at him over her shoulder.

  “Please, Marcus,” she said. She arched her bottom toward him. Marcus took his length in his hand, and straddling her bottom, he slid inside her. “Oh!” she cried out as he slid home. He settled deeply inside her.

  She felt tighter this way, and he wasn’t certain how long he could last like this. So, he pushed her thighs apart with his knee and shoved one leg higher. Then he pushed into her slowly. “I don’t think there’s much more of me left for you to take,” she moaned into the counterpane, right beside where her fingers gripped it tightly.

  “I want all of you,” he said, as he pushed home. He spread the cheeks of her ass, lifting her leg higher, as he thrust quick and shallow. Her breaths were tiny pants, and her eyes were closed tightly.

  “That’s hitting some spot inside me, Marcus,” she warned.

  He slowed down. “Am I hurting you?” he asked.

  “Please don’t stop,” she begged. She arched her back, pushing her bottom toward him.

  Marcus dragged a finger along the edge of her wing, and she went crazy beneath him. “They’re so beautiful,” he breathed, thrusting shallowly within her.

  “You can play with them later,” she warned. “Finish this, Marcus,” she pleaded. Her voice was husky and she was so wet that her heat wrapped around them both. “Please,” she begged.

  Marcus picked her up and flipped her over, careful of her wings. He laid her down and slipped one leg between hers, but didn’t sink inside her. Not yet. He looked into her face. His arms shook on either side of her head. “Give me all of it,” he said.

  “You have all of me,” she said, her breaths broken as she squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Give me your magic,” he said. “Please.” He wasn’t above begging.

  “You give me yours,” she taunted. But she smiled. God, she could undo him with that smile. She spread her thighs, wrapping her legs around his waist.

  He sought her heat in gentle jabs. “Not until you give it to me.”

  She closed her eyes and shoved his shoulder, rolling him to his back. Then she climbed on top of him, her thighs straddling his. “Stop playing with me, Marcus.”

  He took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. “I’m not playing.”

  She froze on top of him. “Why do you want it?”

  “For the same reason I want you,” he said.

  Cecelia nodded. She sank down on the head of him, taking him slowly inside her.

  “Please, Cece,” he begged.

  “All right,” she breathed. She balanced herself on her hands, her palms pressed tightly to his chest. Then she began to rise and fall on him. Her broken little breaths brushed his forehead as he leaned forward to tongue her nipple. His hand sank down to her curls.

  “Give me your magic, Marcus,” she whispered against his hair. He lay back and looked up at her. She was glorious with her hair hanging about her shoulders, her eyes closed with abandon, rising and falling on his manhood. Liquid heat slid from inside her to coat him and made him slippery. He arched his hips to meet her, urging her to go faster. His hand stroked across the nub that was her center, rubbing quickly in circles, just the way he knew she liked it. She cried out, her mouth open in surprise.

  Magic rose from her and mingled with his. “Let me have it all,” he whispered. His magic joined with hers, shooting like sparks in the air, swirling around them, taking them higher and higher, until all the magic in the room combusted along with them. It went off like fireworks at Vauxhall Gardens. The air sizzled as her inner walls trembled around him. She stilled when she came, encasing him in quivering, raw heat. He gave all his magic to her, and she took all that he had to give her.

  The room quaked around them as she came, and the bed shook as he followed, pouring himself into her. She trembled in his arms, coming apart, and their magic put her back together as she fell to his chest. She cried out, her sheath still milking him, even as she fell limply against his chest.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, brushing her sweaty hair from her neck. His hands slid up and down the damp skin of her back.

  “Ask me in a few minutes,” she said, yawning as she rested on top of him. He stayed inside her until he grew soft, and then he pulled out. She complained. “Don’t go,” she said weakly.

  “We have a lifetime to do that,” he said, stroking her cheekbone.

  “I’ll move in a moment,” she said. “I’m too tired right now.”

  He liked having her wrapped around him. Her wings covered them both, wrapping around his shoulders like her arm might, and he held her there. He didn’t ever want to move.

  Twenty-Three

  “We’re late,” Cecelia scolded as they rushed up the steps of Robinsworth’s palatial home.

  “If you hadn’t thrown me down on the bed and tried to have your way with me again, we wouldn’t be late.”

  She blushed, but she was smiling. “I didn’t try to have my way with you. I did have my way with you.”

  He remembered. He remembered it well. She’d rolled from on top of him and then bent her head to place it in his lap. Then it was all over within minutes. They’d only used magic the one time, and then they’d been so exhausted they slept. She’d curled into him as though she was right where she always should have been.

  Marcus smacked her bottom as they walked through the front doors. “Good evening, Wilkins,” Marcus said to the old butler as the man took Cecelia’s wrap. “Where is my family?”

  “They are all over the place,” the butler said, looking out over the crowd. “Shall I announce you?”

  Marcus looked at Cecelia and she arched a brow. “Yes, please,” he said.

  This was nothing like the last ball he’d attended. He hadn’t wanted anyone to know he was there because nothing was right without her in his life. Nothing was as it should have been that day. But everything was right now. His life was the way he wanted it.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Marcus Thorne,” Wilkins said loudly and clearly. The crowd stopped, turning toward them as they cheered. They clapped hands and clinked their glasses and yelled salutations. Marcus linked his hands with Cecelia and held them high in the air.

  The ocean of people parted and Cecelia walked into the throng with Marcus. They accepted well wishes, but then the quartet began to play a waltz.

  “Come and dance with me, Mrs. Thorne,” he said, tugging her toward the dance floor. The floor cleared until it was just the two of them. He pulled Cecelia into his arms and looked down at her as he swept her around and around. She was beautiful in an emerald green gown, her hair piled high on her head and falling into ringlets to tickle her neck. He could look at her forever. And a day.

  Eventua
lly, others filed onto the floor and Marcus had to look up from the pool of her eyes to survey the floor.

  “Mayden is here,” he warned her.

  She looked around without being obvious. “Where is he?”

  “To your left with the blonde,” Marcus said quietly.

  “Will he come to me to give me his salutations?” she asked. Her brow was knit with worry.

  “Since the celebration is for us, probably.” He jostled her in his arms so she’d look up at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll be with you the whole time.”

  She nodded.

  “Promise you won’t do or say anything dangerous,” he said. He couldn’t lose her now. He’d just gotten her.

  “What could possibly happen that’s dangerous?” she asked.

  She had no idea what Mayden was capable of. The music stopped and everyone clapped. Marcus led his new wife off the dance floor and walked toward his family. “What did we miss?” he asked of his father.

  “He came in as though nothing had ever happened,” his father said. “It was odd. And eerie. And not at all what I expected. He bowed over your mother’s hand and introduced his wife.”

  Marcus looked over at him. “The blonde?”

  “Yes, the American. A very sweet girl.”

  “She won’t be for long,” Marcus warned. Mayden had a way of breaking a woman’s spirit.

  Lord Phineas looked like he wanted to run across the room and thrash the man to within an inch of his life.

  “Did he speak to you? Or to Claire?” Marcus asked.

  Lord Phineas shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “Let’s try the direct approach, shall we?” Marcus’s father asked.

  “Meaning?” Marcus tried.

  “I’d like to talk with him. We all would. I’ll invite him to my study in ten minutes.”

  “Do you think he’ll go?”

  “Only one way to find out,” his father said. He adjusted the fit of his coat, shrugged his shoulders, and walked away.