You came . . . hmm . . . this word has never held so much appeal. “I don’t think I’m going downstairs for breakfast.”
She closed her eyes and moved her head on the pillow, to one side and then to the other. Not exactly slowly or in a quick way but in an innocent seduction that altered his breathing, as he imagined her coming down from a mindless orgasm.
He passed a hand over his mouth, wondering if he was drooling, because his mind wasn’t making sense of anything more than his awakened desire and raging erection.
Then she sighed as if on cloud nine and peered at him.
“Jesus, Laetitia,” he croaked, completely turned on by something so simple and yet so erotic.
She gazed into his eyes. The turquoise-green grew intensely colored as if the sea were being slashed with lights and shadows, each one competing to win over the other.
There was nothing that stirred her more than seeing the sun battling the heavy rain and black, rolling clouds. She loved watching the pelting rain, warning lightning, and crashing thunder.
“I don’t suppose you want to sleep a bit more, do you?” she asked hoarsely.
It’s not sleep I have precisely in mind. The way she studied him with such blatant appreciation drove him to distraction. Lying on the dark sheets with her pale-blonde hair fanning out like a silver cloud, she looked like an angel that had been dropped from heaven. He suspected that he would never truly become accustomed to such flawless beauty.
He moved on the bed to sit in a position that allowed more space for his bulging manhood.
She glanced down at his crotch.
He cleared his throat.
Laetitia could see he was doing again that hesitant-step thing, as if undecided, as if two sides of himself were warring against each other, as in a storm.
She raised an eyebrow at him and teasingly said, “Pity.”
What? His jaw dropped.
She leisurely sat and stretched her arms over her head again. He was about to rise, when she pulled him toward her and crushed his mouth with hers in a hungry kiss, grasping his face between her palms.
When she threw her arms around his neck, he broke the kiss, cupping her face and holding her at arm’s length. “Laetitia, you’re hurt—”
“Don’t. Don’t talk.” She pulled him back to her by the hair, speaking in a mix of a pained moan and a sob. “Just love me.”
With an impatient tug from her hands, she pulled off his sweater and ran her nails over his pectorals, up and down, circling his nipples, almost hurting in her haste.
“I want your skin against my own. I want you,” she whispered, and peeled her T-shirt over her head. Her violet-blue eyes burned him with a yearning that made him forget every reason why he shouldn’t make love to her.
She crossed her fingers on his nape, angling his head, her mouth taking his with furious need, until they were more than just kissing, sharing breaths, until she’d stoked in him the same desperation.
It was Tavish’s turn to feel that he had never been kissed like that. Like she would die if he didn’t return the kiss with the same ardor.
“Show me I’m not breakable,” she demanded, pressing her body fully against his, instinctively, in silent invitation. “That I’m not fragile.”
“Oh, you’re fragile, Snowdrop, but no one is going to break you.”
She put his hands over her breasts, and with her fingers over his, she made him pinch her nipples.
She sucked in a sharp gasp. “Ah, yes. More.”
The simmering tension became a full boil. She was asking him to push her boundaries, trusting him to show her how good and necessary unbridled passion could be.
“Laetitia.” He grunted against her mouth, shoved his jeans and boxers off, and covered her body. His heavy arousal pressed against her belly as his hand slipped between her thighs, teasing her.
“Please. I want it now.” She grasped his erection and stroked it.
Sparks shot through his body, down to his manhood, and he thrust into her fist. He muttered against her breast, “Jesus.”
Thrilled by the pulsing sensation beneath her palm, by his groan of pleasure, she slid her thumb over the head and sensed his own coiled desire unleashing.
He shuddered with sensitivity, and a deep rumble was wrenched from his chest. “This is insanity.”
“Madness,” Laetitia said, and pulled his head down to her breast. “Suck.”
You’ve gone crazy, Tavish Uilleam. Moving his head to close his lips around her nipple, he settled himself between her thighs and positioned the head of his penis at her opening, rubbing himself along her wetness.
“I can’t wait, Tavish,” she groaned, her palms pressing his buttocks down and squirming against his hand, not thinking about anything else but his touch and the anticipation of his hardness filling her. She spread her legs wider. “Please.”
Then he thrust.
She bowed against him, clutching his shoulders, a pained moan escaping from her lips. Trembling, she drew in sharp breaths.
“I’m sorry.” I should have known better. Straining with his desire, he turned his head to bury his face in her neck, distributing small kisses on her throat and on the sensitive hollow of her neck. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Laetitia gasped. Her hands moved to clutch his thighs, and her hips jutted upward, her body needing to be filled by him. “Just do it.”
He plunged, again and again, halting only when he was buried as deep as he could go.
“Yes . . . oh, God, yes,” Laetitia rasped.
He remained still for a breathless moment and pushed his hands beneath her thighs, spreading her farther apart as his pumping grew deeper, faster.
The heavy stroking, the fullness firing her blood—it was what she needed. Sweat trickled down her neck, between her breasts.
Opening her eyes, Laetitia met his glittering gaze as he began to move even harder and faster inside her.
She bucked and writhed, matching his thrusts as best she could, as the pleasure became all consuming. Something seemed to shift within her as she fell into the heat of his eyes.
Something vast and terrifying and wondrous.
Something that might have felled her but only made her stronger.
Her rising climax wiped her mind of everything except reaching for that shimmering, golden bliss that was so close. Aware of the unidentifiable emotions coursing through her, alongside the mounting urgency, she breathed, “Oh, Tavish.”
“Let go. I’m here, Laetitia,” he urged, his movements becoming more demanding, his plunges deep, so deep her body jerked.
His mouth descended on hers, open, wet, hot, as she gripped him tighter, in her arms, inside her body. Her orgasm blossomed and grew until it consumed her, and the world exploded around her.
Overwhelmed by the crackling heat of their lovemaking, Tavish crested the erotic, fiery pleasure, tumbling inside a passionate wave, being carried along and washed softly on the shore in time to catch Laetitia from her fall.
He rolled onto his back, taking her half lying on top of him, never wanting to let her go. Surely there is nothing that binds two people closer together that can compare to such intense pleasure.
They were quiet for a while, as they both absorbed the sheer bliss of being so intimately joined.
She pressed a kiss on his chest and laid her hand over his heart, feeling the strong rhythm of his heartbeat. The tightness in her heart had loosened, but she could still feel the rustle of disquiet, the anxiety evoked by shadows of the past, and by unknown threats of the present.
As if sensing her tangled thoughts, Tavish asked, “Are you OK?”
Sated and stunned. But OK? She shook her head, a small sob leaving her. He laid her on the pillows, slipped a finger beneath her chin, and tilted up her head to meet his searching gaze. “Laetitia, did I hurt you?”
“No. You did not,” she answered, in between small sobs. “I’m better. But I do not feel well.”
“My Little Elf,” he
whispered, pulling her into his arms. His firm body cradled hers naturally; his hands moved in soothing circles around her back. “It’s a more-than-normal reaction. You endured a severe fright. It would be strange if you were feeling well.”
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, with her tightly secured against his chest, but more restless than he could ever remember being. It made him crazed that she had become a target. He hadn’t been with Laetitia for long, but it wasn’t the first time he thought about killing on her behalf. He had to admit he was at a loss with a woman like her. With so many issues of his own, he found it hard to believe that he had developed a relationship—or something, dysfunctional as it may be—with a woman who was also chasing demons. And being hunted by them. He didn’t like mysteries. To him, they had a taunting aspect, as if their mere existence accused him of not working hard enough to solve them. The things she had shared about her past had affected him more than he could possibly imagine. Despite the shiver of foreboding that coursed through his body at her every small sob.
The feeling of being asked to give had always been precious to Tavish, but with her it was more, different. Whenever she wished, however she wanted, he would give to her, everything.
Himself.
It was only that.
And it was everything.
When she calmed and shifted from his body, he realized what they had done. “Fuck!”
She started and scooted back from him. “What?”
“We have not used a condom.”
She paled. “Oh, my God . . . I’m not on the pill.”
“I’m sorry.” He rose from the bed and raked a hand in his hair. “I’m never this careless. I’ll get you a morning-after pill.”
She looked down at her hands. “I’d like to shower.”
“Let me help you.” He blew out a breath and took her in his arms to the bathroom. Sitting her on the toilet lid, he knelt before her. “I’m sorry, Little Elf.”
“I need some privacy,” she whispered. When he frowned at her, she shook her head. “I can manage, Tavish Uilleam.”
“Do you want me to call Martha?” he asked. “You can’t get those stitches wet.”
“I’ll manage.” She shook her head again, but this time more vigorously. “Just get me that pill, will you?”
He hesitated but nodded, then closed the door. Fuck, Tavish Uilleam.
Nothing is going to happen, Laetitia. She looked at her image in the mirror. And if it happens, this time will be different.
Tavish was leaning against the bathroom doorway, watching her comb her hair. She was using her hip to support herself on the countertop. She was dressed in another one of Martha’s T-shirts and a turtleneck sweater, which swallowed her, and it fell far off one shoulder and well down her legs, covering her hands. He thought it was as sexy as if she were wearing Chanel.
She looked over her shoulder, trying to see her image in the full-length floor mirror in the corner, but it was not a simple thing to do while keeping her left foot up and not using her left hand.
She tilted her head from one side to the other, confirming the sweater would certainly conceal that she was going commando. She didn’t like the idea of putting her pants on without panties, but it was even worse to think about wearing them again. “Hmm . . . this is rather embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?” In a quick movement, he snatched her panties from where they were neatly folded on the sink and dangled them on his index finger. “You mean . . . not wearing these?”
“Hey! Give me that,” she complained, trying to snatch her panties from him.
He raised his hand just out of her reach and smirked devilishly. A sudden light appeared in his eyes, and he shook his head slowly, thrusting her panties deeply in his jeans pocket. “I don’t think so.”
“Ugh!” She made a face. “You men have strange fetishes.”
He bent and whispered in her ear, “The kinkier they are, the more you women like it.”
Want to show me? A pale eyebrow went up. Even though still scared from everything that had happened, she was feeling quite comfortable in her skin after all the orgasms they had shared. “Is that so?”
“Aye,” he nodded, his surprise turning into hot desire. Either missionary or kink had never been a problem for Tavish. Apart from violent games, he was up for everything consensual, as long as it was completely physically and psychologically harmless for the partners.
His eyes couldn’t hide the desire, and she couldn’t hide her curiosity. She glanced at him sideways and, with a curl of her lips, provoked, “What exactly do you have in mind?”
“You can’t imagine.” His body told him to step in the bathroom and show her one of his many ideas, but his mind decided otherwise. “I’ll take a rain check on that, Snowdrop.”
“Good.”
He picked her up in his arms.
“You need not carry me up and down in your arms.”
“I know. But I like the excuse.” There was a pause, and then he added, “I’d like to point out that you look incredibly sexy going commando.”
She nuzzled her nose into his neck, pressing a kiss under his ear, the merest brush of her lips across his skin.
It was subtle like the rest of her, but even so, he felt a strong urge to get back to the bedroom. “You smell sweet like fresh snow.”
“Snow?” she complained, scrunching her pert nose. “Snow doesn’t smell.”
“The fresh first snow of winter, Snowdrop. There is nothing more soothing.” He moved his face so she could see his eyes.
“You, on the other hand, smell like wilderness under a thunderstorm.”
“Hmm . . . that’s good?”
“That’s wonderful.” She sighed against his neck. “Dark, heavy clouds; crisscrossing lightning; a raging, needling rain; and the untouched nature that survives in spite of all these forces.”
He cleared his throat and for a few seconds was speechless. “Am I one of your paintings?”
Much, much more. “Would you like to pose for me?” she asked in a sassy tone. “In the nude, of course.”
Midway down the stairs, he choked. He could see himself painting her body in long strokes with a soft brush and her painting him with her hands. “Little Elf! Behave. I’m taking ye safely downstairs, no’ back to the bedroom.” With lewd images swirling in his head, he stopped and raised his eyebrow. “Unless you want me tae.”
“Maybe I do,” she whispered, and gave him a small lick.
He pivoted on the balls of his feet. “I hope Martha, Hugh, and Richard doona mind the wait. Because—”
She squeaked. “No, I was joking, I was joking. What will your friends think?”
He chuckled and headed back down again. “Exactly what you’re thinking they would.”
CHAPTER 33
The old farm dining room was empty except for Hugh and Richard.
A fire burned low in both the large, intricately carved marble fireplaces on each end of the room. The tall windows brought light in, highlighting the dark oak ornately paneled walls.
They immediately rose as Tavish and Laetitia entered the room.
Richard grinned upon seeing her. “Ah, the woman who stole the heart of the most coveted bachelor in the Royal Corps.”
“Don’t mind them, Snowdrop.” Tavish rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “These two cannot be taken seriously.”
“Bloody hell, Hugh!” Richard elbowed his brother and laughed. “He already has a romantic nickname for her.”
Jesus! From behind Laetitia’s back, Tavish directed a black scowl at the brothers. Just shut up.
“Congratulations, Laetitia,” Richard continued, needling Tavish. “When is the wedding?”
What? Laetitia looked up at Tavish, surprised, not knowing what to answer to that. She gazed back at the brothers wordlessly.
“Sorry, Laetitia. We can’t resist teasing Will.” Hugh gave her a soft smile, which didn’t reach his eyes.
“Thank you so much for all of your
help and welcoming me into your home.”
“We both owe our lives to Will, so whenever he or his girlfriend needs help, we’ll always be available.” Richard’s voice was as solemn as hers.
The breakfast was still sitting in the dining room waiting for them, but Laetitia was feeling queasy and just nibbled on a scone while the men ate a midmorning snack of small sandwiches and slices of freshly baked cake, exchanging jokes about wartimes, which astounded Laetitia, who could not imagine the lightness of the conversation around the theme.
Hugh left to attend his chores while Richard ushered Laetitia and Tavish into one of the private drawing rooms overlooking the gardens.
The two English bulldogs, Venus and Churchill, were sleeping there. Churchill came to sniff them.
“Is he safe?” Laetitia asked warily, looking at Churchill and his pronounced bite.
“Aye. In spite of their appearance, they’re quite friendly and pacific.” Tavish settled her on a comfortable embroidered sofa.
Richard went down on his haunches to ruffle his hand over the massive head of the dog. “This is Churchill.”
“Hi, Churchill.” She scratched behind the dog’s ear, and he instantly put his head on the sofa to be petted. And then she noticed Venus. “Oh, she is pregnant. What’s her name?”
Richard pointed at the female, who had stayed lying on the fur rug. “Venus, named for the second World War Royal Navy destroyer’s mascot. If you want a puppy . . .”
“Hey! You offered it to me,” Tavish teased.
“Oh, yes.” She almost squealed in delight. “I’d love one.”
“Humph. Cat isn’t going to like that,” Tavish said.
“Who is Cat? Your roommate?”
Laetitia rolled her eyes at Tavish and explained to Richard, “There is no Cat. There is Cleopatra, my cat.”
“I’ll pick up some ice for your feet, Little Elf.” Tavish looked at Richard and Laetitia for a moment, noticing their easy friendship. “Keep her company, will you, Richard? And, pal . . . paws off,” he joked. Hidden under the joke, there was an emotion straining his chest. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her with him to wherever he was going, so he wouldn’t risk losing her. You are going insane, Tavish Uilleam.