“Stop,” he ordered hoarsely, the muscles beneath her palms flexing. “Stop now.”
She did. Knowing she could have sent him over the edge was satisfaction enough, and while she enjoyed pleasuring him, her mouth was not where she wanted him.
His eyes were diamond bright in the lamplight, burning with desire. He tugged the pins from her hair even though it must have pained his injured arm to do so, and when he had the long, heavy mass streaming around her shoulders, he ordered her to turn around so that he could unfasten her gown. It took a while—long enough that Octavia’s nerves were fairly frayed by the time he finished, but eventually the neckline sagged and the gown slipped from her arms.
She turned, giving him access to the ribbons on her shift. He untied them, flicking the flimsy gauze to the floor. She stood before him, naked save for her stockings and garters.
He pulled her against him, and she gasped as her naked flesh met his. Rough yet smooth, hard yet supple, he was like nothing she had ever felt before. The years had made him bigger, more muscled. And he was hotter than she remembered, his skin like a brand against her own.
“You are even more beautiful than I remembered,” he whispered against her ear. “You have no idea how often I’ve thought of you this way.”
She shivered as his warm breath caressed the side of her face and neck, closing her eyes in pleasure as his lips followed the same path.
His fingers combed through her hair, massaging her scalp and neck until her muscles felt limp and rubbery, she was so relaxed, and yet filled with a coiling tension that increased
with his touch rather than eased. Between her legs she was already throbbing with anticipation. Warm and moist, she was ready for him, even though she had no idea whether the invasion of his body would be more welcome than it had been that first night a lifetime ago.
He lowered her to the bed, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at her.
“You look like an angel,” she whispered. Backlit by the candlelight, his entire form was cast with a warm, golden halo.
Gently, he smoothed the hair back from her face, fanning it out around her on the pillows. There was not a flaw to be found on him anywhere. The loose waves of his hair gave him a boyish look, the lines of his face were softened by the soft light. Only the bandage on his arm marred his perfection.
He was perfection to her.
North smiled tenderly. “I look at you and I lose all rational thought. You are a temptress, dear Vie.”
Her gaze locked with his. “And you are pure sin.”
His hand slid up her thigh. The muscle there quivered at his touch, and she shifted beneath him. She wanted him to touch her, stroke her. He brushed his lips across the taut peak of one breast, sending a delicious thrill shooting through her. “You are so beautiful. So perfect in every way.”
She wanted to argue, but he robbed her of speech as he eased the tip of his tongue around her nipple. It puckered and tightened, aching for more.
“Everything about you is beautiful,” he murmured, his breath hot and moist and oh-so-tormenting.
“Stop talking,” she demanded, her fingers tangling in his hair, pushing his head to her breast.
He chuckled softly before taking her hardened flesh into his mouth. He suckled gently as his fingers stroked her waist and hip.
Octavia moaned and arched her hips against him. His fingers trailed down her belly to the juncture of her shivering thighs. She parted her legs for him, anxious for his touch.
Her body jerked when he slid a finger into the damp valley there. Her muscles clutched at him as her fingernails dug into his shoulders. It was too much. It was too good, too intense. And yet she wanted more. She writhed against his hand, unsure whether she wanted more or wanted to escape.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly, his breath warm against her cheek.
“I want you inside me,” she panted, staring unabashedly into the fiery blue of his eyes. “I need you inside me. Please, North.”
He didn’t answer, but she felt his hardness pulsate against her thigh, and she gasped as he slipped another finger inside her.
“You’re so wet, I won’t last more than a minute inside you. I want more than a minute Vie. I want you begging and sobbing and coming so hard your bones will turn to butter.”
She closed her eyes as his words and fingers lifted her to another plane. The sweet ache between her legs intensified with every whispered caress. When she could stand it no more, she reached down and wrapped her hand around him.
“Ahh, Vie, no.”
“So smooth and hot,” she teased, using his own tactics against him. “Are you ready to beg, Norrie?”
“You’re going to end up with me all over your hand,” he warned through clenched teeth.
Laughing, Octavia pushed him onto his back, rolling after him, careful of his injured arm. She felt no modesty with him, no need to allow him to dictate how their coupling would proceed. There was just want and need, and something else. Something so strong she didn’t want to even try to identify it.
North stopped her only for as long as it took him to withdraw a sheath from the drawer in his bedside table. Guiding her hands, he showed her how to put it on him, securing it at the base of the engorged sex that strained against her hands.
She straddled his hips, rocking back and forth so that the moist folds of her sex rubbed against the rock-hard length of him. The ache inside her intensified. She wanted him now.
Gazing at the body beneath her, she marveled at how his form, once boyish and smooth, was now knotted muscle and sinew. She ran her hands along the firm ridge of his ribs into the dark hair that covered his chest.
“You are so beautiful,” she murmured, leaning down to kiss him.
North wrapped one arm about her waist as their lips met, holding her tightly. Boldly, Octavia reached between them, guiding him to the entrance of her body. North arched his pelvis as the blunt head slid inside her.
Both of them gasped as her body engulfed him completely. The sensation was almost too much to bear. There was no discomfort as there had been that first time. There was nothing but a delicious, full, stretched feeling that made her want to move on top of him until both of them were dripping with sweat.
This was not going to be a slow and tender union like their first one. This was going to be fast and wild and overwhelmingly intense. After finding each other they had come dangerously close to losing each other again, and their coming together wasn’t about all the affection and desire they felt for each other. It was about the fear. Fear of living in a world where one of them no longer existed.
Octavia fell forward, grasping the headboard as if she was trying to tear it from its base. One of her breasts brushed against his mouth, and he caught the nipple between his lips, sucking hard enough to make her gasp in pleasure-pain.
His tongue against her nipple as he slid in and out of her sent Octavia over the edge. She brought her knees up to flank his torso, opening herself for even deeper penetration. Using the headboard for leverage, she began lifting and lowering her entire body, tensing every muscle so that she could feel a trickle of sweat between her shoulder blades and breasts. Her hair fell around them like a thick curtain, brushing against his face and chest as she rode him as if she were trying to break him.
His hips arched up to meet her every thrust and the pressure, the demanding ache between her legs grew—a sweet, desperate torment that she craved release from but wanted to go on forever at the same time. North was almost vicious as he drove his body into hers. She could feel him tensing beneath her, and her own movements quickened.
“Oh God,” he cried, arching against the pillows.
Octavia lost complete control as she felt his release. She tossed her head back and cried out as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed throughout her body. She continued to writhe against him until the intensity began to ebb, wanting to hold on to the incredible sensation for as long as she could.
Finally, she collapsed on top of him. They lay in silence with only the sound and rhythm of their breathing between them.
“Vie,” North whispered after what felt like forever.
“Don’t.” Pressing her fingers against his lips, she shushed him. “Please. Don’t say anything that might ruin it.”
He nodded, wrapping his arms around her. They were silent for a long time.
There wasn’t anything to say.
H
e watched her while she slept.
It was late—very late. The hour, the tiredness of his body, and the potency of their lovemaking should have had him snuffed out like a candle but it didn’t. He was afraid—afraid to close his own eyes for fear she would be gone when he woke. Somebody might take her away, or worse, she might leave on her own.
So he lay on his side, quiet and still in the gloomy darkness, not daring to move despite the ache in his injured arm and the increasing numbness in the arm beneath his head. Let it fall asleep. Right now that was preferable to having her wake up. In the morning he would be able to deal with her regrets, but not now.
“Norrie?”
Damn.
“What is wrong?”
He rolled over onto his back, distancing himself from her gaze. It would be so much easier to hear whatever she might say if he wasn’t looking at her.
“Nothing. Nothing is wrong.”
“Then why are you behaving so?”
Was that hurt in her voice or accusation? And just how the hell did she think he should act? Tonight changed everything. Complicated everything. Could she not see that?
He glanced at her. “I screwed you, Vie. Or was it so disappointing you forgot?” It hadn’t sounded like she’d been disappointed.
Her eyes widened and he thought maybe she paled, but it was impossible to tell in the dim light. “Do not be so vulgar.”
Vulgar? She thought that was
vulgar
? She really had been away from the Garden too long. Mincing around in that gilded little world of hers had changed her after all. To think he had once wanted to be part of that world as well. He was lucky he wasn’t.
So why was this bitter taste in the back of his throat?
“What would you have me call it? Swiving, frigging, slapping skin, a bit of in and out, hide the willy, fornication, ride the wet pony, rutting, f—”
“Stop!” Ahh, he had made her angry. That was good. He could accept her anger. If she told him to bugger off now it wouldn’t hurt so much.
Silently, he stared into eyes so blue they seemed black in the dark, finding some satisfaction in the distaste he saw there. But there was hurt as well, and there could be no satisfaction in that.
Sheffield, you are an ass.
Tension drained from his muscles. “I am sorry, Vie. It was vulgar of me, you are right.”
Her hand was soft on his arm. “Do you regret last night?”
“I regret being shot at, if that’s what you mean.”
She actually smiled a bit. Could she see through all his surliness? Did she know that he was only acting this way be
cause the only thing that scared him more than losing Octavia was having her?
“It is not.”
No, he’d known it wasn’t. He did not want her to think he regretted bedding her, but masculine pride—and common sense—wouldn’t allow him to admit just how much it meant to him either. “This changes everything.”
Octavia looked stricken. “I do not want things between us to change.”
How did she mean that? How did she view their relationship as it was? Did she want to remain friends and nothing more? She must. She obviously could not be feeling the same confusion he was.
If she didn’t want things to change, that meant she wanted to carry on with her engagement to Spinton. She wanted to go back to her little world and leave him behind. It was for the best, he knew that. Honestly, he did.
“Fine,” he murmured. “Things will not change.”
She looked so relieved it broke his heart. “Good. I just want to enjoy being with you again. I want to savor every moment.”
So she’d have something to think about when Spinton was huffing and puffing on top of her? Or because she actually felt something deeper than friendship toward him? He didn’t know, and he was too much of a bloody coward to ask.
Her marrying Spinton would be for the best. She deserved that life. How many times would he have to tell himself that before his heart believed?
Instead he covered her hand with his own. “Me too.”
Silence, awkward and heavy, passed between them. Eventually, Octavia’s gaze flitted away as her fingers slid free of his. “I should return home. Beatrice is no doubt beside herself.”
Maybe she was beside Spinton, but North didn’t bother to give voice to his thoughts. He very much doubted the earl would make such advances, nor did he believe prim and proper Beatrice would accept them—no matter how much either of them might want to.
No, he and Octavia were the only ones in the wrong. Odd how something so wrong, so scandalous and sinful, could feel so right.
She wanted to go and he knew he should let her, but as she sat up in the bed, not bothering to hide her nudity from him, he caught her by the arm. He kept his gaze riveted on her face. Her body was beautiful and he had committed to memory just how wonderful every inch of it had felt against his, but he wanted to see her—see the emotions on her face.
“Is that what you want?” Never mind that, who was going to protect her if she left him? Spinton? He doubted it. If she truly wanted to go, he’d let her, but he’d stand guard night and day in front of her house himself to make sure she was safe.
She smiled sadly over her shoulder at him. “You have distanced yourself from me so much over the past few minutes that I think it must be what you want.”
God, he hadn’t meant to hurt her, only to protect himself. Could it be that she didn’t want to leave him? She should, yes, he knew that. But what if she wanted to stay? Could either of them dare take that chance?
“It does not matter what I want.” He had to allow her to decide this for herself, no matter how much he wanted to force her to remain in his bed.
She watched him with a little frown. “Of course it matters. This is your house. I will go.”
He refused to release her wrist, pushing himself upright so that he sat beside her, the sheet pooling around his hips.
“Damn it, Vie! Just this once, do not think about what I
want, or what anyone else wants. What do you want?” Did she even know?
She stared at him.
“Do you want to return home to your empty bed, to Spinton and Beatrice and society, or do you want stay with me, here in my bed—my house?”
“I…” Her mouth worked, but no sound came out.
So that was it then. North released her arm. “Then you had better go. I will have Brahm’s carriage brought round for you.”
This time it was he who was stopped. Octavia placed the flat of her hand full on the center of his chest.
“I do not want to go.” Her voice was raw and husky. “I want to stay. In your bed.”
Her words aroused him more than any touch, any erotic image ever could have.
“Then stay.”
Their gazes locked and North knew she wanted more than to simply stay with him. She wanted him. She didn’t understand the attraction between them any more than he did, didn’t want to question the depths of her feelings, but one thing was for certain—he was as much in her soul as she was in his. For years she had been the most important person in his life, surpassing even his brothers. He had been the most important person in hers as well. No one knew more about him than Octavia, and no one would ever know her better than he.
She lowered herself to the mattress and held her open arms up to him. Her long, smooth legs parted easily as he slid between them. Her nipples brushed his chest as her torso pressed against the length of his. She was warm and damp against his cock, moving against him although he had yet to touch her. This time it wasn’t going to be about physical arousal, it was strictly emotional.
There were things neither of them knew how to put into words, but their bodies knew how much they cared. Her affection for him was in the trembling of her thighs, the desperation of her fingers. She clutched at his arms, arching against him, her body begging him to fill her, possess her. She wanted as much as he could give her, wanted as much as she could possibly have, and he knew it was so she would have something of him with her later.
He’d give her something she’d never forget.
He slid down the slender length of her, kissing her breasts with their swollen pink tips and the delicate flare of her hips.
Sliding between her firm thighs, he kissed the warm flesh there, parting the moist curls with his fingers. His tongue probed the salty-sweet pinkness, seeking and finding the small, hard pearl that brought a moan of pleasure to Octavia’s lips when he licked it.
Ruthlessly he made love to her with his mouth and fingers. Without mercy he stroked and tasted, tormenting her with the promise of satisfaction until he finally gave it to her. When she came in a shuddering, keening symphony of rapture, North raised himself above her, thrusting his eager erection into the welcome wetness of her body. It didn’t occur to him until he was inside that he hadn’t gotten another sheath. He didn’t care about the consequences. Right now he was mindless, concerned with nothing more than the joy of Octavia’s body, Octavia’s soul.
A long time ago he’d promised himself that he would never father a bastard, and he meant it. If Octavia ended up pregnant with his child, she would marry him—not Spinton. He would see to it.
Muscles straining, North thrust himself deep within her, as deep as she could take him. Her legs locked around him, her hands gripped the trembling length of his forearms. The wound in his arm throbbed in protest. He ignored it. Her
breathing nothing more than shallow gasps, Octavia arched against him, whimpering. He thrust harder. Faster. Then everything stopped. He ceased to breathe, to think, to live, as his orgasm was wrenched from him by the hot, demanding flesh clenching his.
Panting, he collapsed onto her, his arms quaking as he tried to shield her from the brunt of his weight. Christ. It felt as though she had taken ten years off his life—or added them.
This was not fair. Sex with his best friend should not be the most incredible he had ever experienced. It was wrong for it to feel so right. Perhaps he and Octavia were simply living proof that men and women could not be simply friends. Attraction would always complicate things.
And Christ, were things ever complicated now. She didn’t want things to change, but how the hell could they possibly remain the same? Maybe she could pretend that sharing his bed hadn’t reset the rules, but he couldn’t. No, he could—but it wouldn’t be easy.
And it certainly wasn’t going to be easy to hand her back to Spinton. She was his, damn it. Spinton couldn’t have her. But Spinton would have her. That was how it had to be.
“What are you thinking about?”
He brushed the pad of his finger along the tip of her pert little nose. “You.”
She smiled. “Good things I hope.”
“After tonight how could they not be?” As he spoke the words, his left arm twinged, reminding him that not everything that had happened that evening had been as good as being inside Octavia.
The expression on her face told him her thoughts were in the same place. “Do you truly believe his intent was to kill you?”
There was no need to define who “he” was. “I don’t know. It may have been meant as a warning.”
Obviously something of his suspicions managed to find its
way into his voice or his expression because she finished his thoughts, “Or it was not intended for you at all.”
“We do not know that.’
“No, but it is your job to consider it.”
She wasn’t stupid, his Vie. He might try to conceal things from her, but she hadn’t always lived in a gilded cage. She knew how the underside of the world worked. She knew just as well as he that things weren’t always as they appeared.
“I will not allow anyone to harm you.”
“I know that.” Her gaze locked with his. “And I will tear apart anyone that hurts you.”
She meant it. Anyone else and he might have laughed, but he knew better. This was not an empty promise. She would exact revenge for any harm that befell him—or she would try. The consequences of what might happen if she tried and failed were not something he wanted to talk about.
“Leave the law to me, Vie.” He rolled to his back, relieving her and his injured arm of his weight.
But she wasn’t going to let him distance himself again, that was obvious when she rolled after him, propping herself up on her elbow to face him once again. “Why do you put yourself in such danger?”
He tucked his good arm behind his head. “It is my profession.”
Her lips brushed his cheek. How glad he was that he had shaved earlier—just so he could feel that tender touch of her mouth. “You could change professions.”
“What else would could I do? Trod the boards, become an actor?” He laughed—harshly. “Think I could give old Kean a little competition?”
She trailed her fingers through the hair on his chest. It was nice. “You could enter politics.”
He scowled. “You do not believe that shite Brahm was spewing tonight, do you?”
She scowled back. “As a matter of fact, I thought he was correct. It would be a safer occupation.”
And one he had already considered, yet now he rebelled. “A boring one.”
Dawn was coming. He knew because he could see clearly as she rolled her eyes. “I do not believe that is your real reason for objecting.”
Let her believe whatever she wanted. He replied lightly, “I detest being bored, you know that.”
“You also detest society.” The fingers stroking his chest stilled. “Is that not your true reason for dismissing the prospect?”
She knew him far too well. He looked away. “You do not know what you are talking about.”
Octavia tugged at his chest hair, drawing his gaze back to hers. “I know and you know I know.”
“I know you think you know.” Despite his annoyance with the conversation, North could not stop the smile that curved his lips as he rubbed the spot where the hair had pulled. Octavia grinned back.
“I refuse to jump whenever some nob commands it.” There was an honest answer if ever he gave one.
Her fingers were down around his navel now. “Just do what you always do, Norrie. Ignore him and do what you want.”
Suddenly the direction of her fingers didn’t matter. She’d struck a nerve. “That sounds a little hypocritical coming from someone who lives strictly by the rules.”