limitations, but I am thinking that I have run out of both.’
‘I see.’ Her answer was given with a smile.
‘So if you thought to stop me, then I would say now is about the time…’
His fingers cupped the fullness of one breast through the layer of velvet, his burning glance holding her captive.
The feeling was exquisite. Thin want with need on the edge of it, and an answering spasm in her belly as the thrall of lust made her groan out aloud.
‘Lucas?’
She whispered his name amongst the riding waves of hunger and heat, his leg pushing against the mound of her femininity.
‘I would like to show you more than just a kiss under mistletoe, Lilly.’
His breath against her face was close. A locked door and as many hours as was needed.
She felt his fingers move across the cloth of her gown, bringing her to him. The length of their bodies fused into warmness, finding home, fitting perfectly.
When she tipped up her head he leant down, his mouth tasting hers, slanting across the small kiss she thought to offer and finding much, much more.
Heat. Hope. Thrall.
The pulse in her quickened, understanding what she knew only such a little of, yet wanting again what he had offered her once, the strength and core of his masculinity measured and fine.
And then hesitating.
‘Why?’ She shook her head, her breathing hoarse in the silence and the daylight bright. Not dark. Not hidden. No concealed and veiled mating.
‘If we go any further, Lillian, I cannot promise to cease.’
‘Cease?’ Even the thought of it made her shake.
‘It is not just a kiss I want this time.’
She felt her face flame, though his answering smile was tender.
‘I would never mean to hurt you.’
‘Hurt me?’ Her eyes widened, reality coming between fantasy.
She heard him take in breath and hold it. His heartbeat quickened under the pads of her fingers at his wrist.
‘When a man and a woman mate, the way of it is not always easy the first time.’
His words were whispered, the clock on his desk punctuating the passing seconds of silence. The caress of his breath on her cheeks made her turn towards him even as he began to speak again.
‘Do you know anything of what happens?’
Lillian swallowed. ‘A baby is made by the seed you place in my stomach.’ Anne Weatherby had told her that once after a particularly large glass of wine.
‘Well, not quite, sweetheart.’
Lucas’s hands had now fallen lower, caressing her hips and her stomach and an ache of want made her press into him, unbidden. Asking for more even without the knowledge of what ‘more’ meant.
He began to move too, matching her rocking with his own. Give and take! The silent language of lovers through all the centuries of time. Faster and harder until her fingernails scraped down the skin of his arms, trying to understand what it was she asking for. Just this. Just them.
‘Luc?’ A question almost groaned. His fingers cupped her chin and he brought her face up so that his amber eyes burnt into hers as his other hand fell lower.
And lower as he lifted her skirt. The coolness of the winter air was strange against the heat of his fingers, and when he reached into what was hidden she tried to look away. He did not let her, holding his glance to her own as one finger gently found what it sought and eased in.
The rush of delight was elemental, uncomplicated and right. Opening her legs further, a thicker push followed, his fingers magic in what they engendered, a play of feeling and need and rapture.
The rising hardness against her stomach made her wonder. Was a man’s need as great as hers, but nowhere near as well concealed? She smiled at the thought.
‘Like a sheath, Lilly,’ he said as he nuzzled her neck. ‘I promise that you will fit me like a sheath.’
Snug? Close? Bound in skin?
Again he took her mouth, using his tongue in the same way he did his fingers, penetrating to find knowledge of her. Time seemed to stop as the day faded into only feeling, a nip of his teeth against the soft skin of her lips, his other hand pushing away the fabric covering her breasts and cupping the fullness before finding her nipple. And below his fingers bathed now in wetness.
The air between them quivered with all that he was doing to her, sweat building across the skin of her body as waves of need seemed to grow and grow and then recede again as he pulled away.
‘No!’ He laughed at her fervency, though his voice seemed hoarse and different.
‘Not so fast. Not so fast.’
Peeling away her stockings, he settled her against the wall, her velvet gown a cushion against the cold and her skirt now riding high above the juncture of her legs. Naked. Bare. Waiting. Excitement built steadily, vying with impatience as he undid his trousers and slid them down. The billowing white of his cotton shirt contrasted against the brown of his skin, muscles firmed and well defined.
A beautiful man with golden eyes and night-black hair and enough experience to make all of this easy! Giddy delirium urged her on, her fingers coming to the abundance of his sex and feeling…him. Smooth, warm. Needing all of what was to happen next. No control. No limitations. Just all the hours before them and an aching yearning eagerness!
He brought her hand into his as he positioned himself at the juncture of her legs. Wetness flooded between them and she frowned.
‘It is your body, sweetheart, saying that you want me.’
Now he lifted her slightly, gently piercing.
‘Luc,’ she cried as the first pains hit, his length buried within and straining.
He stopped instantly, his breath ragged and his eyes pleading.
‘If you truly wish for me to cease…’
‘No.’ She whispered this time, for in the hurt she could detect some other want, a small question of flesh as he moved once and once again.
Bringing her legs around him, he tipped her hips and her weight upon his manhood changed from discomfort into another thing.
Some life-filled thing, her hands holding him in place as her mouth bit into the soft folds of his neck.
Not just her hurt, but his as well, the deep thrusts changing rhythm, harder and faster, careful wariness punctured by a building fervour as his hand covered her bottom. The crescendo of an ache made her throw her head back and just feel, the pulse of heat and light and loving. And sound. Her voice. Not restrained or polite or ladylike, but vivid and raw and loud.
Nothing hidden or covert! No shrouded thing as the pace of their breathing slowed and the world reformed again.
‘This is what all married people feel…?’ She had to ask.
‘Only those who are lucky enough,’ he returned and lifted her into his arms, the swell of her breasts displaced so that her nipples were easily on show.
When he laid her on his bed she sat there as he undid her gown and her stays, pulling the cloth from her nakedness, daylight revealing much more than just secrets.
‘My God, you are so very beautiful,’ he said slowly, unravelling her hair. ‘Far more beautiful out of your clothes than in them and that’s saying something.’ The heavy drop of her tresses reached to the small of her back and the warmth was welcome.
Lucas wrapped his fingers in the gold paleness and brought it up to the light.
‘So many different shades of pale, Lilly.’ He had never seen hair her colour on anybody before, a changing
