Dampness was good. Gently, he stroked her until he found her center, and then he slid a finger into that warm wetness. She inhaled sharply when he withdrew and went absolutely still when he returned with two fingers.
The books had mentioned a small, sensitive nub, and he moved his thumb about, seeking it. When he couldn’t locate it, he pulled back and peered down at her.
“Pierce!” She sounded scandalized.
He didn’t look away. “Can I not look at you? You’re all pink and lovely.” It was true of her body in general. She was flushed, her skin every color, from sweet, pale rose to wanton scarlet. “Open your legs,” he said, surprising himself with the order. He half-expected her to refuse, but when he nudged her thigh with his knee, she complied.
Ah. There was the nub he sought. Lightly, he brushed his thumb over it, and her hips rose off the bed.
“You like that.”
“I love that. Do it again.”
He slid his fingers into her and swirled his thumb about her center. In and out he moved, pausing at one point to lick his thumb to wet it. She tasted sweet and a bit salty. Another time he would put his mouth there and taste her directly. He hadn’t thought he would want to, but now he knew he must.
Eliza was beyond noting what he did. She might have been appalled or aroused by seeing him lick her wetness from his fingers. But her eyes were closed, her head thrown back, her breasts arched upward. He bent and closed his lips on a taut peak, sucking hard as he slid his fingers into her. This time, he pressed on the nub, then flicked it gently until she shuddered.
“Please, please.”
He thrust again, deeper this time, and when he filled her to the hilt, he moved his thumb rapidly until her entire body began to tremble. Her muscles contracted around his fingers, and though he was in awe of the feeling, he remembered to suckle her again, taking her swollen nipple into his mouth and teasing her with tongue and fingers, until she let out a muffled scream and dissolved, panting on the bed.
Four
“That was...”
Her lips fumbled the words. She lay in a sated stupor on the bed, all pleasantly heavy and full. Days or even weeks would have to pass before she’d be able to open her eyes, much less move. She knew what an orgasm was. She’d pleasured herself on the odd winter evening, alone in her cold bed, thoughts of Pierce making her restless. That was before he’d even known she was alive, much less looked at her as a woman.
“This was...”
What he’d done to her was so much more than she’d ever felt before. The pleasure had been violent and consuming, draining all of her strength. Her body thrummed with life and warmth, separate from that of Pierce’s body.
The satin of his waistcoat brushed against her sensitive breast, and she forced her eyes open. He watched her. He was fully dressed, right to his knotted cravat—and wasn’t there something wicked about that?—and he made no move to take his own pleasure. She did not know what to say, did not know if her mouth would even work. Finally, she managed, “That was...”
He propped his head on his hand.
“Lovely.”
“Lovely?” He straightened.
“Wonderful?”
His hand thumped the bed. “Perhaps I didn’t do it right. Let me try again.”
She laughed and caught his hand. “I couldn’t possibly survive another climax like that one so soon. Perhaps I should have said it was explosive.”
He curled his fingers around hers.
“And that was in the books you read?”
“That and more. Shall I show you?”
Oh, yes. But she could feel sense beginning to creep back into her mind, and that always overcame passion. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Exactly the opposite,” he said, moving away. She immediately missed the feel of his body pressed against hers. “It is late and you need to sleep. Shall we meet again tomorrow?” He eyed her through lowered lashes. “To discuss the mission?”
“Of course.”
Barbican matters required she drag the coverlet over her body. “Surely the highwayman will strike tomorrow. It didn’t snow today, and the roads will be clear. If the weather holds into tomorrow, I think he will act.”
“Too risky to wait long,” Pierce agreed, straightening his neckcloth. “The weather might take a turn any day.”
“Then if we do not catch him tomorrow, shall we meet here again tomorrow night? To discuss the mission, of course.”
“Of course.” He moved to the door, and still wrapped in the coverlet, she followed him. He peered out, looked left and right, then slipped into the darkness of the corridor. Eliza closed the door quietly then leaned against it, hands pressed to her cheeks.
What was she going to do now?
Give me another chance.
The request had surprised her. He wanted another chance. He’d asked for another chance. She would have had too much pride to do such a thing. Pierce had pride too. If he was willing to forgo it, wasn’t that an indication of love?
Foolish girl. He wasn’t in love with her. He wanted to marry her because it suited his political aspirations. He was leaving the country, and there was nothing for her in Switzerland. Although, she supposed if she were going to design weapons, she could do it just as well in Switzerland as in London. The Barbican group wasn’t in Switzerland, but Pierce wouldn’t stay in Switzerland forever. He’d return to London in a few years, and with foreign diplomatic experience, be able to find a better job than as a clerk for the Foreign Office.
The Barbican group was the most elite branch of the Foreign Office, and the most secret, but the fact remained that Pierce was still a clerk, no matter how elite the branch he served.
What choice besides going abroad did he have if he wanted to advance his career?
Eliza understood all of that. Was she was willing to sacrifice her own
