It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers #2)(73)

“Lillian…” His eyes were like molten obsidian. “If we do this, you need to understand how it will change things. We’ll have to—”

“Now,” she interrupted huskily. “Come inside me. Now.” She ran exploring fingertips from the root of the shaft to the swollen tip. Nuzzling the strong column of his throat, she bit him lightly. In a sudden blur of movement he pushed her to her back, his body lowering over hers. He pushed her legs wide. She felt a stinging pressure between her thighs, and her muscles tightened against the invasion.

Marcus reached between their bodies and found the peak of her sex, his fingertips kindling new pleasure in her sensitive flesh until she rocked upward in helpless reply. With each welcoming rise of her hips, she felt his insistent hardness pressing deeper, stretching her. And then he moved with an explicit thrust to sink fully inside her. Gasping in pained surprise, she held still, her hands clutching his hard, smooth back. Her flesh throbbed violently around his, a rim of tight-stretched soreness that would not ease despite her willingness to accept him. Murmuring for her to relax, he held still inside her with infinite patience, trying not to hurt her.

As he cuddled and kissed her, Lillian looked up into his tender dark eyes. As their gazes held, she felt her entire body loosening, all resistance draining away. His hand cupped beneath her bottom, lifting her as he began to move in a careful rhythm. “Is this all right?” he whispered.

Moaning, she wrapped her arms around his neck for answer. Her head fell back and she felt him kissing her throat, while her body opened fully to the slippery-hot intrusion. She began to squirm upward into the strokes of pleasure-pain, and it seemed that her movements enhanced his delight. His features went taut with excitement, while his breath scraped in his throat. “Lillian,” he rasped, gripping her bottom more firmly. “My God, I can’t…Lillian…” His eyes closed, and he groaned harshly as he reached his own cl**ax, his sex throbbing palpably inside her.

Afterward he made to withdraw from her, but she clung to him, murmuring, “No. Not yet, please…” He rolled them both to their sides, their bodies still joined. Reluctant to let go of him, she hitched her slender leg high over his hip while his fingertips drifted over her back in exotic patterns. “Marcus,” she whispered. “This is a dream …isn’t it?”

She felt him smile drowsily against her cheek. “Go to sleep,” he said, and kissed her.

When Lillian opened her eyes again, the afternoon light was considerably diminished, and the sky visible through the window was tinted with lavender. Marcus’s lips wandered lightly from her cheek to her jaw, and his arm hooked beneath her shoulders, lifting her to a half-sitting position. Disoriented, she breathed in his familiar scent. Her mouth was parched, and her throat was stinging and dry, and when she tried to speak, her voice came out in a croak. “Thirsty.”

The edge of a crystal glass pressed to her lips, and she drank gratefully. The liquid was cool and flavored with citrus and honey.

“More?”

As Lillian stared at the man who held her, she saw that he was fully dressed, his hair brushed into order, his complexion fresh from a recent washing. Her tongue felt thick and dry. “I dreamed…oh, I dreamed…”

But it rapidly became clear that it had not been a dream. Although Westcliff was properly clothed, she was na**d in his bed, covered only by a sheet. “Oh God,” she whispered, amazed and frightened by the realization of what she had done. Her head throbbed painfully. She pressed her aching temples with her fingers.

Turning a tray on the bedside table, Westcliff poured another glass of the refreshing liquid. “Does your head ache?” he asked. “I thought it might. Here.” He gave her a thin paper packet, and she unfolded the end with trembling fingers. Tilting her head back, she poured the bitter contents of the packet to the back of her throat and washed it down with a gulp of the sweet beverage. The sheet slipped down to her waist. Flaming with mortification, she snatched it up with a gasp. Though Westcliff forbore to say anything, she saw from his expression that it was rather too late for modesty. She closed her eyes and moaned.

Taking the glass from her, Westcliff eased her down to the pillow and waited until she could bring herself to look at him once more. Smiling, he stroked her burning cheek with the backs of his knuckles. Wishing that he wouldn’t appear so damned pleased with himself, Lillian scowled. “My lord—”

“Not yet. We’ll talk after I’ve taken care of you.”

She yelped with dismay as he pulled the sheet away from her body, exposing every inch of her skin to his gaze. “Don’t!”

Ignoring her, Westcliff busied himself at the nightstand, pouring steaming water from a small jug into a creamware bowl. He dipped a cloth into the water, wrung it out, and sat beside Lillian. Realizing what he intended, she knocked his hand away reflexively. Pinning her with an ironic glance, he said, “If you’re going to be coy at this point—”

“All right.” Blushing wildly, she lay back and closed her eyes. “Just …get it over with.”

The hot cloth pressed between her thighs, causing her to jerk in response. “Easy,” he murmured, bathing her smarting flesh with tender care. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts. Lie still.”

Lillian put her hand over her eyes, too mortified to watch as he molded another hot compress over the dull ache of her private parts. “Does that help?” she heard him ask. She nodded stiffly, unable to produce a sound. Westcliff spoke again, his voice colored with amusement. “I wouldn’t have expected such modesty from a girl who frolics outdoors in her undergarments. Why are you covering your eyes?”