Lord of Darkness (Maiden Lane #5)(70)

Well. He wasn’t entirely uninterested.

The laces finally loosened and she began to draw them through the eyelets, her chest expanding, her breasts falling free. She glanced up at him and held those crystalline eyes as she drew the stays over her head.

He didn’t react other than to glance down her body. She still wore the chemise.

His gaze rose to meet hers again. “Everything.”

She knew it would come down to this, knew he was determined to impress upon her that tonight was different from their previous nights. She would do it, no matter that her neck and face felt aflame, except the reason why she was doing it had become confused in all the heat and emotions. Because while she still wanted a baby—very, very much—there might be a more immediate want.

And he was standing right in front of her, waiting for her to finish stripping for him.

She reached for the hem of her chemise and threw it off before she could think, and then she just froze, standing there naked before him.

He took the final step that made their bodies meet—her nude nipples against the fine wool of his coat, for he was still entirely dressed. He flattened his palms over her shoulders before delicately running his fingers down to her breasts. He circled her fullness, trailing his fingers up to her nipples and running his blunt fingernails around the very edge where rose skin met pale.

She gasped, but before she could say anything, he bent in one swift move and picked her up as if she were as light as a feather, which she most definitely was not.

He placed her on the bed before she could fully understand the fact that he was carrying her. She lay there watching as he toed off his shoes and removed his coat and waistcoat. He doffed his wig and laid it on his dressing table, and then turned back to her. She expected him to continue disrobing, but instead he knelt on the bed, crawling until he was braced over her supine form, close but not actually touching her. He stared at her with severe gray eyes until she lifted a hand and touched the side of his face.

He closed his eyes, almost as if she’d pained him with her touch. “Say my name.”

She swallowed before she could make her tongue work. “Godric.”

His eyes opened and they no longer seemed quite as cold. “Megs.”

He bent his head and touched his lips to hers, brushing, once, twice, until his mouth settled on hers, demanding entrance. She let him in, teasing his tongue with hers, learning the taste of his mouth, the feel of his lips. He broke their kiss and stared at her once more, his eyes demanding something of her.

“Godric,” she said obediently.

And it seemed to appease him. He tongued his way down her throat, making her arch, making her wonder how very different he was from Roger. They’d met in trysts, Roger and she, and thus, perhaps by the very nature of their meetings, their joinings had been hurried—the flare of passion fast, nearly out of control, and over again much too quickly.

Godric, in contrast, seemed to enjoy simply exploring her. Taking his time as if he wanted to wring something from her. Something more than mere passion.

The thought made her uneasy.

He lifted his head suddenly as if he were aware her attention had wandered, his eyebrows drawn together over stormy gray eyes. “Say my name.”

“Godric,” she whispered.

He lowered his mouth to her right breast, licking around the sensitive nipple before abruptly drawing her into his mouth.

She gasped, her hands flying instinctively to his shorn hair, grasping uselessly at the too-short locks. He suckled strongly, his tongue working against the underside of the nipple, his fingers petting her other breast. That one point of pleasure was so intense, making her mouth open soundlessly.

He moved to her other breast, laving it before sucking for many long minutes. Her legs moved restlessly, her thighs clenching.

He raised his head above her, his eyes on her breasts, red and wet now. “My name.”

“G-Godric.”

He thumbed her nipples—in reward or punishment, she wasn’t sure—as he began mouthing over her ribs and down her belly. He was heading in the same direction as he had the night before and she instinctively tensed.

He placed both hands flat against her hip bones and took the time to kiss her lower belly, just above where the springy hair began.

Then he looked at her face.

She licked her lips before parting them. “Godric.”

He watched her as his hands grasped her thighs and slowly parted them, pushing until her legs were spread wide.

Then he looked down.

Instinctively she tried to bring her legs together again, but his hands were hard and firm. Not even Roger had examined her so closely. So intimately. The rooms they had trysted in had been dim. Even when he’d kissed her there, it had been only a fleeting touch. She’d been so embarrassed …

Was so embarrassed.

She knew—knew—she was wet there, her curls moist, and she couldn’t possibly be pretty. Why would he want to do such a thing? Stare at her so long without moving? She looked wildly at all the candles lit around the room. Would he put them out if she asked?

“Say my name.” His voice, even lower, even more gravelly than usual, interrupted her frantic thoughts.

“G-Godric.”

It was as if his name on her lips put spur to him. He lowered his head so fast she hadn’t the time to react, to try to pull him back, and once he’d found his goal …