Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(69)

Emelia walked straight to him, and slid her long arms around him. She hugged herself to his body, her face into the side of his neck. “I don't care about the future.” Her words seemed to burn his skin. “All I care about is that I'm here with you now…and I do love you.”

“You can't,” he said softly, while a white-hot explosion went off in his chest. “You have no reason to—”

“I don't need a reason. Love isn't like that.”

In the face of her stubborn, illogical passion, Nikolas could find no defense or retreat. He groaned and sought her mouth with his, kissing her with all the fire he felt inside. He filled his hands with her, cupping her bottom, her hips, her br**sts, in greedy and wanton succession. She opened her lips to him, and yielded her body with a tender generosity that devastated him. Locking his arms around her, he held her so tightly that she winced and gasped in pain. He loosened his grip only slightly, and rested his forehead on hers, breathing hard against her mouth.

“I don't know what to do,” he said. He'd never made such an admission before.

“What do you want?” she whispered. It was a provocative question, especially when she was clasped so tightly against his aroused body.

He wanted the intolerable pressure in his chest to leave…he wanted to be free somehow. “I want there to be no past and no future. I want to be able to tell you…”

“Tell me what?”

Nikolas drew back enough to look at her radiant face. His heart thundered with something like terror. He gripped her head in hands that held a distinct tremor, and he stared straight into her glimmering blue eyes. She was so beautiful, so much his.

“I can't,” he heard himself say.

“Let the future take care of itself,” she urged. “Let the others be responsible for themselves. All you can do is try to make a good life for yourself now, with me.”

Nikolas shook his head, wondering if it could really be that simple. He had never lived only for himself, without carrying the burden of his family's dark history. What if he cast all of that aside? It would almost certainly happen again—his father's abuse, his brother's murder, his own corruption. How could he love Emelia now, knowing what would take place?

But he wanted so badly to be with her, and it didn't seem that he had a choice. How long had he tried to deny his feelings for her? Days, months, years…and all of it had been futile. Why keep on trying? He didn't care what price came with loving her. She was worth anything.

Suddenly the emotional upheaval began to subside, leaving a sense of peace he had never known before. “I think I finally know why I'm here,” he said hoarsely. “It's not to change my family's history. It's to be with you. To remember a time when I…was able to feel this way.”

“What way?” she whispered, her hands sliding up to grip his wrists tightly.

His vision blurred, and he swallowed against the sharp pressure in his throat. “I…love you.” He pressed his mouth to her forehead, for once utterly gentle and humble. A feeling more pure and piercing than he had ever known flooded through him. “I love you,” he repeated, kissing her delicate eyelids, and he continued to whisper the miraculous words against her skin and hair. For a long time he wasn't aware of anything except the two of them standing in a pool of firelight, completely absorbed in each other. Later they moved to the bed, although he never remembered if he had led the way, or if she had.

He undressed them both, and he held Emelia's na**d body against his, keeping her warm and safe in a cocoon of silk-and-damask covers. With a single fingertip, he traced the lush shape of her mouth, the straight angle of her nose, the bold red slashes of her brows. She moved her hands over his back and sides in tentative strokes. The warmth of her touch filled him with a primitive urgency that took all his strength to contain.

His mouth came to hers, softly ravaging, while his knee slid between her long, silken legs and parted them. He clasped his palms over her br**sts until the tips gathered into hard points. Emelia trembled and moved imploringly beneath him, but he kept each caress soft and light. Nothing had ever enthralled him like this, making love at last, showing love with his mouth and hands and body. Tenderly he kissed every inch of her, from her head down to her long, narrow feet, returning leisurely to the crisp red spray of curls between her thighs. He pressed his mouth into the softest part of her, licking deep into the sweet cinnamon thicket. Emelia flinched in surprise and pleasure, her fingers tangling in his hair while gasping moans caught in her throat. When she was damp and ready for him, he raised himself over her, matching their limbs length to length.

Emelia slid her arms around his neck and touched her lips to his ear. “I don't know how to please you,” she whispered desperately. “What can I do? What can I give you?”

“Yourself. That's all I want.” He kissed and stroked her, coaxing her to explore his body as she would. When neither of them could bear any more, he entered her carefully, wincing at her cry of pain. “I'm sorry,” he breathed, lodged heavily inside her. “I'm sorry for hurting you.”

“No, no…” She wrapped her arms and legs around him, pulling him closer, arching in encouragement.

Nikolas began to move, straining to be gentle, while the rising pleasure slowly drove him past the point of sanity. He forget everything he'd ever been, every trace of the past and future. There was only her…Emelia…Emma…driving away all bitterness and anger. His very soul was unlocked, and for the first time in his life, he knew what it was to be happy.