Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(81)

Carefully, slowly, she rose on her knees, his cock pulling as it slid from her warmth.

She lowered herself, inching him back inside and he swallowed, his strong throat working. He was such a beautiful man—and he was all hers.

Perhaps she was doing it wrong. Perhaps he really was in pain. She leaned down and brushed a soft, nearly chaste kiss over his lips.

It was as if she’d put spur to him. His tongue was in her mouth, his hips arching off the bed and his hands holding her down as he drove his length into her again and again. His passion was intense, nearly overwhelming and she hung on, determined to ride him out. Determined to bring him as much pleasure as he’d brought her.

Suddenly he pulled from her kiss, his teeth gritted, his head arched back, and he shouted. At the same time she felt the scald of his semen rushing into her.

Silence watched in wonder. She’d never before seen this moment. It was as if he was possessed by a demon or perhaps an angel—some otherworldly being come to give both unbearable pain and exquisite pleasure. Maybe one and the same.

Gently she brushed kisses over his damp face, luxuriating in the intimacy of the moment as he recovered.

Finally his hand rose and he stroked her back with fingers as light as a butterfly. His touch seemed so tender, so loving almost, that it brought tears to her eyes.

Michael looked at her.

She blinked. She was still astride him, his penis inside her, though she could feel it retreating. What did sophisticates do now?

“Come here,” he growled, and pulled her down on top of him.

“I-I should go to my own bed,” she protested feebly. “I’m too heavy on you.”

“No,” was all he said in reply. He wrapped one arm across her bottom and flung the other over his head.

She laid her head on his chest. It was amazingly comfortable to lie on a man. He was warm and she could hear his heartbeat, strong and steady.

For a while she listened as his breathing grew deeper and his heartbeat slower. She’d always enjoyed sharing a bed with William, but what they’d done there had never produced the kind of excitement that Michael had given her. Making love with him was wonderful and wild and very, very pleasurable. Everything and more than she’d dreamed.

Which was why it seemed so strange when she began to cry a half hour later.

Her brown eyes swam with tears, overflowing, splashing down, scalding his hands, his face, drowning him in salty sorrow. Mam wept as Charlie stood over her, berating her, beating her with words and fists, and Mick was too small and weak to stop him.

But then Charlie faded and she lifted her head. Mick saw that it was Silence who wept and he could do nothing to comfort her, to console her terrible, unrelenting grief. For he had been the bringer of evil and death, the wellspring of her salt tears. He’d grasped with greedy hands and in so doing had crushed the very thing he’d sought to hold.

But hold her, he would. She was his, weeping or not, grief-stricken or not. And if he could not comfort her perhaps her hot tears would scald away the poison in his suppurating soul…

Mick woke from the nightmare, his body slick with sweat, and for a moment thought he still dreamed.

He could hear Silence weeping.

Weeping after he’d made love to her.

If he’d had a heart it would’ve contracted in pain then. But since he had no such organ, he reached for her. She was in his bed, finally, and he could not regret it. If he was incapable of love or comfort, so be it. But he could at least hold his woman and feel her tears on his face.

Share in her pain.

“What is it, me darlin’?” he asked, his voice rasping with sleep—or perhaps some new emotion.

She stiffened as he touched her, hunching her shoulder, but he gave no clemency. He was a pirate, after all, and what he took he held and she was his now—whether she knew it yet or not.

He pulled her into his arms. “Sweet Silence, tell me.”

Her body relaxed all at once, as if she conceded defeat. “I lied. All this time, I lied.”

He had no idea what she meant, but he made soothing noises at the back of his throat and kissed her neck. “What d’ye mean?”

When she shook her head again and didn’t answer, he gently turned her face so he could see her.

The sight sent a bolt of iron through his middle. It was just like in his dreams, her hazel eyes bright with crystal tears, her cheeks wet and reddened. “Dearest one.”

She hiccupped and said, “I said William and I had true love. That our marriage was perfect, but oh, Michael, it wasn’t.”

He sighed and laid his cheek against hers. Of course her marriage hadn’t been perfect. Her husband, from the sound of it, had been a stuffy sod. But he was also a dead stuffy sod. He knew well enough that mourning had nothing to do with how kind or unkind the person had been while alive.

“I just… just wanted to have a perfect marriage, I think,” she whispered, and he could feel the tremble in her voice as she said it. “He was away so much and I was always waiting for him… it was like we never truly settled into everyday married life. And when something difficult came up…” She sighed forlornly. “We didn’t know what to do. How to talk to one another.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair.

“And doing this…,” her voice squeaked, “this between you and me… I guess it just made me realize that William and I were truly over. Our marriage, our life. I can’t even lie to myself that it was perfect anymore.”