Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(88)

“No,” Lily said firmly, not even bothering to sign. “I cannot believe that.” Her beginner’s finger-spelling was too slow and clumsy for this. Besides, she needed to touch him.

She raised her hands to his face, wiping his tears with her thumbs. He wouldn’t look at her. “Your mother was so brave and strong. She sacrificed so much for you. A woman like that would never just … succumb. She would never lose faith in herself, or in you.”

“Lily.” His features twisted with emotion. “Lily, no matter what happens, you must never doubt that I love you.”

“I won’t.” She kissed his brow. “Oh, darling. I could never.”

“If something should happen to me—”

She clapped her hands over his, stopping him mid-sentence. His fear was palpable. She wasn’t sure she could vanquish it completely, and yet she had to try.

“If something should happen to you,” she began, “I would be inconsolable. Devastated. I would not want to go on.” Her fingers tightened reflexively over his. She hated even talking this way, but she knew it was what he needed to hear. “I would not want to go on, but I would. After my illness, I learned to live without hearing. When Leo died, it was as if my right arm had been cleaved from my body. And yet I adapted, found a way to make do.”

She leaned close and pressed her forehead to his. “If you were taken from me, I would feel as though I’d been cracked apart and a piece of my very soul removed. I would never be the same. But I would go on. For you, for our child. For myself. I am stronger than you know, Julian. Stronger than even I know. Life has proved this to me, time and again.”

She spoke the words with certainty, determined to convince him. And as an unexpected benefit, Lily managed to convince herself.

They sat there together, legs crossed on the bed. Both leaning forward, her brow pressed to his. From the side, they must have resembled a gothic arch. But the space between their bodies was hardly empty. It seethed with passion and anguish and love and heated breath. As they slowly leaned in, the space grew smaller, compressing all that emotion into a tense, volatile coil, ready to spring.

They were breathing so hard. Almost in unison. Lily was sure she’d never been so fully aware of another person, another body, another soul in her life. And as one half of twins, that was saying something.

Want, he signed.

Or was it need? They were almost the same gesture, he’d taught her. A flick of the wrist, drawing the hand down the chest and then slightly away. The difference between “want” and “need” was subtle, and mostly in the intensity of expression.

He repeated the sign. Her breath caught.

Need. This was definitely need. I need.

And she knew exactly what it was he needed, because she needed it too.

Buttons. The next minute was all about buttons. The carved horn buttons on his waistcoat, the silk-covered buttons chasing down the back of her dress. The closures of his fall. True nakedness was an unattainable goal—for he still wore his boots, which meant his pantaloons were going nowhere below the knees. They had no patience for the knotted tapes of her stays, and so her corset and chemise remained on, as well.

But they were bared enough. Enough to kiss. Enough to taste. Enough to press skin to skin and feel each other’s heat, each other’s need.

He rolled atop her, hiked her shift, spread her thighs—and thrust home with no further preliminary. She was tight and not quite ready for him, but she didn’t complain. She knew how badly he needed this, to join with her. To feel surrounded and safe. To get inside.

She wrapped her legs over his hips, and he stroked harder, deeper, as though he would lose himself in her embrace. Or dig a trench for them both in the mattress ticking, whichever came first. Moisture dripped from his brow, splashing her chest. Tears, sweat, or some mixture of both. His movements were desperate, tortured. Pained, and a bit painful, too.

She took it all, ignoring the sharp pinch of pain, wondering if he meant to test her resiliency by doing his devil’s best to break her apart.

Take this, he challenged with brutal digs of his hips. And this. And then more.

She would hold together. She could take whatever he gave. But she also had needs of her own, and truth be told, Lily was growing a bit weary of being the object of concern. If it was proof of her strength he desired …

On his next deep thrust, Lily cinched her legs around his and rolled over, reversing their positions and coming to rest atop him. The pantaloons tangling about his knees restricted his ability to retaliate. Even if he wished to, and from the look on his face, she would wager that he didn’t. She had her captive well and happily pinned.

She sat tall, straddling his hips and centering herself on his monumental erection. With a little smile, she told him, “Be still. I’ll take matters from here.”

Obviously bewildered but not at all displeased, he reached to stroke her thigh. “Lily …”

“Now, now.” She flicked his touch away. “I said, be still.”

Placing her hands flat atop his chest, she lifted herself in a slow, torturous glide before sinking onto him again. His resonant groan tickled her palms.

He clutched her hips, nudging himself even deeper.

“Naughty.” Lily tsked, stopping midstroke to remove his hands from her backside. “Don’t you want to see that I’m strong? That I can manage without you?”