From Governess to Countess (Matches Made in Scandal #1)(65)
Their passion had never been like this. Not so feverish. Not so all-consuming. And not so desperate, as if there was a clock ticking down the hours. How she loved him. She loved him. She loved him. Hands and mouths clinging, skin to skin. When he slid his hands between her legs to stroke her, she ignited, tipping into a climax that shook her to her core, and still they kissed. But she wanted more now, urging him, crying out with surprised delight when he wrapped her leg over his, still lying side by side, and slid into her, pulling her tight around him.
Different frissons, as he began to rock against her, inside her, a gentle, slow, pulsing movement that set her pulsing too once more, her muscles clenching around him. She watched her own arousal reflected on his face, in the dilation of his pupils, in the slashes of colour on his cheeks, the way his eyes finally fluttered closed, and the thickening inside her, the deep, guttural moan of his that she had come to know presaged his own climax. She clung, lost to the consequences, digging her fingers into the muscles of his back, her heel on his buttock, she clung as he pulsed, rocked, and with a deep shudder and a cry his release took him, but not before he pulled himself free.
Honourable to the very last, she thought, kissing his chest, twining herself back around him. She kissed him again, burrowing her face in his chest, where it seemed to her she could smell the very essence of him.
Chapter Thirteen
It was very late. Aleksei stared out of his bedchamber window at the dark garden. Tonight, they had made love again in the State Bedchamber they had claimed for their own, as they had for the last three nights. Their passion had an increasingly desperate edge to it, an intensity that left him feeling stripped bare, raw, and strangely complete. He had never before surrendered himself so absolutely in this way, never lost himself so utterly. He’d never felt like this before and never imagined that he could feel like this. It was as if their lovemaking merged more than their bodies.
Though they never spoke of it. There was no need to, he’d thought. Until three nights ago. Day one of the countdown to her departure. It had been different that night. Allison had been different. Not only what she’d done—by all the stars, what she had done!—but—he couldn’t explain it.
Aleksei frowned out at the darkness. It wasn’t only the intensity, it was the intimacy. He’d never felt so close to anyone, while making love and in the aftermath. He wanted to hold her, so close there was no space between them, so close that their skin stuck like glue, but Allison—afterwards, it was as if she withdrew from him. Though he liked to believe he could read her every thought, there were obviously some she kept from him.
He leant his forehead against the cold window frame. Dammit, wasn’t it simple enough? They had agreed, hadn’t they, that they were already in too deep! It was why she was leaving sooner rather than later. Their affaire had always been just that, an affaire. He would miss her like the devil, wouldn’t he? So it was safe to assume she would miss him. He knew that, of course he did, though he couldn’t bear the thought of causing her pain. He’d do anything to spare her hurt, no matter the cost to himself. It was why he was letting her go, when what he wanted...
Aleksei cursed furiously and fluently in Russian. What he wanted was entirely irrelevant. Duty, that was what had always driven him, though fortunately for him, it had coincided with his love of the army. Now his duty lay here, with his wards. It was what his brother had wanted, and since he’d done with the army, and unlike Allison, had no other future mapped out, then his duty was what he would do. Even though it meant giving up...
Once again, he swore long and viciously. No point in thinking such things. No point in imagining a place where his and Allison’s worlds could collide because such a place did not exist. If it did, though, if there was, what a glorious place it would be. And oh, how he ached with the wanting of it.
Cursing again, unable to imagine sleeping, Aleksei quit his chamber, heading as he had done so many times in the past, for the boathouse, and the rowing boat, and the peaceful solitude of St Petersburg at night. His St Petersburg. The rhythmic splash of his oars working hard against the flow calmed him. It was a cold, crisp autumn night, presaging the arrival of winter, earlier than usual. Above him the sky was a canopy of stars. He’d never have an opportunity now, to row Allison all the way up river, to show her the magical view of St Petersburg, like an island rising out of the mist. They would never race through the snow in his troika. They would never glide along the frozen canals on skates. He loved her so much. So very, very much.
Overwhelmed, Aleksei pulled the oars in, throwing his head back to stare up at the stars. His heart felt too big for his chest. He felt sick and elated and defeated and at the same time oddly free. He loved her. ‘Zvezda moya, Allison. Lyubov moya.’
My star. My love. From the first moment she’d walked into the room, he had felt it, that tether pulling them together, unlike anything he’d ever known before. Unlike anything he’d ever know again.
He loved her. Every muscle ached with the urge to run to her, to sweep her into his arms and to kiss her, and to say the words over and over and over. And that’s when he finally understood. The way she seemed to retreat from him after their lovemaking. The way she had refused, when he’d asked her, to stay with him, to spend the night in his arms. If they made love right now, he’d tell her. If he woke with her in his arms, he’d tell her. He wouldn’t be able to resist. But she had. Because she loved him. Because she didn’t want to burden him with her love. Because she would do anything to spare him pain. As he would her.