Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(36)
I shifted so I could take his face in my hands, ensuring his gaze was locked onto mine. I ran my thumb against his jaw, marveling at how good it felt to simply touch him.
“I’ve never been more sure or ready for anything in my whole life, Thomas Cresswell.” He seemed ready to argue, so I lightly kissed him. “In fact, the morning can’t come soon enough. We’ve never done anything by anyone’s rules but our own. Why start worrying now?”
He looked skeptical. “Are you certain?”
“Of us? Most definitely so.”
“How do you know you’re ready?”
“Well, there are lots of reasons,” I said carefully.
“Tell me the most scandalous one.” His request was meant to be lighthearted, but the edge of worry was there. Thomas hadn’t relinquished his fears of inadequacy.
I leaned into him, breathing in the scent of coffee and a hint of rich spirits. I wondered if my father had offered him whiskey, or if he’d been anxious enough to pour some himself.
“I want to fall asleep against your chest and wake up in your arms. I long to be free to hug or kiss you whenever I choose, for as long as I choose. I want to know the sound of your breath as you slip into sleep. I want to—” I sat back, any further flowery declarations wilting on my tongue. The fool was practically bouncing in his seat. “Why are you smiling like that? I’m trying to have a serious moment and you appear as though you either need to use the loo or have inexplicably sat on an anthill in the middle of my room.”
“Apologies.” He fell to his knees before me, the goofy grin stuck in place as he took both of my hands in his. “I’m not making fun; it’s just—you didn’t drop your gaze or increase the pressure in your grip at all.”
I glanced skyward, wondering if I even wanted to ask for clarification. “What in the name of the queen does my grip have to do with my declaration of love, Cresswell?”
“Everything.”
“I—”
He captured my mouth with his. Unlike other stolen kisses, which began slow and sweet, there was a passionate heat in this one. Each time our lips or tongues came together, another spark ignited, until soon my entire body felt as if it were ablaze. Judging from the growing intensity of his kiss, and the daring places our hands touched, neither one of us wanted to control it any longer. We were on dangerous ground, which only made the fall more thrilling.
Thomas still knelt before me, so I pulled him closer, his arms circling my waist as he instinctually pressed his body against mine. Soon he abandoned my lips in favor of kissing my neck, his hands trailing up my sides, leaving no place unattended. I nearly lost my remaining senses as he gently angled my head back, exposing my throat for better access, his fist knotted in my hair. Either he or I made the next move, I wasn’t certain, but suddenly his jacket was on the floor and my robe joined it.
A chill danced across my skin and I couldn’t help but gasp. The robe had been the only item of clothing keeping me semi-decent. My nightgown left nothing to the imagination. Even in dim lighting, my form was plainly visible.
As if he’d just realized this himself, Thomas rocked back on his heels, his breathing quick and uneven, much like my own.
For a fraction of a heartbeat, he seemed uncertain.
“Is this all it takes to silence that wicked mouth of yours?” I raised a brow, hoping the quip covered my growing nerves. We were alone in my bedroom, scantily clad, the night before our wedding. I was struggling madly to find a reason to send him away. “If I’d known, I would have worn this ages ago.”
Thomas’s attention snapped to my face. His expression was filled with such raw longing, I lost my futile battle with Victorian morals. He looked like a man who’d discovered his heart’s deepest desire in the flesh and wished to claim it immediately. I realized that his respect for me and my choice was the only tether holding him in place. One little nod would unleash him.
My pulse raced as I silently gave him permission, wanting him to touch me again so badly it almost ached. Thomas Cresswell never disappointed. He leaned into me, his body snug between my thighs.
“Your nightgown is lovely, but your mind is what attracts and captivates me.”
His eyes traveled from mine, meandering down the road of delicate lace, igniting a new wave of desire as he gripped the sheer fabric at my hip. His touch was intoxicating. I couldn’t stop myself from arching into it, craving more. “Your
body…”
His focus lingered on the ribbons. I enjoyed the elegance of the garment and how I felt both bold and soft while wearing it. Thomas seemed to appreciate it for other reasons, and he was no longer masking how much he wanted me. I drew in a deep breath and fought the urge to completely disrobe him. If he kept looking at me that way, I’d lose control.
“Your spirit.”
Thomas dragged his scorching gaze down every inch of me, leaving no part neglected, his breath hitching the lower it sank. If looks could consume, he’d just devoured me. And I wanted more. A warm sensation started in my toes and moved like honey up my body. It seemed as if Thomas had deduced exactly where the warmth was spreading and wouldn’t mind following the line of sweetness with his mouth. That image almost stopped my heart. I gripped the sides of the bench in a fruitless attempt to rein myself in.
Misjudging my response, he froze. “I ought to go—”