Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(37)
I stared at his mouth, trying to corral my emotions. He should go to his chambers. And I should let him. Our virtues could go to hell in just a few hours, after we were wed.
But instead of agreeing, I reached for the waistband of his trousers, pulling him against me. I didn’t want to wait any longer. I needed him. Suddenly shy at what I was asking, I averted my gaze.
“Stay here with me tonight. Please.”
He tilted my chin up, staring deeply into my eyes, and I knew with utter certainty that he’d give me everything I wanted and more. “Forever, Audrey Rose.”
This time when our kissing began, it was careful and deliberate—yet unrestrained. There were no tethers tying us back. Nothing keeping us from our base instincts. Seeing me naked and vulnerable unleashed a part of Thomas I wasn’t sure he’d known existed. I thought of nothing except the feeling of his fingers and lips. Each place they touched, explored, caressed. Society vanished.
Rules vanished. There was no one and nothing except the two of us, completely lost in our own little universe, our bodies uncharted galaxies to explore.
When Thomas drew back and met my gaze, I knew he saw the answer to his unspoken question reflected in my eyes. Without speaking, he lifted me off the velvet bench and laid me on the bed, his body settling comfortably above mine.
Neither of us had done this before—had loved so fiercely or freely—and instead of worrying over details, I gave myself over to my feelings completely.
“I love you, Audrey Rose.”
His hand trailed from my ankle to my calf, leaving goose bumps—and the most glorious tingle in its wake—as he pulled my stocking off. The smoothness of his action felt like it was the most natural act in the world. He repeated the motion with my sore leg, taking extra care to be as gentle as possible, which only made me long for him more. He brought his lips to my scar, showing every piece of me tender affection.
With slightly trembling fingers, I undid the buttons of his shirt, marveling at how beautiful he was both inside and out. His tattoo was completely healed now and was truly a work of art. As if he needed any other ornamentation to refine his already exquisite body.
“How is it you’re so… defined?” I asked, running my hands over his surprisingly hard chest. “Do you take secret sword lessons I ought to know about? This”—I motioned to him—“makes no sense.”
“Truthfully?” Thomas laughed, seeming to release a bit of his own nerves. “I pick up cadavers every day in the laboratory. All that body-hauling business keeps me quite fit and healthy. Plus”—he kissed from my neck down to my collarbone, spending extra care and attention on the area nearest my heart—“I do take fencing lessons, as per my father’s wishes.” At my shocked look, he grinned. “I’ve warned you—expect a lifetime full of surprises, my love.”
A rush went through me at those words. We truly would have an entire lifetime to unravel each mystery the other possessed. I pushed myself up onto my elbows and pressed my lips to his skin, exploring his expanse of chest. His breath caught and I found myself echoing the sound as he pulled the ribbons of my nightgown apart, his attention never leaving my face, constantly searching for any hint of hesitation, any silent plea to stop.
He wouldn’t find it, not even while using his most impressive Cresswell deductions. In a few hours we’d be married, and I was ready to claim him entirely.
In what seemed to be only seconds, we’d both stripped bare. A new sensation of heat began, almost indescribable in its intensity, as Thomas deepened our kiss and slowly, carefully lowered himself. Our bodies came together—and I was wholly cast under the spell of our love.
Heart pounding, skin aflame; each touch and caress was a hundred different feelings vying for my attention at once. Without effort, our bodies knew precisely what to do, how to react, and any hint of discomfort disappeared as we moved together, getting lost in our kisses. I’d imagined being clumsy or stilted
as we fumbled through the science of it, petrified my mind would turn to thoughts of anatomy diagrams, taking me from the moment by fretting over mechanics. But I needn’t have worried. I was much too consumed by the sensation of our skin pressed together without restrictions between us. Of the feeling of him. Of us. I gripped the sheets beside me, doing everything in my power to not call out his name.
“Audrey Rose,” he whispered, pausing briefly.
My answer was a kiss, a plea. The careful attention Thomas paid to his deductions was focused entirely on me now—each inhalation, each exhalation.
He listened in earnest, reacting and shifting to elicit the same waves of rapture until I was certain I must’ve left my body and become a star shooting across the vast universe.
SIXTEEN
A TANGLE OF LIMBS
AUDREY ROSE’S ROOMS
FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY
5 FEBRUARY 1889
After, we lay in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets, our chests rising and falling in unison. Thomas drew idle circles across my stomach. I closed my eyes, allowing pure contentment to settle over me like a blanket. I couldn’t imagine a more perfect experience. It saddened me to think young noblewomen were sometimes instructed to lie back and “think of England” when consummating their marriages. Love ought to be a mutual delight.
Thomas shifted his focus from my stomach to my hair, now running his fingers through my unbound locks, the motion soothing enough for my lids to suddenly feel too heavy to keep open. I closed my eyes, enjoying each careful stroke. I should love to spend eternity falling asleep and waking to this.