A Study In Seduction

chapter Seventeen




Lydia wanted to breathe. She wanted to pull great gulps into her lungs, to feel her body filling, her ribs expanding, her blood singing with sweet, delicious air. And she wanted to exhale, to slacken, to sink into a chair with repletion. Then she wanted to do it again, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Over and over and over.

She closed her eyes. An hour had passed since she’d left Alexander on the terrace. She feared he might never return, that perhaps he’d decided to return to London that very night…

“God.”

The whispered oath made her turn. Alexander stood in the doorway of his bedchamber, staring at her. She was clad in her corset and underpetticoat, her dress and overpetticoats in a crumpled heap on the floor. Lydia’s blood thundered in her ears, nerves and fear twisting through her belly.

“I told you to go to your bedchamber.” His voice was unsteady.

Lydia shook her head. Although he hadn’t acquiesced to her offer, she knew he wanted her. He would not—could not—resist her blatant invitation.

She waited for a heart-stopping instant for his reaction to her undressed state but saw not the faintest hint of aversion cross his features. Only a desire so deep, so seething, it stole her breath.

She almost couldn’t speak. “Y-you’re really leaving tomorrow? Because of me?”

Lydia took a tentative step toward him, but he held up a hand.

“Don’t.”

“But—”

“You look…” His throat worked as he swallowed. “The fire behind you… like you’re filled with light.”

Light. No.

Once perhaps, many years ago, when she’d clambered over the pebbled beaches at Brighton. When her mother was whole and well and laughed with Lydia’s father as the salty wind nipped their faces and the sea swept up to meet them. Then Lydia was whole too. Then she was filled with a light bright enough to illuminate the blackest of caves.

“The fire. I… I was getting cold.” Her voice sounded unnatural, hoarse. She forced a smile, reaching a trembling hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Gooseflesh skittered over her skin.

Alexander closed the door, his boots soundless as he crossed the room to her. With every step that brought him closer, Lydia drew back into herself, her hands moving to rub her bare arms.

She expected him to grasp her shoulders, to pull her to him, but instead he stopped several inches from her and looked at her, his hot gaze settling on the generous swells of her breasts above her corset before moving back to her face.

Lydia shifted, her corset chafing against her torso, the place between her legs warming with Alexander’s proximity. She watched him warily, questioning for the hundredth time the wisdom of her boldness.

“You make it impossible for me to withstand you,” he said.

“That was my intention.” A faint smile pulled at her lips. “And you did once say you thought I should be reckless more often.”

“It appears I was correct.”

Despite her admission, nerves continued to spiral through her. She stepped back toward the fire, the heat burning through her chemise and drawers. “Alexander, I…”

She looked at the buttons of his shirt, unable to meet his gaze. How could she ever tell him? How could she confess to the utter sordidness of her past and the horrific price she’d had to pay?

Perhaps she didn’t have to. It was her past, fixed in her soul like a fossil—but there was no need for Alexander to know the full truth. She would never agree to marry him. Perhaps they would be lovers for a time, but their relationship would not extend beyond that. She owed him nothing except the loyalty due any lover.

At least this time, she knew the terms.

“I’ve done this before.” Her murmur was almost inaudible, even to her own ears.

“I know.”

Lydia jerked her gaze to his. “You do?”

He nodded, his features expressionless as he continued to watch her.

“H-how do you know?”

“No woman responds so swiftly to a man’s touch, to passion, without having experienced it before.”

A sting of tears blurred Lydia’s vision for an instant.

It’s not merely a man’s touch, she wanted to cry out. Not a nameless passion. It’s you. You, you, you.

Alexander stepped closer, catching her arms in his hands as he pulled her away from the fire. “Much as I wish to see you go up in flames, I’d rather it be in the metaphorical sense. And by my hand rather than an errant spark.”

Her skin grew hot. Alexander slipped his hand beneath her chin and drew her head up. He frowned, brushing a stray tear from her cheek.

“I’m really not so horrible.”

“I never thought you were. Quite the opposite, in fact.” Lydia managed a smile as she brought her hand up to his coarse-whiskered jaw. She moved her thumb across his mouth, tracing its shape, feeling the slightly dry ridges of his lips. His breath on her fingers.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

His eyes darkened. Sliding a hand around the back of her neck, he pulled her to him, his mouth hovering over hers for a breathless instant before he closed the distance. Lydia shut her eyes and sank into the feel of him, parting her lips as he swept her mouth with his tongue.

Flowers of heat bloomed deep inside her, dispelling the last threads of cold. She could never be cold in Alexander’s arms. She would never feel a bitter chill, not even from the depths of her own soul—not while wrapped in his all-encompassing warmth.

He angled her head, his tongue sliding across hers, his teeth gently biting down on her lower lip. Lust sparked and caught. She spread her hands over his shirt, feeling the hard ridges of his chest through the linen, his heart pounding against her palm.

He stroked his hands down her back to her buttocks, cupping them and lifting her against him. The bulge in his trousers pushed against her thigh, eliciting a renewed firestorm of arousal. Lydia squirmed, her breath coming faster and faster as she slid her lips across his cheek to his ear. She moaned. Alexander muttered something into her hair, his fingers kneading and parting her bottom so that she was splayed against his hard thigh.

Lydia gasped, her hips moving involuntarily as she strove to release the tension beginning to wind through her lower body. She pressed down, pushed forward and back, her fingers tightening on his shoulders. Alexander urged her movements with the grip of his fingers before he gave a hoarse laugh and eased them apart.

“Sweet Lydia, you’ll be the death of me.” His voice was uneven, edged with roughness. “A fate I’d gladly suffer a thousand times over.”

He turned her around to unfasten her petticoat, letting it fall to the floor. Lydia’s body surged with desire, her nipples tightening painfully against her corset.

“Help me take it off,” she whispered in a husky entreaty, her hands tugging ineffectually at the front. “Oh, please, Alexander, take it off.”

He fumbled with the laces, his big fingers clumsy as he sought to unfasten the expert ties. After a few muttered oaths, he finally yanked at the laces to loosen them, then turned her again to unhook the front.

Lydia moaned, her body vibrating with relief as Alexander tossed the garment aside. He stared at her breasts beneath her chemise, the heavy weight freed from confinement, her nipples pressing against the thin fabric.

A hard shudder racked Lydia’s body when he reached out to fondle her, rubbing his hot palms over her breasts, sliding his fingers into the damp creases below.

She breathed, her chest filling with air, pushing her breasts against Alexander’s adept hands. A restless churning started in the pit of her belly, making her press her legs together with the increasing urge for release.

“I want to see you,” he said. “Now.”

Hands shaking, Lydia grasped her chemise and pulled it over her head, baring her naked torso to his gaze. Alexander groaned at the sight of her, his hands now rough as he pulled her against him and crushed her mouth with his. A frantic urgency lit between them, hot and thick. Lydia rubbed her breasts against Alexander’s chest, gasping as he slid his hands beneath her bottom again and lifted her.

Without hesitation, she wrapped her legs around his waist, the opening of her drawers parting. She fought the urge to squirm and writhe, wanting this delicious torture to go on and on and on until the world fell away beneath exquisite, unending pleasure.

“Alexander. Touch me. Please.” She could hardly speak past the cascade of arousal coursing through her body. Every part of her being ached for the touch of his hands, his lips, the slick glide of his skin against hers.

“I knew you’d be this beautiful, this soft. Knew it.” Alexander lowered her to the bed, moving to kiss the slope of her shoulder. He slid his lips across her throat, flicking his tongue into the damp hollow before moving lower.

Lydia arched at the first sensation of his lips on her sensitive flesh, her fingers tangling in his dark hair. Need streamed through her, a torrent of sensations as if multihued colors had replaced her blood. As Alexander moved to stroke her other breast, his fingers caressing, Lydia closed her eyes against another unexpected sting of tears. She hadn’t known until now, until Alexander, that she was capable of feeling such pleasure.

He lifted his head to look at her, his eyes burning. Lydia’s tongue darted out to lick her dry lips. She parted her legs. Still holding her gaze, Alexander slid his hand down her naked torso to the opening of her drawers.

“Oh.” Her hips bucked upward at the first touch of his long fingers. “Oh, Alexander, yes…”

He lifted the length of his body alongside hers, lowering his head to kiss her. Lydia quivered, shook, vibrated like a viola string as his tongue delved into her mouth and his fingers eased into her.

“Come, Lydia.” Tension thickened the command. “For me. Now.”

She did, surrendering to the unbearable pressure as his thumb rubbed at the pearl of her body. Alexander captured her scream with his mouth. Undiluted rapture swept through her veins as she convulsed beneath his expert manipulations.

Before the pleasure had even abated, Lydia fumbled for the front of Alexander’s trousers, her breathing ragged. “Let me see you.”

Alexander bent to remove his boots, then unfastened his trousers and pushed them off. Another sweet tremor shook Lydia as she took his shaft in hand, the sleek warmth pulsing against her palm. She imagined all that malleable hardness filling her, stretching her, pressing against her in the most intimate way possible.

Alexander grasped her wrist, his jaw clenching. “Lydia—”

She hurried to unfasten the ties of her drawers and pushed them to the floor. Unashamed of her nakedness, basking in the glow of Alexander’s hot gaze, she opened her thighs and grasped the front of his damp shirt to pull him to her.

“I want you inside me,” she whispered, rubbing her lips across his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, her hands skimming over his chest through the shirt. “Fill me.”

A groan tore from his throat. Standing beside the bed, he adjusted her position to align their bodies. Then he moved between her legs, pushing hard against her, finesse and tenderness lost in the onslaught of consuming need.

Lydia grasped his forearms, rolling her hips upward, choking out a cry when he began to fill her, hot, smooth, and heavy. Alexander stared at the juncture of their union, his gaze scorching as he watched himself disappear into her.

And then he was seated fully, the pulse of his body in rhythm with hers. She expected him to lever himself over her, to press their mouths together in time to that delicious plunging that would drive them both to rapture, but instead he placed his hands on her raised knees and watched her.

A blistering flush swept over Lydia’s already overheated skin. Never had she expected a man to watch her so intently while he thrust into her, to stare at the quiver of her breasts, the jostle of her body, the roll of her hips. Never had she anticipated that a man would look at her face as if he wanted to witness the renewed arousal tensing her features.

She closed her eyes. Then she put her hands over her face, her nerves stretched to the breaking point, her mind awash in unfathomable sensations. Alexander’s grip tightened on her knees, spreading her farther apart. The sound of flesh against flesh, of rough breathing and broken moans—his and hers—filled Lydia’s ears. She was hot, so hot, sweat dripping down her neck, her breasts, her thighs.

He grasped her wrists again, pulling her hands away from her face, forcing her to look at him. He was close, she knew it, saw it in his hard features, felt it in the tension vibrating from him. And still he surged forward and back, again and again, stroking her and pushing her arousal ever higher.

She broke for the second time, bliss sparking through her veins in a delicious torrent. Alexander pressed his fingers to her sex to draw out every last pulse of pleasure, but as the burst of light began to fade, Lydia remembered.

“Alexander.” Her voice cracked. She had to tell him, should have told him earlier…. Panic began to claw at her insides despite the lingering pleasure. “You can’t…”

With what must have been enormous self-control, he pulled from her before surrendering to his own release. Lydia’s body slackened with both pleasure and relief as she watched him ride out the final spasms. Her heart continued to thump hard, her blood pounding in her ears. Then Alexander collapsed onto the bed beside her, reaching a hand to urge her closer.

Lydia turned to curl into his side, trying to push away the uncertainty, the tension, the doubts beginning to crawl like insects back into her consciousness.

Alexander’s hand slid over her back, a warm stroking that brought her back to him. She rested her cheek against his chest, closed her eyes, and breathed.