Page 53 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
He licked her, trailing his tongue up her inner thigh then higher, replacing his thumb where it circled in her curls at the exact spot where she sometimes ached when she thought of him. The place that sparked when he kissed her, even if that kiss had been fake.Thiskiss—intimate and dangerous—was quite, quite real. It threatened to undo her. With every stroke of his tongue deeper into her, every slash of it against that aching bud, her pleasure wound her tighter and tighter. And when she glanced down with heavy eyelids barely open to see her skirt, her shift, draped across his broad, strong body, the tiny thrill of a single word ripped through her—mine.
She clutched at him, fingers reveling in his hair as she bit her lip, exposed breasts aching for his touch, so that when his hand slid up her body to knead her breast, to flick that always excellent thumb over her taut nipple, she shattered with a scream. He rushed to standing in one fluid movement, his mouth covering hers, taking the scream as she arched her hips into him, feeling the press of his hard manhood against her belly. She tasted herself on his tongue, and his hands in her hair, at her nape, undid with ease the simple knot she’d wound her hair into that morning. When she’d left his bed. When she’d thought he’d left her behind, unwanted like all the others.
But he did want her. He’d not only told her so, he’d shown her. As she’d asked. And she’d never been happier to be wrong in her life.
He kissed her passionately at first, his lips slanting hard and needy against her own somehow to the rhythm he’d set her body to with his tongue and hands, the same rhythm pulsing pleasure through her. But as the pulses receded like ocean waves, leaving her heavy and drowsy, the kisses changed, became slower, softer, still incomparably lovely. When his body fell against her own, pressing her harder into the shelves, he dipped his head and traced kisses along her neck, her shoulder, murmuring… what did he murmur? She rustled herself out of her fog to listen.
“Shouldn’t have done it. Don’t care. Can’t care. I should protect you, though. Notthis.” He groaned. “Butthisis all I want.”
She shifted so she could cup his face in her hands and lift his head away from her body. His eyes held worlds and all of them aflame, and she swallowed and blinked to put them away. For now.
“I do not want a knight in shining armor, Theo. I have long since learned I must save myself. I cannot rely on anyone to do it for me. Not even you. I do want…” She licked her lips. “I do want someone to spend the hours with.” Lonely as they were, as they had always been. With his body pressed against her, that loneliness receded, washed away in the ocean of pleasure he’d dipped her in.
She slipped one hand between their bodies, finding the long, hard ridge of his shaft pressing against the fall of his trousers. “Does it hurt?”
He hissed, rolled his hips against her hand. “It’s a sweet pain.”
She rubbed him, adding more pressure to the action, and he ground harder into her hand.
“We shouldn’t.” His voice guttural.
“You keep saying that.”
“I shouldn’t let you do this.”
She kissed the hard line of his jaw. “And you think you can stop me?”
Truthfully, she could not say what would happen if she continued.Whenshe continued, for continue she would. She touched him out of curiosity and a need to reciprocate. When she’d touched Simon years ago, he’d enjoyed it quite a bit, and though their three times together could not be considered adventurous, she’d learned enough to know the basics of how it all worked. She’d learned enough to know men liked to be touched where she currently touched Theo.
“Do you like it?” she asked. Just to be sure.
“God, yes.” He nipped at her neck.
She stopped her up-and-down rubbing briefly to squeeze him through the wool of his trousers, and he moaned, kissing her deeply on the mouth. So she continued, up and down, faster and faster until his hips rocked into her hand, until his body shuttered and he kissed her name into her mouth. Never before had the sound of her name made her feel less like a burden. This time, she felt like a queen. A warrior queen with sword in hand. His sword in hand. She chuckled.
“Nothing funny.” He groaned the words into her shoulder where his breath came in ragged huffs. She erupted into full-throated laughter, and he pinned her tighter to bookshelves at her back, straightened to regard her with glittering eyes. “Care to share what—”
The shelves behind them collapsed, the books spilling everywhere and three planks clattering to the floor with them. Theo yanked her into his arms and away from the paper and ink avalanche as the sound of disaster echoed around them. She covered her mouth to silence her scream and looked up at Theo, his arms wrapped tight around her waist. His eyes wide as saucers, his face granite. But then stone twitched and trembled, a smile breaking through.
“Don’t you laugh,” she warned, pressing her palms to his chest.
But that part of his body rumbled deep and true, and he threw his head back in great guffaws.
“Theo!” she admonished.
But he wasn’t listening. He was laughing, his face red with mirth, unaware of the footsteps running down the hall.
“Quick!” She pulled him out of the room, and they ran, hand in hand, Theo laughing like a fool. Though they were sure to be discovered, she didn’t ask him to stop. She loved the sound too much. Rare as it was, Theo’s laughter seemed the truest thing about him, his soul made plain. And she didn’t want him to hide it ever again.
Fourteen
Theo had never tried drawing directly after climax, but when he reached his room, he cleaned himself up and found the writing desk, and lines and shapes poured forth as easily from his fingers as the pleasure had poured through him not a half hour before. Not his usual stuff—the lines lighter, thinner, more elegant, the shapes designed to draw a smile instead of frown. He scratched his hands through his hair and studied his newest sketch when the knock on the door came.
“Yes?” he asked, though barely aware he’d spoken. He added another thin line to the drawing. Better.
The door creaked open then quickly clicked shut.
“I’ve brought your satchel,” Cordelia said.
