Page 37 of Enslaved to the Seduction of a Lady
She stepped out of Bess’ bay and into the main body of the stable, where Luke stood. She could tell he had dressed in a rush—his jacket had been thrown over his nightshirt, his nightshirt hung loose around his trousers.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, shrugging. “Thought I’d come and check on the horses.”
“Couldn’t dress properly either,” she said, eyeing him. He looked down at himself and laughed.
“I could have done a better job, that much is true.”
He took a step closer to her, holding his hand out, and she took it, feeling the warmth of it, feeling the roughness of manly hands that worked hard. Together, they went to the hay stack and made themselves comfortable.
“So you still haven’t told me what has brought you here in the dead of night. Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep either. At first, I thought to come and see you, but then I realized it was ridiculous to think you would be here at this hour.”
“Ridiculous,” he said, laughing. “What on earth would I be doing awake? Seriously though, Alison. You ought to be careful, leaving the house and wandering the grounds in the dark. You never know who—or what—you might come across.”
“Like a big, bad wolf, you mean?” She couldn’t stop her lips curling up into a smile.
“Exactly,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “A big, bad wolf. Just like me!”
With his words, he leapt towards her, tickling her waist and making her howl with laughter. She tried to squirm away, the sensation too much, but he held her tight.
“You don’t get away from me so easily,” he said, and she laughed again—loud and free in the knowledge that no one was around.
As her laughter calmed and his movement became less frantic, she looked into his eyes, into his soul. A calm descended between them, an intensity that caused Alison to stop breathing, to only watch as his face approached hers.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, her flesh raising into goosepimples, and she opened her mouth a fraction, ready to welcome him.
“Luke,” she whispered as her eyes fell closed and she moved almost imperceptibly closer.
She felt his warm breath rush across her face and she let her own breath out in one, long gasp. And then their lips touched, and her body reacted with a fire that burned through her veins, running up to her heart and causing it to explode with yearning.
She climbed onto her knees awkwardly, not taking her lips from his, until they were no longer next to each other, but now she faced him, towered over him. She pushed herself closer to him, remembering all her bedtime imaginings, that feeling of urgency and temptation rushing back to her.
He leaned up to ensure their lips remained locked, and as he did so, he cupped her cheek, tender and loving, but with the same greed as she herself felt. She searched for the loose ends of his nightshirt, urging her fingers up beneath it until her palm, flat and smooth, ran over the flesh of his taut stomach.
It was just as she had imagined it—smooth and dry and soft—and she gasped. She bit his bottom lip, teasing it, flicking her tongue over it, and he laughed, putting his arms around her waist and pulling her down onto him.
“You are eager,” he whispered into her ear.
“I am,” she replied. “I have thought of it often enough.”
He raised an eyebrow at that and she nodded.
“I must admit there have been times when my own mind has wandered in that direction, too.”
She kissed him again, no longer gently but with an appetite she had been building for far too long. She felt emboldened, her shyness replaced by this drive she had never felt before. But she liked it, and she wanted more of it.
She pushed him back onto the hay, laying her own body on his, pushing her breasts into his chest. She could feel a hardness from within his trousers, pushing against her leg, and she kissed him again, with a fierce intensity that told of the fire in her belly.
His hands moved over her back, her shoulders, down to her buttocks. He pulled his lips from hers and instead, let them kiss her cheek, then her neck and her earlobe. He licked and nibbled until she moaned in his ear, begging him to stop but begging for more.
“Alison,” he whispered, his breath on her ear, his words a salve on her soul. “My goodness, Alison, I love you.”
“I love you, Luke,” she whispered back.
And then he put his hands firmly on her hips, forcing her to stop moving, to stop yearning, and he looked her in the eyes and repeated his statement.
“I love you, Alison,” he said, firmer this time and with incredible feeling, and she felt her heart swell. Her breath, already shallow, quickened with the pace of her heart and she looked at him with such love and devotion.
