Page 6 of Murder on the SS Leviathan
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Late that evening
Henry drew the brush through Maud’s hair, taking its soft bristles down the length, tugging gently at the bottom before raising his arm to begin again.
It was their ritual: she seated at her dressing table, he behind.
Usually, she followed the rhythmic movement of his hand, reflected in the mirror before them.
Tonight, her eyes were closed.
Entering the grand salon to dine, Maud had requested a table set apart from their fellow passengers. She’d seemed distracted, tasting each dish placed before them but eating little.
Not yet having gained her sea-legs, Cecile had taken a tray in her room, accompanied by Miss di Cavour. Though there was something rather too worldly about the Italian, Henry couldn’t help being relieved that Cecile had a companion of her own.
He paused mid-stroke, lifting the rope of auburn to graze a kiss beneath Maud’s ear. ‘You’re quiet, my love. Tell me you’re well.’
‘Only a little fatigued.’ Absentmindedly, she touched the roundedness, low in her lap. ‘Perhaps I should forsake company for a while, and let you wait on me. Would you like that, husband—for the whole journey long, to give me all I ask, here in this room? Just you and I, riding together upon the swell and surge of the ocean?’
She pushed the yoke of her nightgown to the outer curve of her shoulder, and shivered as his fingertips moved over the exposed skin. With her head resting against his chest, he was torn between kissing where she had invited him and meeting the soft fullness of her lips, slightly parted, so close to his.
He wanted her to know his love, to satisfy her, to make her feel whole.
If such a thing were possible.
How did a man accomplish such a feat, when the woman he cared for held so much of herself in reserve?
Perhaps he was a fool, but he was too much in her thrall to ever walk away—a willing slave to her wishes.
’Whatever your heart desires, only tell me. I’m yours, always.’
In response, she rose and, her eyes upon his all the while, pulled at the ribbons fastening her night shift. The soft linen slipped easily to the floor, so that she stood naked before him.
‘Then give me what you will.’ Her gaze fell to his lips.
A rising wave, breaking against the ship’s bow, took the floor upwards for a moment and she clutched his arms, relying upon his strength to keep her steady. Knowing the inevitable drop to follow, he scooped beneath her knees, bringing her fully into his embrace, and carried her the few steps to the bed.
They reached it just as the floor fell away beneath them and he tumbled her onto the damask quilt. Laughing, she pulled him with her and they rolled together.
He knew how it provoked her—to be ravished in this way; naked to his clothedness, as if she were taken against her will, stripped and bared, nipples scraped against buttons, and silken thighs chafed by the wool of his trousers.
Already, her eyes had taken on their darkness, pupils wide and deep, and she threw back her head to expose her throat, inviting his mouth, his teeth. In her game of half-yielding surrender she declined tender kisses, wanting him to take her as if there was no love between them, only animal need.
She shoved at him with her hands, yet arched to push herself further into his mouth as he claimed a breast with urgent suckling. He pinned her with his weight and she parted to cradle his arousal.
A sudden sweat overtook him, his body inflamed with heat demanding to be spent. Sitting back upon his heels, he unfastened his trousers, releasing his hardness. She liked this, too: seeing the evidence of his need, his cock standing proud, glistening, eager—and to know that she commanded that desire.
She drew her fingers down her body and opened her legs, wanting him to watch as she parted her crimson self.
In answer, he slid his hands down her thighs and lowered his mouth to her slickness. He pulled her against him, using his hands in the way she wanted—roughly cupping her behind so that her sex was his entirely, making a feast of that softest part of her, musk-scented, intense and delicious. His opium.
With each driving of his tongue, she pulled upon his hair and writhed in mock protest until he could wait no more.
His cock found the soft skin of her belly and then the relief of sliding deep into the place made for his comfort, and her pleasure. Now her legs gripped the back of his thigh, forbidding any retreat, and her body rose to him, matching his thrusts even as she cried out from their depth. Her fingers gripped his buttocks, urging him on, pulling him hard against her.
She let their lips meet, at last, bringing her arms about his neck, and the kiss was his undoing.
The wall between them finally melted away, her mouth soft to his, her small whimpers unhindered, her desire for connection betrayed.
