Page 17 of The Butterfly
His mouth pinched into a grim line as he released her arm and then inched closer, shifting across the grass until he loomed over her. She tipped her head back and gazed up at him, clenching her chemise in both hands to stop them from shaking. He sat so close, his thigh rested against hers, firm and powerful where hers was soft and supple. For a long moment, he simply stared down at her, the hardness in his eyes melting away into something tender. It was almost the same way he’d looked at her before, when he had been her knight and she the little princess. Only now, there was something else there, something that sent a tremor down her spine and made her pulse race.
She flinched when he touched her, his fingers gentle on her chin as he lifted it to angle her to his liking. Then, he lowered his head and kissed her. It was swift, his mouth resting against hers with the barest pressure before he pulled away. She huffed, a sound of both shock and regret. It had not lasted long, but in that fleeting moment, Olivia felt more alive than she ever had. She felt that kiss everywhere, warmth radiating from her lips, over her face, down her throat, and lower, to the tips of her toes.
“Niall,” she whispered, awe coloring the utterance of his name. It had been everything, yet still not enough.
He sighed, his eyelids heavy, his gaze still boring into hers, his lips parted. “Livvie,” he whispered. This time, his lips caressed her name in a way they hadn’t before—in a way that made hearing him say it feel very improper.
This time, his mouth lingered, warm and soft. The tension melted from her body, and she became weak, her head falling back into the hold of one large hand. He increased the pressure of his lips, parting them and nibbling as if tasting her, learning her. She mimicked his actions, opening her mouth to him and tilting her head. He made a little sound in the back of his throat, as if he liked what she did. It emboldened her, and she threw herself into the kiss, bringing one hand up to cup the back of his head the way he did hers. Her fingers sank into his damp hair, the strands silky and soft. He deepened the kiss, his grip moving to the back of her neck and tightening, holding her captive. She surrendered, whimpering when his tongue skimmed her lower lip, then probed the inside of her mouth.
“Do it back to me,” he whispered, pulling away just long enough to nuzzle her nose with his. “Like this …”
His tongue rasped against hers, and she nearly swooned. Never would she have thought such a thing could feel so good. If someone had described the act of kissing using one’s tongue to her, she would have imagined it as messy and slippery. Instead, it was intimate and electrifying. It made this feel like more than a kiss … it made this feel like a joining of souls, as if he touched a part of her no one else ever would.
He groaned when she did what he asked, the sound deep and guttural. It spread the heat in her middle, until it was sinking down between her legs. She squirmed, desperate to be closer to him, to press her breasts against his chest and straddle his lap. The urges struck her as decidedly wanton, things she had never before imagined or heard described. Yet, she could not stop imagining it, thinking of what it would feel like to have his hands on her.
Just before she could work up the courage to follow through, he tore his mouth away from hers with a sharp intake of breath, his hand falling away from the back of her neck.
She reeled, nearly toppling from the sudden shift, thrown off balance. “Niall?”
He was on his feet, snatching his shirt back on so fast, her head spun as she watched him. She could not shake off the stupor that had fallen over her at his kiss, her body singing, thrumming with a resounding need. It was as if a part of her had been dead for fourteen years and had only just now come alive. She still did not fully understand it, only knowing that she hadn’t wanted him to stop kissing her, could not stop wanting him to touch her.
“I have t’ go,” he muttered, swiftly tucking his shirttails into his trousers.
She rose on unsteady legs, her hands shaking again, her eyes stinging with tears. “Niall, wait …”
“I have t’go,Olivia,” he snapped, glaring at her as if she were to blame for whatever had set him off. “Ye should stay here and wait for Adam. I have work.”
“It is nearly sunset,” she argued, hating the way tears made her voice quaver.
“Chores,” he amended. “At home. M’ da will be furious if I’m late.”
He was lying, and they both knew it. Conall would be passed out before the fire with half a bottle of gin in his belly by now. There must be some other reason he wanted to be away from her.
“Was I terrible?” she asked, horror heating her cheeks.
She would not survive being told that kissing her had been dreadful for him, but couldn’t help but anticipate the answer.
Hands on his hips, he lowered his gaze and shook his head with a labored sigh.
“No,” he whispered. “Ye weren’t … and that’s what’s wrong.”
Without another word, he turned to leave, striding so swiftly up the bank that she could never hope to catch up. Instead of trying, she sank to her knees on the ground, arms wrapped tight around herself. The tears she’d tried to hold back fell, hot and fast, wetting her cheeks and neck. Misery settled in her middle while a sensation she later came to understand as lust continued its incessant pulse between her legs.
She did not know what to do to make it stop, nor did she understand why Niall was so angry with her all of a sudden. She was not certain what to do to make things right, or go back to the way it used to be. All Olivia knew was that from this day forward, nothing would be the same ever again.
CHAPTER FIVE
or days following Olivia’s decision to give up laudanum, Niall watched her suffer without being able to do anything to help her. In the five years since her ordeal, he would have thought he’d be used to feeling so impotent by now. As he sat at her bedside, watching her shake, shiver, and lean over the edge of the bed to retch into a basin, he remained ever aware of how powerless he truly was. When they’d been children, she had relied upon him to shield her, protect her, defend her. But this … He did not possess what it took to save her from this. It was humbling for someone as big and strong as he was; it was crippling.
He could only bathe her skin with cool water, brush her hair from her face, and help her when the nausea overwhelmed her, holding the chamber pot so she could empty her insides. It had been years since he’d seen her brought so low, the months following her return from the asylum the hardest. She’d been malnourished and frightened, the terror inflicted by her rapist and his family refusing to ease, even after she’d been brought home. At least, then, they’d had laudanum to offer her some sort of succor. Now, she even refused that, leaving him no recourse but to sit and pray that this time, she would come out stronger on the other side. He understood that she might never be the same, but he did not care. If he could see her smile, sleep peacefully, or face the world without fear, then, he would be content. He might never have her in the ways he wanted, but it would be enough.
He remained at her side as much as possible, only leaving when Adam or Maeve stepped in to take over the vigil. And even then, he did not stay away, leaving her just long enough to wash up, sleep a few hours, have a bite to eat, and return. In the rare moments that she slept, he sat in the chair at her bedside and thought of their past, of the days leading up to this.
The summer of their first kiss had been hell for him, as had many of her visits home after that. He’d known from the moment he had seen her coming out of that carriage, bonnet tossed aside, feminine body pressing against the confines of her prim little gown, that his Livvie was no longer a girl. She’d begun transforming into a woman … one who stirred his blood, even at the tender age of four-and-ten. It wasn’t right, looking upon her with any sort of lust or desire, or allowing her to talk him into that kiss. Yet, all he’d been able to think about were the other men she would encounter as the years went on—men who would desire her, and clamor for her, and yes, even kiss her. Just the thought of anyone else having her had enraged him to no end. There was no other option than to be the first, to give her what she wanted lest she find a man who would. Then, he’d have been forced to kill someone.
If he had thought seeing how much she’d blossomed would change everything, he hadn’t been prepared for what kissing her would do to him. He’d tried his best to keep things chaste, hoping a mere brush of his lips would be enough to satisfy her and put an end to things. But that light touch had only ignited his need for more. Her lips had been so soft, so perfectly shaped, he couldn’t have resisted going back for more. Before he’d known what he was doing, he’d been kissing her as if she were a woman and not a girl, teaching her how to caress his tongue with hers, biting her, pawing at her like an animal. She’d been an innocent, but Niall most certainly had not been. By his eighteenth year, he had bedded several maids and even a few whores in alleys throughout Edinburgh. His wages were so meager, he could not afford the pretty prostitutes Adam often enjoyed at the brothels, but the lightskirts who plied their trade in the streets got the job done well enough.
Kissing Olivia that first time, after he’d spent the past year wetting his prick in just about every cunt he could sniff out, had made him feel depraved, like some foul creature sullying the innocent princess. And damn it all if that hadn’t stoked his lust even more. Knowing he should not touch her, that she was innocent in all the ways he was not, had made him want to push things beyond a single kiss.
