Page 35 of A Figure of Love

He kept a little behind her and could see the shape of her body beneath the ugly robe, which was more form fitting than either her habit or her morning dress. She had full, generous hips and it was easy to imagine them under his hands, his fingers gripping her soft flesh, holding her steady while he penetrated her and rode her to their mutual pleasure.

He was hard and had been almost since he’d recovered from his bout of coughing. His imagination—which had a will of its own tonight—visualized bedding her, watching her eyes darken as he brought her to crisis. He imagined experiencing the particular fulfillment that only came from pleasuring one’s partner—making her scream and writhe—right before he brought himself to completion inside her.

Gareth clenched his jaw; his desire for her was unfortunate but he was a man who knew how to exert self-control. Now that he was aware of the danger she presented to his concentration he would see to it that episodes such as this one—the two of them alone, thinly clothed—did not occur again.

Tonight he would leave her at her door and then strip and vent his sexual energy on his punching bags.

They came to the entrance to the grand hall and he reached around her to open the door. She reached at the same moment and their hands met.

“Oh!” she tried to move back and found her hand held in his. She looked down and so did Gareth, perhaps even more surprised than she was. His body acted without his consent and he drew her toward him. She came toward him without hesitation, looking up at him, her unbound breasts pressing against his chest. For once, she was not smiling and her lips were parted. Her pupils had flared; a sign of desire. Gareth knew his own eyes would be just as dark. He slid a hand under the curve of her jaw, his fingers skimming the unspeakably soft skin of her slender neck and then he lowered his mouth over hers.

∞∞∞

His body was hard and warm, like stone made hot from the sun.

Serena knew she should have turned around the moment she found him in the kitchen. She could have left without him ever knowing. Indeed, he would not have suffered a painful and embarrassing coughing episode if she had. But his back had been to her when she’d entered and the sight of his body pressed against the heavy silk of his robe had caught at her. The fabric had flowed over his sculpted backside like molten silver and had drawn a throb of want from her that almost brought her to her knees. Her hands had ached to feel the texture of his body, the heat and shape of him.

His cool, speculative stare had not prepared her for this—for lips that were firm, soft, and hot and his slick, skilled, and determined tongue. He held her in a light grasp that did nothing to disguise the power in his sinuous frame. Fingertips teased and stroked the skin of her throat while he pushed closer, his hardness thrusting against her belly.

Serena closed her eyes and sighed at the feel of raw male arousal, sagging against the muscular column of his body. It had been a long, long time since she’d taken a lover, and never one as beautiful or unknowable as this.

He slid a second hand around her waist, his fingers kneading and massaging her uncorsetted body as he delved more deeply into her mouth, his rhythmic strokes making her hips buck against his. It would be so easy to simply give in to the long-repressed sensations he was drawing from her body without effort. She leaned in closer, her own hand snaking around his corded, narrow waist to rest at the top of his deliciously hard buttocks.

This is a mistake, Serena. You will not be able to stay here after this. The voice was shrill and annoying, and Serena ignored it.

He walked her slowly toward the wall, rubbing the stiff length of his erection against her as he pushed, until her shoulders hit the wall, but he kept coming.

Stroke.

Stroke.

Stroke.

His stiff length drew an answering pulse from her sex and she imagined his strong, insistent body entering hers, plunging into her with all the strength she knew he possessed. She could feel the struggle of will and desire that raged inside him. The slightest sign from her and he would take her right here, against the wall.

I can have him right now. Her inner muscles clenched and tightened and she pushed back against him the next time he thrust, her body already preparing to welcome his, her thighs slick with desire.

He made a low growling sound and bit her lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, pulling her so hard the pain was exquisite. His knee nudged between her thighs and she opened to him.

You will need to leave this place. It will be a disaster, for you, Serena, but especially for Oliver.

Her son’s face—wearing a tragic expression—rose up in her mind and her eyes flew open; never had her ardor been extinguished so quickly.

She laid her hands on his upper arms, that part of her mind that wanted him thrilling at the feel of hard, sculpted body. But her son’s face remained with her.

She pulled back and his lips left hers immediately. When she looked up, she saw he was staring at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart strong, steady, and fast against her hard nipples and sensitive breasts.

“Mr. Lockheart?” She sounded just as he had after his coughing fit.

He dropped his arms to his sides and stepped back, putting empty space between their bodies.

His eyes never wavered from hers. “I apologize, Mrs. Lombard.”

She shook her head, unable to come up with anything coherent to say.

He turned away and opened the door, waiting until she’d gone through. The silent journey to the family quarters took a hundred years.

They stopped at her door and he bowed his head. “Good night, Mrs. Lombard.”