The rogue to forever, p.24
The Rogue to Forever, page 24
“Etta—” She turned her head to the window.
“There’s nothing to discuss, Wilhem.”
“I think—” Pain sluiced up his foot. Damn. He must have tweaked his ankle in the tumble.
Without looking at him, she suggested, “Maybe we should take the driver’s advice and just walk to the nearest town. Find a way back to London. I’m getting tired.”
Tired? Let me tell you something about tired, Etta. I’m tired of all these feelings that rage within me whenever you’re near. I’m tired of being bound to your brother, despite him shunning me. But most of all, I’m damn tired from all the sleepless nights of dreaming about you.
“That’s a good idea.” His hands raked roughly through his hair before he leaned toward her in an effort to tie her dress back up. It was a dangerous move—necessary, lest any onlooking male wanted to die—but nearly fatal for his own willpower.
“W-what?”
“Let me help you,” he said, thinking his voice would be stronger—more solid—than his trembling fingers as they tied the lacey bits together. It was a crime to cover those dark cherry colored nipples. He could feel her stare on the top of his head and noticed the lack of movement in her chest as she held her breath.
He pulled the last tie through, fingers stilled, loosely holding the lace. How he wanted so much more.
In a hushed tone, she moved his fingers along. “Thank you.”
After a grumbled reply, he reached for the door. “Let me do it this time.” He caught a smirk gracing her lips before he made his exit.
When he glanced back to offer her a hand down, he was met with a scowl focused on his foot. “What’s wrong, Wilhem?”
“Nothing.”
She took the few steps down, and they started off toward the last turn off. But they didn’t trudge more than a few feet. “Wilhem,” she cried, hands on her hips, “what’s wrong with your foot?”
“My foot is fine.”
“Wilhem.” She put her foot down. “We’re not taking one more step. You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine. Let’s go before it gets dark.”
“You can’t hobble to town on a bad foot.”
“I can hobble there, and I would even do it with you on my back if I had to.”
“Why would you ever have to do that?”
He huffed. “It doesn’t matter why. It could happen. It could be necessary, and I would always do whatever it takes.”
Her arms crossed, and her eyes narrowed. His heart heaved. “Please Etta, can we go?”
“No. Back in the carriage.”
“Dam—”
“And watch your mouth.”
He watched her sashay in front of him all the way back to the carriage, which…one, really, in all likelihood she had no idea she was sashaying, and two he wished the distance had been further so he could stare just a little bit longer.
Being back in the carriage was his worst nightmare. It was the worst of all possible predicaments.
“Give me your foot.”
Until she said that. Because that just made it worse than the worst.
“What?” Straightening his back, he pulled his feet in toward the seat. “You’re not touching my feet.”
“Give me your foot or I’ll wrestle you for it. And we both know how that ended last time.”
Her on top. God, he almost chose that option.
“Grumbling is not a good look on you, Wilhem,” she admonished while undoing his boot from her knees. From her blasted knees! His cock was swelling in his breeches at the sight of her down there. Soon his foot was in her lap, and she was gently prodding at it, twisting it one way and then another.
“Ack! What are you trying to do to me? Twist it off?”
Rubbing his ankle sent shockwaves up his calf. “You’ll be fine. You just need to rest it.” Then without a word, she reached down to her hem, tore off a long strip and started wrapping his ankle. “And you probably need a bit of extra support for it.”
His heart needed a little extra support. His willpower too. With her soft hands grazing along his foot, and her tender eyes compassionate and caring, he felt like a leaf blowing in the wind. Unmoored. Unbranched.
“How do you do it, Etta?” The question was out before he could think better of it.
“You forget we grew up together. I’ve wrapped your ankle more times than I can count.”
“No, not that.” His voice was gravel. Like sand had been poured down the pipe of this throat. “How do you manage to show strength and compassion even when I’ve been an ass to you?”
She didn’t answer. Verbally. But the look in her eyes when she peered up at him told him everything. He could see the reflection there of everything he was feeling. And he couldn’t bear it for a moment longer.
About to make the worst mistake of his life—knowing he couldn’t follow through. Or maybe he could follow through, but that might equally be the worst mistake of his life. He’d figure that out later. Right now, he needed her. And more than that, he needed her to know that she was needed.
He breathed hard and pulled her onto his lap. “Fuck it.”
Five
ETTA
“I’m going to kiss you now, Novelina.” His incessant spontaneous nicknames tickled between her thighs, shooting heat up through her abdomen. She couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t used an array of nicknames with her. And it had always made her feel special to him. Probably one of the things she could blame for all the hope that she’d let build in her mind about him all these years.
“What? Why?”
His hands settled on her hips, pulling her closer to him.
“Because I want to. Is that a good enough reason?”
Unnerved, she cleared her throat trying to process what he was saying. Words. They were words coming out of his mouth that sounded a lot like an intention to show physical affection out of pure desire, but that couldn’t be right. Only moments ago he had rejected her.
“But you didn’t want to before?”
He grunted and shook his head. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Why are you doing this, Wilhem? Why now? What changed?” She spoke past the lump and the light scratching of tears burning the back of her throat. The sting of rejection had been real. Painful. Sharp. And now he wanted her. Her neck was sore from the whiplash.
“Etta, about earlier…I wanted to—I’ve always wanted to…but I shouldn’t.”
“Why? I don’t understand.” She knew how she sounded. Exactly like her heart was in her hands.
“Your brother—”
“Leland?” she expelled the word like it was a sour taste in her mouth. “What does Leland have to do with any of this?”
“Everything.”
His eyes bore into her. His intensity contrasted with his cavalier demeanor had always enthralled her. He could act on a whim without a care in the world, yet in the very next second ground her into the deepest realities.
“He wants…better for you.”
The carriage floor shook. Only, it didn’t. Her whole world was threatening to crumble. “Leland?” she gasped. “Forbade you to see me?”
He nodded.
“He had no right—”
“He’s your brother—”
“I don’t care.”
“You should. He’s looking out for you.” Spoken like only a true older brother could relate to.
“You look out for Tilly, but you don’t control her.” Etta’s blood was boiling in her ears.
“We’re different people, Etta.”
“I know, Wilhem. That’s why I want you.”
The words blew up like pyrotechnics between them. The air was charged and thick. Her inhale heavy. She waited a beat before feeling him shift in his seat. Her hands wanted to find purchase on his shoulders. His chest. His abdomen. Her body shook at the delicious thought. Her secret was out there now.
“You want me, Etta?”
And this was her moment. Now or never. “I’ve always wanted you, Wilhem.”
The next instant changed her life. She only wished she could have savored it. Braced herself for it. Then again, maybe her whole life had been in preparation for this one moment because if she hadn’t had some level of readiness, her entire body might have disintegrated at what happened next.
As it was, her brain exploded the second his lips touched hers.
Mouth on mouth. Tongue on tongue. Heat. Slickness. He was ravishing her at the same time she was trying to devour him, yet she knew nothing of kissing. Only craved contact. Needed him. Her body was screaming at her. Begging her for that of which she knew next to nothing.
“God, Etta. Tell me to stop,” his voice rasped in her ear just before trailing his tongue down her neck and nipping at her shoulder.
“Don’t stop, Wilhem,” she whimpered in response to the ache in her breasts. “You make me feel like a woman. Finally.” She clawed at his shoulders, encouraging him to take his coat off. The second she caught sight of skin, she dipped her hands under his shirt to feel more of him.
His groan called to each and every one of her lady parts. “You’re going to be the death of me, Etta.” And then he arched his hips into her.
A boulder pressed into her core and she hissed.
In a move too quick to process, he had whipped their positions around. She was sitting on the seat and he was on his knees in front of her.
“Lift your skirts for me, Novelina. I want to see you. Let me taste you.”
“Wilhem?” she gasped. “What?”
“Let me show you what it means to worship you.” His hands encircled her ankles and ran up her calves, resting on the back of her knees. He pulled her to the edge of the seat and gave her a coy smirk. Then he ducked his head under the skirts she had obediently lifted for him. She would do anything for him. Anything. The way he could smile at her melted away any matters of significance. The way he dodged all the punches life threw his way. Or took them to the body and moved on just as courageously. God, she envied—no, admired—his bravery. The man knew no defeat. He knew how to live life without a plan, something she had never been intrepid enough to try. The man was unflappable. If only she had an ounce of his unflappability she’d be able to fly. Or swim. Or…God, her head was muddled and only getting dirtier by the second.
A warm wetness traced her inner thigh and she moaned long and deep. She could feel his raspy sigh on her skin and him murmuring how beautiful she was.
Beautiful? He thought her beautiful? Her heart soared as her hands gripped her skirts tightly.
Distinctly, she heard his voice cut through the clouds of pleasure. “I’m going to taste you now.” His finger slid between her folds. “Here.”
She shifted on the seat, eager for more.
“That’s it. Open for me, storybird.”
And then his mouth was on her most intimate place. His tongue, wide and slow, lapped at her. Pleasure rippled up her spine and down her legs.
“Oh…my,” she panted, “Oh…my.” She mewled as his tongue pressed into her. Deep. And when he pulled out, she felt the loss. That is, only until he started sucking on her core. Pressure mounted inside of her. Like she was racing across the water up and over a cresting wave.
He stopped.
“Wilhem” she whimpered, “don’t stop.”
“Mmmm…you taste so good, Etta. I have to make this last.”
Her legs wanted to squeeze together when his tongue touched back down, but his strong hands held her fast. The more he licked and sucked, the more she writhed against his face. And like he could sense the cresting wave, he would stop and take a breath. Then restart. Her body was on fire. Like a volcano about to explode. Water. Fire. Heat. Explosion.
He suctioned himself to her core and held on.
“Oh my God!” She screamed. “Wilhem! Oh my God.” Flustered. Frantic. Fumbling. She flung her skirts aside looking for him to hold. The sight of his head between her legs rocked through her, and she clawed her hands through his hair, holding him in place.
And then her body gave up. The wave crashed. The volcano erupted. Her mind exploded. But her heart sang.
This was what she’d been missing her entire life. Wilhem. Worshipping her. Could there be anything better?
Six
ETTA
“You taste so good, Etta,” Wilhem’s head popped up as he licked his lips. Watching him taste her and enjoy her woke up another level of desire within her. Her body ached all over in need. Her hands wanted to touch every part of him. Seeking. Exploring. Massaging. She wanted to make him feel even an ounce of what he had made her feel.
She had the distinct urge to give him everything that she had, knowing that he’d accept no less and offer no less.
She would have thought that having him, releasing to him, was all she needed. But that look in his eyes, devilish, spoke of more secrets to share. Her body craved him. More of him.
“That was…incredible, Wilhem.” Her words were wisps of wind because her eyes were trained on his cock. Or…where his cock was bulging out underneath his breeches. And her lady parts throbbed in desire. God, he looked huge, and she couldn’t even see all of him.
He followed her gaze and stood up. “We can fix that if you want.”
“Mhmmm…” she squeaked out. “I want.”
He sank to the seat beside her and pulled her atop him. His hands splayed out on her waist, rubbing his thumbs up and down her sides.
She shifted on his lap. Anything to get closer to that bulge.
“You really do want more, don’t you?”
She nodded, not fully understanding her body but giving in all the same.
She felt wanton. Wicked. Insatiable. Just like the images from the book, The One With the Wanton Woman promised. This was her moment with him. Maybe it could be more? Maybe…But even if it couldn’t be, she wanted all of him at least once. She knew what it meant to choose this with him. To give herself to him. But if there was anyone on earth she had ever imagined giving herself to, and equally believing it an impossibility to do so, it was him. Wilhem. Her brother’s best friend. The rogue. The man who followed his heart. Lived his own life. Marched to his own beat. A beat she had never dared to follow before. Out of fear.
But what was fear? Sometimes that was based in reality. A warning bell. Get out. Like her wedding. That’s why she’d fled from Ralph. That was real fear. To imagine living the rest of her life with someone she neither loved nor really liked. And it wasn’t that Ralph was unlikable. He was just…Ralph. She felt nothing for him. Wasn’t that incalculably worse? To live with no feelings rather than to follow her heart? Even if her heart led to despair. Sadness. Regret. It was better to have lived. Loved. Lost. Grieved. Felt. Than to have nothing at all to show for her life.
Consequences be damned—they already were—so why not live her fullest life? Live her dream. If only once.
She brushed herself over him, feeling his solid heat scorching her.
“God, your body is hot, Etta.”
Throbbing. Helpless. Needy. She rolled her forehead against his. “Wilhem,” she panted. “You know what I need more than I do. Please,” she rubbed her breasts against his chest, desperate for friction, “give it to me.”
He paused for but an instant, searching her face. She could feel him searching her and finding his answer.
Hands flew. Fabric tore. Buttons loosened.
“I’ve wanted this for so long, Etta,” he breathed her name onto her own lips. “Do you want this or you want me?”
“I want you, Wilhem. All of you.”
“That’s all I need to know, Etta.”
She felt a dampness between her legs. A sharp inhale. And then his cock sliding into her. Nothing could have prepared her for the immense rush of emotion that welled up within her. Connection like none other. Intimacy. She felt part of him. And as though she were giving all of herself to him. White stars blinded her vision as her eyes fell shut and her fingers trembled against his skin.
Her moans enveloped the silence in the carriage and threw it out the window.
“That’s it, Etta. You can take all of it, belletrist.” She loved the names he called her. Like he knew her. Like he was speaking to her soul. Her essence. Every time he uttered a new one—or an old one—it was as though he was claiming her. Announcing to the world that she was his in a way she had never been and could never be anyone else’s.
Finding a shaky breath, she asked, “There’s more?”
He chuckled, “Find out,” as he stuffed her full of him. He pushed every boundary. In life. With her. He was his own man, and God she wanted all of him for herself.
She cried out, gripping his shoulders, head thrown back. Then his hands were on her breasts. Massaging. His lips were next. And she thought she’d floated up beyond the clouds. This man was making her his adventure. Exploring. Worshipping.
Not too soon after that, his hands were on her hips as he plowed up and into her. Again and again. His solid body was both protective and possessive of her. Somehow she could feel that he needed her the same way she needed him. “You like that, Etta?”
“God, yes!” she shouted as he thrust into her again, pulling her down to meet him in the same movement.
He was guiding her down against his hips, showing her a rhythm, grinding his cock against a bundle of nerves she’d never paid any attention to. She could feel her body giving way to him. Opening to him. Her heart had always belonged to him, but it was as though she held it out to him in a locked box. And now…in this moment, he was gently opening her up. Taking her heart out of the box and caring for her. Almost as though he too had been cautious in his approach to her, but now there was nothing between them. They were one. And she was boldly, irrevocably, in love with him.
They called out each other’s names over and over again. Unable to focus on the kiss any longer, she lapped at his neck. Then she bit down hard as she felt her insides clench around his hardness.
“Holy hell,” he growled into her shoulder. And she felt him pulsate just before a hot liquid ran down her inner thigh.
