Forever His(75)

And this might be all she ever had of him, all that God would grant her, before she returned to her own time or ...

She gasped when she felt his hand moving against her soft mound. He fumbled with the snaps he encountered on her teddy, then pushed the fabric aside impatiently. His fingers brushed against her, gently; then when he felt her dampness, more powerfully.

She cried out when he began to stroke her, his fingers delving into her, teasing, seeking, demanding. The sensations began to build, so quickly, so violently, spinning tight within her belly, the heat and light of a universe full of stars all condensed into one, straining toward the explosion of sheer ecstasy. Then she felt his hand shift away from her to himself. And then ...

Then came the unfamiliar feel of smooth, hard, velvet-steel flesh pressing against her thigh.

***

Gaston almost lost control as he felt her soft, bare thigh against his rigid arousal. This was torture. A mistake. Sweet Christ, the worst mistake he had ever made in his life. The feelings he had for this woman were weakness. Letting himself feel passion for one female above all others was madness.

But in that moment he wanted to be weak, welcomed madness.

He began to thrust against her skin and the silk of her garment, keeping her firmly in place, not daring to let her move. Groaning, he rubbed his length along her hip and thigh, relentlessly torturing and pleasuring himself at the feel of what was almost real.

With a whimper, she tried to shift closer, but he held her pinned and kept moving his hips, faster, harder, his breath a harsh storm against her neck. Bracing her against the wall, he reached down and began to caress her intimately again.

She threw her head back against the stone, shivering and writhing against him, the spasms of pleasure making her tighten around his fingers. He choked out a groan of frustration and need but kept moving, pleasing her and himself, teasing the swollen bud of her desire until she was breathless with wanting release, and then he gave it to her and she took it so easily, crying out his name in a sweet song.

By some miracle he kept himself from making the small thrust of his hips that would have let him plunge his full length home, into her, deeply. His every muscle taut, he pressed his head against her shoulder, undulating with her against the wall in a shameless mockery of the passionate act. And then the fever seized him, pleasure coiling, spinning tighter upon itself until it ripped loose and tore free. With a muffled shout of release, he felt himself flowing, his seed spilling over her bare hip.

They were both trembling. Spent and yet wanting. Fulfilled and yet frustrated. The mingled, hot chorus of their breathing filled the chamber.

“Merciful God,” he swore softly, appalled at the risk he had taken, knowing he would do it again in a heartbeat. He let her go. Let her unwrap her legs from around his waist, let her slide down the wall until her small, bare feet touched the floor.

He stood there, unable to move, wanting to say something. But he could find no words to apologize or explain or express what he was ... feeling.

He abruptly turned away.

“Gaston?” she asked in a voice soft with hurt.

He spun back toward her, capturing her in a fierce gaze. “I will have you,” he vowed. “Not tonight, nor on the morrow, but as soon as the annulment is complete and Lady Rosalind agrees to wed me. I will have you and I will not let you go. I will never let you go.”

She gazed up at him blankly, the languor of their intimacy quickly disappearing from her eyes. “Lady Rosalind?” she whispered. “But I thought ... you said ...”

Gaston cursed under his breath. He had come here to persuade her to accept the idea of staying with him, and instead he had half ravished her and now was making her feel like a possession, a chattel. He was not handling this well at all.

He tried to remind himself of the reasons he had thought of earlier, when it all had seemed so clear and logical. “You will be safe with me, can you not understand that? Tourelle cannot harm you as long as you are in my keeping. And you have naught to return to after our marriage is finished—you cannot want the cloister, and you have no family, no land, not a blade of grass or a single coin to your name. Do you not see that it would be better to stay?”

“Better ...?” she mumbled. “As your mistress? Is that really all you want ... all you feel for me?”

“Celine, we have—”

“No, don’t.” Her eyes swirled with a sudden blue-gray storm of anger and hurt. “Don’t bother reminding me that we’ve already had this discussion. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Haven’t you been listening? I’m from the future. I have to go home or I’m going to die. That’s why I came to this room in the first place. You can see the eclipse for yourself—a dark of the moon. Just look out the window.”