Absolute Surrender (40 page)

Charles lay still upon her as Amelia trembled when he lifted too far from her bodily. She seemed to enjoy the pressure of him, the pure restraint of his heavy bones upon hers, and he was happy to stay. His bollocks ached like nothing had in all his life. This had been a much more extended delay of gratification. Nothing he
’
d experienced before and hoped never to again.

Blessed as it was.

Charles wasn
’
t truly sure how soon the ache at his bollocks would dissipate, and even though his slow stroking yet inside her was preventing his cockstand from receding completely, he wasn
’
t sure how soon he would, or could, rise again. Charles hoped that this one painful orgasm would satiate him for a time—because soon they would leave the Cliff House, and it would be at least a fortnight before they could be together again.

Charles’s hands traveled her body, occasionally avoiding Hugh
’
s. Charles watched Hugh
’
s hands for a time, dancing across her skin, before looking up to her other man. Hugh
’
s smile was one of pure devotion as he watched Amelia drift. Charles hoped she merely slept, that they
’
d laid waste only to her energy and not something deeper. Hugh looked at him, gave a quick nod, and Charles knew she was safe.

Charles rolled to his side and pulled her with him, then reached over to Hugh
’
s arm and tugged until Hugh rose and slid into the bed behind her, pulling a heavy counterpane with him from a nearby chair. Hugh returned the pressure along her back that had been lost when Charles had shifted them. She settled between them once again, her arms wrapped around Charles, their legs tangled together, Hugh keeping her safe in the lee of Charles’s strength.

Charles was certain they could make this work. Charles knew he and Amelia would be wed in the official manner and that they would live as husband and wife—Hugh with them. Charles felt an incomparable care for this man, something he
’
d never felt for another man—another person, even. It was different from his care for Amelia, but that of a brother, perhaps, or stronger even, as the regard wasn
’
t a requirement of blood. Charles wanted to ensure his future with them, that Hugh and Amelia would be safe to be friends…or more, as it seemed to him they were most definitely more than friends now.

He understood that Hugh wasn
’
t entirely set upon the idea of them being together, but he knew in what Amelia had done tonight that she showed him that she needed him yet. She showed Hugh that he could not yet abandon her, and she refused to let Hugh be martyr to her future. Hugh was very much a part of her future. In fact, Hugh was just as much a part of her future as Charles was, albeit one that the public wouldn
’
t know the truth of.

And what of him? Charles had not expected some of what happened tonight. It wasn
’
t the three of them nor the situation of it all, but something more. Something had slipped inside of him when he
’
d pressed into her. Something had shifted, opening a fissure that had allowed in just a bit of light and from it, warmth. He wasn
’
t sure what it was even as it bloomed when he looked on her. He
’
d thought perhaps it had something to do with his now resolved predicament, but he was much too exhausted to consider it at the moment.

Hugh watched Amelia
’
s steady breathing. He had not taken any joy in the pain Charles had endured in the ruination of his best friend, now lover, and that troubled him. Because what Hugh had taken from it was the feeling of sheer love, a complete joy, he
’
d never felt with anyone until now. As though this moment, here, was exactly where he was supposed to be. It was unfortunate he couldn
’
t stay with them in the future. It was obvious to Hugh that at some point Amelia would trust in Charles—her body, her soul, whatever piece of her had latched on to Hugh and decided he was her sanctuary—that part of her would accept Charles as well, and Hugh would absolutely be superfluous. Regardless of how much they loved each other.

Hugh owed Charles a great debt, not only for Hugh
’
s mishandling of their friendship as children, but for Charles’s care of Amelia now and in the future. Hugh wanted to stay with them, but his fear of being cast aside eventually…it was too great. The longer Hugh stayed within this warm haven, the more painful, the more difficult, it would be to be forced from it. Hugh wasn
’
t sure he would survive it now, but he would find a pliable virgin to take to wife and settle in the seat of the barony, his holdings secured by the funds settled on that marriage.

If Hugh stayed with Charles and Amelia, he would lose everything but his title. Baronies very rarely had entailments, and his certainly didn
’
t. And his parents…well, they thought they were doing him a service by requiring a marriage to receive his limited fortunes—that in itself was a tragedy.

Hugh could give it all up to live with Charles and Amelia. He could walk away from everything he was and allow himself to be a kept man. But what then? What of when they turned him out? Hugh would be ruined. No holdings, no money, no anything to live in, or off of, or on.

Not a damned thing.

Hugh would then marry a suitable girl, but she would have nothing but money. Hugh could buy properties…he could… He needed to silence his mind for the time being. To enjoy his last moments holding his beloved Amelia in his arms. He swept her hair aside and curled into her form, his forehead pressed into the curve of her neck, his arms wrapped around her, his legs like shadows of her own.

It wasn
’
t so terrible. Certainly Charles would honorably settle some money on him. Like a mistress released from her protector. Hugh shivered against Amelia at the thought, and he suddenly knew he would never survive this as he attempted to drift off to sleep.

Amelia tried to take a deep breath only to realize her chest was compressed by the rather large arm swept across it. And it was naked. Her chest, not the arm. Well, the arm as well, of course, but—she clenched her eyes and let out a breath as steady as possible.

“I know you
’
re awake,”
Charles said.

“Well, then, if you don
’
t mind, would you please move your arm so I can breathe?”

Charles shifted. His arm went to her waist, and she took a deep breath, then realized his hand was on her buttock. Kneading it. Like bread dough. Pulling her forward, toward him and—oh my. Were they to do it again?

“Where
’
s Hugh?” she asked.

“He just stepped outside. Amelia?”

“Yes, my…yes...” She paused. What did she call him now? Was it still Charles? Did she decide on some term of endearment? He was calling her Amelia. Obviously, that was acceptable under the circumstance, but she wasn
’
t entirely sure of the circumstance, of course, because she
’
d not done this before and—

“Charles,” he said.

“I
’
m Amelia,” she said distractedly.

“I
’
m aware that you
’
re Amelia. I
’
m also aware that you
’
re deciding how to address me. You use my name, as you did several hours ago. It
’
s not a great debate. Charles. Use it.” His morning voice was low and rough from disuse, and the reverberation sent sparks across her skin.

“Oh,”
she sighed.

“Amelia.”

“Yes?”

“Say my name.”

“Oh, you meant now?”

“Amelia,” Charles said again, and she marveled at the many ways he could say her name. Calming, driving, exciting, warning, arousing…at the moment, it seemed deep and threatening.

She cleared her throat. What a bit of nonsense! It was like stage fright. She couldn
’
t get her throat to work. “Ch—” She cleared her throat again. “Charrr—I…Charrrllles,” she slurred carefully, as his hands continued to loosen her muscles while having the most amazing effect of tightening other parts of her that he wasn
’
t even near to touching.

“Again. It appears you need some practice.” Charles’s breath blew across the skin between her shoulder and her neck, and her nipples peaked.

“I
’
m a bit shaken up…Charles,” she said achingly slowly.

“Again.” Now his breath hit her chest and curved up her throat to her chin, while her skin shuddered at the back of her neck.

“Charles.” Her voice was gruff and low, possibly from that bit of screaming from…before.

“Again,” he said, his voice gravelly. He seemed to have the same issue. Charles rolled over her, his hands each on their very own cheek of her bottom and his face buried in her neck. “Again.”

Her toes tingled.

Her toes!

“Chaaaaarless.”

“Again.” His hands swept down her thighs, spreading her beneath him as she felt his hardness slide between her legs.

She squeaked.

He looked up, seemed to be considering her, waiting.

“Charles,” she whispered. She meant it as an invitation, even as it terrified her.

Charles took her mouth, spoke with his lips pressed against hers. “Don
’
t stop, Amelia. Never stop.
”

Amelia repeated his name, over and over, until it was like breath for her, an incantation. Every sigh, every gasp carried those seven letters upon it as Charles’s tempo rose with his urgency. She ignored the fading. She ignored the warnings.

When Amelia opened her eyes to look on him and his eyes crinkled at the edges with a smile of brilliant happiness, she thought she might be lost forever in their depths. As though he was exactly where he
’
d always wanted to be, and she belonged there as well.

She felt Charles inside her as he thrust slowly now, building, watching her watching him. She continued her incantation as she took him in, every minute detail, attempting to ward off the shadows at her periphery. Charles’s dark hair appeared burnished by the sun from the window. His eyes were dark and deep from the shadows. She touched him then, his name an echo of her hands on his skin.

The cords of his neck…she traced them, her hands moving slowly to his shoulders, and what shoulders they were. The roping muscles stood
out. She
’
d never realized how detailed a man
’
s body was until now, and she watched as the muscles of his shoulders moved with them, shifting, bunching and relaxing under his skin. They looked like they were braided, so intricately woven they were.

“Charles.”

She smoothed her hands over them and closed her eyes, feeling the movement and comparing it to the steady thrust of his hips, that part of him moving inside her, so very well choreographed, his body like a well-planned ballet—the muscles the dancers, each carefully following a set rhythm and pattern, each quite specific in their movement, with the rushing of her blood the music that set the tempo for their dance.

“Charles.”

She could hear the music then, lilting yet quickening, the thrusts picking up tempo, the dancers following suit. Her hands shifted down to his arms, where the large muscles would tighten like stone, then relax. Her hands fell to his ribs, and he jerked, a staccato rhythm in her internal symphony.

“Charles.”

She fit her hands to that weave of muscles on his sides, her fingers resting in the valleys between his ribs as she concentrated on the sweep and the pull of these muscles, so different from the bunching of his arms and the shifting of his shoulders.

“Charles.”

She was taken away with how miraculous his body was, how absolutely amazing the movement within, that without thought so many things came together in the most perfect way, only to bring about the crescendo which was upon her.

“Charles.”

“Amelia.”

She snapped back to awareness and arched into him as she moved her hands to his back and pulled him to her as hard as her small arms would allow for, felt his powerful thrust upon her, shocked she did not split right in two like a log prepared for a fire.

Amelia felt carried away on Charles’s name, on his tide, in his arms. They undulated as though one, like ripples in her pond, the tide on the shore. She could hear the waves crashing, and she breathed with them, spoke with them. Charles picked up the cadence, and they writhed together with the sea and his name on her breath until her world came apart in his arms, and she screamed—much too late—her arms flailing, searching for purchase as she fell, fell, fell past the cliffs and into the sea with only Charles to buoy her—

He
’
s not enough.

Amelia was blinded by the thought, her mind a brilliant light. The only thing she knew was his name on her lips, the warmth of his seed against her womb, and the sound of their voices on the wind.

“Amelia.” Charles breathed heavily.

Waited.

“Amelia.”

He
’
d thought she was with him. Miraculously, he
’
d thought she was still with him. He
’
d been wrong. Every muscle in him tensed, and she seemed to melt within the confines of his structure.

Charles held her face in his hand, kissed it, attempted to steady his heart. “Amelia, please.” His voice sounded rough, breathless, breaking across the words. How could he have been such an ass? He knew better. He knew she couldn
’
t be close to him like this. He knew she needed Hugh. It had been too much to hope for. Charles was too much for her. There it was, just a small bit of that jealousy he
’
d thought had been dismissed. He shook it off.

“Hugh!” he yelled, and the door swept open.

Hugh didn
’
t look very happy as he approached them on the bed, and that look from Hugh wasn
’
t helpful as Charles felt his stomach drop. “I was...we were…it all just happened, and it felt right. I thought she was here…and then…she was gone.” Charles started to move away, shame gripping his spine like a bony fist, but Hugh grabbed his arm and shook his head.

Charles knew it had been a mistake. He knew he wasn
’
t worthy.

Hugh knelt by the bed next to Amelia as Charles swept the sheet up over them, their nakedness now a testament to his improper behavior. Charles felt as a child in need of a scolding, even though Hugh was far from berating him. Charles rolled to her side as Hugh spoke quietly, gently. This was disheartening, and Charles stilled, watched, simply worked on learning all the small movements, the calming sounds, the soothing words, that would bring her back.

Charles felt her awareness returning slowly. First in her hands, tensing on his arm, his side. Then her toes curling against his calf. He watched as Amelia slowly smiled and reached up to his chin. “Hugh?”

Charles froze, then moved suddenly, rising from the bed and yanking his trousers on. Charles heard Hugh call his name in warning and knew it wasn
’
t a good idea, knew he should take more care with her, but he
’
d been frightened. So very frightened. If Hugh hadn
’
t been here…Charles shook the thought off. He had to step away from her, from them.

“Charles.” Hugh called to him as he followed him over to the fireplace. “Breathe, Charles. Everything will be fine. I understand—”

Charles turned on him. “You understand what, exactly? How weak I truly am? How unmatched for her? How unequal to the task? How ignorant?” He berated himself, hearing his father
’
s voice the whole time.

Hugh grabbed his arm. “Charles, stop!” Hugh was shaking his head. “I understand that you were frightened. But you did nothing wrong.”