Addicted (28 page)

“Release me from my torment,” he whispered. He covered her mouth with his, tasting her, the sweetness of the wine mixed with her own heady taste. Her tongue curled with his and he
deepened the kiss so that he was kissing her in slow, drugging, openmouthed kisses that made her mewl and writhe against him. Suddenly it wasn’t enough. He wanted more.

Tipping her chin back, he ran his tongue down her neck, tasting her skin. She shivered and instead of seeing the gooseflesh covering her pale skin, he felt it against his tongue, leading him to wonder where else she was affected.

He raked the tip of his tongue along her throat once more and parted her cloak back over her shoulders. She trembled once again and he felt her skin pucker at the tops of her breasts. Even now he was imagining the delights of Anais’s tight, glistening quim. Despite the dark, he could see her, her body anxious for his.

Wrapping his fingers along her nape, he brought her to him, crushing her lips beneath his so that he robbed her of breath. She did not struggle, but slackened against him as she gave in to her desires.

Her gloved fingers sought his face and traveled down his jaw where she brushed her fingertips against him. Her touch inflamed him—teasing him—and he could not stop himself from reaching for her hand and sliding it down his chest—then lower. When her hand flattened against his abdomen he groaned, his cock straining beneath his trousers.

“Put your hand on me,” he commanded. Slowly he removed her glove and kept it in his hand, gripping it in his palm as she brushed her fingers along his tented trousers. Boldly she raked her nails down the shaft that was rigid beneath the wool. Unable to wait for her to fiddle with the fastenings, he reached between their bodies and tore open his trousers.

Unable to wait until she gathered her courage and touched
his naked flesh, he gripped his shaft in his hand and stroked himself, his breathing building in an echoing crescendo off the carriage walls.

She wanted this inside her.
Anais wrapped her hand tighter around the silken hardness that was sliding up and down the length of her palm. Her sex clenched in yearning, recalling what it felt like to have this—Lindsay—deep inside her.

Was it the wine making her crave such things, making her so bold that she wanted to slide down his hard body and brush her lips against his velvet skin? Or was she by nature a wanton? There was no denying how easily she had discovered the joys of making love. Despite trying to talk herself into believing that she was ashamed by what they had done in the stable, she could not feel guilt. There was no ignominy in sharing your body with another, nor taking enjoyment in the pleasure given to you. Lindsay had filled her body and soul with a passion she feared she was becoming dependent upon.

“Lower your bodice and let me tongue your nipples,” he whispered in the dark.

Instead, she kissed his neck and rubbed the head of his phallus with the tip of her finger, spreading the wetness so that it coated the shaft and his fingers. He groaned and nipped at the swells of flesh that inched above her bodice.

Closing her eyes, she realized she was entirely caught up in her own passion. It was the first time she had taken an active role in their lovemaking. Perhaps it was the wine liberating her, or the darkness that was making her bold. Whatever the reason, she didn’t care, she couldn’t let this moment pass. She had tried,
no matter how briefly, to stem the desire, and she couldn’t do it. Why couldn’t she just enjoy the pleasures to be found in him?

Brushing his hand aside, she slowly lowered her mouth. The crinkling of her taffeta skirts mixed with his husky groan surrounded them. No light was needed for the other to know what was happening.

“Oh, God, yes,” he hissed as if he were in pain.

She was kneeling on the blanket, her body pressed between his thighs. His hand raked down her spine, burning her through her bodice and she felt whatever inhibitions she still harbored slip away.

“Is this a craving?” she whispered, before she brushed her bottom lip against the vein that was pulsating in his shaft.

“Yes.”

“Have you imagined me doing this?”

“Yes,” he hissed again as she flicked her tongue along the length of him.

“Is this what you think of while smoking opium?”

He moaned, his fingers traveling up and down her spine. “This and so much more, Anais. I’ve thought of it in moments of haziness and lucidity.”

“Then ask for it. Ask me just as you’ve always imagined.”

Silence. Not a sound other than the coach wheels turning beneath them could be heard. She held her breath and knew he was holding his, too.

“Take my cock in your mouth. Let me feel how much you want it.”

He reached for his phallus and brought it to her lips, brushing it against her mouth before she tasted him.

Lindsay had harbored many fantasies about Anais over the years, but the one that drove him to the brink—the one he had never allowed another woman to fulfill was this one. This primal, almost animalistic urge to watch her take his cock into her mouth as he held himself out to her; offering himself up to her.

“I want to feed this to you.”

Without a word of protest, Anais parted her mouth and took the head of his cock between her lips, sucking and lapping at him so that he was gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut in pleasured agony.

Becoming braver, she reached out and stroked him with her fingernails as she curled her tongue around him. Then she began to suck, the sounds, so electrifying, rippled through the air and he pressed his fingers into her neck and groaned, encouraging her to take him however she wanted.

His body jerked then twisted, shocks shuttering through his nerves. He was beyond thinking now, only conscious of the wave of pleasure that swam through him and the climax she was going to pull from the depths of his soul.

He tried to push her away, knowing that when he came it would be explosive and quick, but he couldn’t move, and when he stiffened beneath her and felt the first rush of orgasm wash over him he was able to pull out, but she reached out and put the tip of her tongue to him, tasting the first drop. Then he was lost.

Anais was aware of Lindsay’s stiffening, felt him searching for his great coat with groping hands as she sucked him, tasting the first
drops of his essence. When he found his coat, he wrapped it around his shaft and she slowly allowed her mouth to slide up the length of him. As she did, she felt the pulsations swimming up his shaft.

“You’ve awakened me to such passion,” she murmured, uncertain if she truly wanted to be speaking these words aloud. But there was something about his inability to see her, the depth of her emotion—her love—shining in her eyes, that compelled her to speak such things. “I never knew how much a body could yearn for the touch of another.”

The carriage was slowing to a halt and she knew that any minute it would stop completely before the doors of the Bewdley Assembly Rooms.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, reaching for her wrist as she raised herself from between his knees. “Stay with me.”

“I cannot,” she murmured, settling herself back onto the bench and adjusting her cloak over her shoulders.

“Don’t deny what we have, Anais. Not anymore.”

“I could not even if I wished to,” she said, her words so quiet she was not even certain he could hear her.

“You want me as a woman wants a man.”

“Yes.”

“Then take me, damn it. Take everything I am offering you.”

She was so tempted to risk everything and allow herself to be caught up in such madness. Her body still trembled for him. She knew she would never experience the same sort of desire and pleasure with another man.

“Take what you want, Anais.”

“Perhaps what we want and what is best for us is not the same thing.”

“You speak of the opium, do you not? You’re afraid that I am my father. I can stop. I would stop for you.”

She looked away and squeezed her eyes tightly, stemming the tears that sprung behind her lids. “I would never be able to trust you. I would live in fear that you would fall back into old habits. I cannot be with you for this reason, Lindsay. You’re not what I need in my life.” It was the truth and yet, she still kept so much from him—the real reason she could not be with him. What a faithless liar she was, making him feel as though it was all his fault they could never be together.

“You can’t just throw away what we have. I won’t let you—”

“It is best for both of us that we forget it.”

“I will not.” He gripped her wrist. “I don’t give a damn what Broughton means to you. I don’t care what part he has played in your life these past months. If you truly hated me, if you couldn’t bear the sight of me, I would release you, but you don’t. And that is the reason I will continue to pursue you. You don’t love Broughton, I know you don’t.”

“No, I do not,” she whispered, looking down at her hands, despite the fact she could not see them. “I do not love him. But I have an obligation to him.”

The carriage stopped and the coachman’s boots were crunching atop the gravel. The door was opened, allowing in the warm golden lights that blazed from the assembly rooms’ windows. For the first time she saw Lindsay sitting across from her, looking fierce and handsome. Her gaze strayed to his trousers, and she could not help but think of what she had done not five minutes before.

He followed her gaze and then pressed forward, whispering in her ear as the coachman looked discreetly away. “You are a
woman worth fighting for, Anais. I will fight for you. Never doubt it. I will show you that I can be worthy of you. You are an angel amongst women, Anais. My angel.”

“No, I am not.” She met his eyes and looked into them with an honesty she had not shown him since he’d arrived back home. “I am not an angel. I have sinned, and I shall have to live with it. We have both hurt each other. We will no doubt hurt each other again. Let it be over, Lindsay, please.”

“I don’t know what happened between you and Broughton when I left, but I do know that none of it matters now. I want you, and I will have you as my wife. I vow I am, and always will be, constant and faithful in my love for you, Anais. Nothing you or anyone else does shall alter these feelings. I am forever loving, forever waiting, forever yearning…forever yours.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered, smothering her tears. “You hurt me when you talk of love, for your love is all I have ever wanted, and now that I have it, I cannot accept it. It kills me to know I might have had your love. Oh, Lindsay, opium might have been your weakness, but you, you have always been mine. I cannot be strong around you. I can’t…I can’t be around you anymore,” she said in a choked cry then flew down the carriage steps and into the assembly rooms, leaving Lindsay alone in the carriage.

17

Anais sat down on the bench in front of her dressing table, rubbing her feet. Never had she danced so much, not even during her first few seasons in Society. Lord, her feet ached! She groaned out loud when her fingers traversed over a particularly tender spot on her arch.

Closing her eyes, she continued to work out the cramps in her feet. In her mind she replayed every dance, every look and smile. From somewhere in the back of her mind the image of Lindsay standing alone in a dark corner watching her dance with Wallingford and Garrett flashed before her.

God help her, she had wanted him to ask her to dance, but he hadn’t. In truth, he never danced and tonight was no exception.

“Look at poor Raeburn over there, marinating in his vinegar,” Wallingford had murmured as he spun her around during a waltz. “I would wager my fortune he wishes he could navigate a dance floor now.”

Lindsay despised dancing. She also knew that despite being known as a proliferate rake and a promiscuous lover, Walling
ford quite enjoyed dancing. He never sat one out. It was also noted that he usually always graced his arm with at least one overlooked wallflower amongst the many beauties who usually hung on his arm.

“You know, when the four of us took dance instruction together, Raeburn used to pummel me soundly in your father’s stables,” Wallingford said on a laugh. “The man may have a deplorable sense of rhythm, but he has a fantastic set of fists. He would become irate whenever I danced the Sir Roger de Coverly with you. I could never understand it. But then during a particularly vicious attack on my person, he confessed it was because it was the longest dance of the set—nearly half an hour—and that I had monopolized you for most of the lesson, leaving him sitting on the peripheries, forced to watch me dancing with you.”

She had sought out Lindsay then, and as their gazes collided across the ballroom, memories of their carriage ride ran rampant through her brain. Her heart had felt like a butterfly trapped in a glass apothecary jar—its wings fluttering in vain.

A soft click of the connecting door cut through her musings. Anais opened her eyes only to find Lindsay leaning against the door, his shirt unbuttoned to his waist. His hair was mussed and the faint shadow of his beard outlined his jaw, making it appear more angular and strong.

“You’ve brought me to my knees, Anais—again. You have consumed me.”

She said nothing, fearing her words would betray her. Her lips—trembling and moist, were ready to betray her.

Stepping into the room he walked until he stood before her. “Forever waiting…forever yearning…” he murmured against
her temple as he repeated the words he had said in the carriage. “Forever loving.”

No man had the ability to entice her as Lindsay did. No man made her yearn for something that she should not, like Lindsay could. She feared that for her, everything would always come back to Lindsay. She was tired of denying it. Denying her wishes.

“Have you never had a failing, angel?”

Anais lowered her lashes. Yes, she had failed. He just didn’t know it.

“I was weak that night. It was not weakness for sex or Rebecca. I was weak in my need for you. I willingly dabbled in the opium sticks. I allowed myself to imbibe the hashish. I could not resist the lure. Opium was my weakness, not Rebecca. I hope you know that.”