Her smile was serene and gently amused. "I saw you at your worst years ago, Brahm."
He nodded. "With Lydia."
"With Lady Pennington's punch bowl." Yes, she was definitely amused, but that night she had been as appalled as the other guests. He never wanted her to look at him like that again. "I do not think you could ever sink much lower than that."
She had him there. Of all the things he had done, that was probably the most humiliating and damaging. If she could find humor in it, if she could forgive it, then perhaps there was a chance for them after all.
God, he was starting to sound as idealistic and foolishly hopeful as she was. He was actually starting to believe her. "Are you willing to spend the rest of your life wondering if you can trust me not to drink?"
She reached out to him, her hand scorching him through the thin lawn of his sleeve. "I trust that you will keep your promise to try. I trust in you. That is all I need. If you have a relapse we will face it together."
"I do not think you understand." Every relapse would take a little of her love away from him, until she would finally leave him— in spirit if not in body. "I cannot sentence you to a life like that."
It would certainly give him a reason to try harder, wouldn't it? Her love— to be worthy of such a gift was enough to make any man want to be the best he could be.
Her fingers dug into his forearm. "You cannot sentence me to a life without you, Brahm."
She was too close, her expression too desperate, too dear for him to resist. He caught her by the waist, pulling her closer. He needed to feel her near. "I am afraid, Ellie."
"So am I," she whispered, her gaze wide.
"I could not bear to lose you because I could not control my urges." He meant the urge to drink of course. His urges for her he did not want to control.
She smoothed her palm over his cheek, sliding her hand down to cup his jaw. "I will help you control those urges— and lose control of a few others."
He laughed then, all the fight and stubbornness draining out of him. How well she read him. "It will not be easy," he warned her.
Eleanor smiled. "Nothing worth having ever is. But I am willing to try, Brahm. I will never forgive either of us if we don't at least try. We've both spent so much time thinking of the worst that could happen, but think of the best. Think of all the wonderful things we can share during the rest of our lives. Do you really want to give that up because we're afraid?"
"No. I do not." And he didn't. He would much rather concentrate on all the good things they could share— like a bed.
Her gaze softened, and he knew that she realized she had won. "I love you, Brahm."
Warmth blossomed in his chest as he lowered his head, unable to resist her any longer. "I love you."
Her lips parted eagerly beneath his as he kissed her, welcoming the intrusion of his tongue. He licked the hot, moist hollows of her mouth, tasted the blushed sweetness of her lips. Their tongues twined, their lips moving together in a frantic waltz until he thought his lungs might burst.
He broke the kiss. Gasping for air, Brahm stared down into wide blue eyes dark with desire.
He would give her one last chance to change her mind. A part of him half expected her to do just that. "Are you sure this is what you want?"
She pressed herself against him. Her breasts were heavy against his chest, her hips soft as they cradled his groin. She rubbed her pelvis against his growing erection, the sweet friction bringing a low groan to his lips.
"Yes," she replied. "I want you."
He kissed her, claiming her lips once more before sliding his mouth down her jaw to the delicate length of her throat. His teeth nipped at the fragile skin there, and he swept his tongue along the rapidly beating pulse at the base of her neck, tasting the frantic throbbing of her excitement.
Eleanor's breath caught in her throat as Brahm's hands— his beautiful hands— slid up her ribs to cup her breasts. His thumbs brushed the aching peaks through the satin of her bodice, sending a shiver of delight down her spine. Her nipples tightened, aching for more than just his touch. She wanted his mouth on her flesh, wanted the fierce pressure of his lips and tongue.
She wanted him.
Brahm's hands tightened on her breasts, his fingers squeezing her nipples forcefully, drawing a gasp from her lips. Yes, this was what she wanted, what she craved.
His hands left her, but before she could cry out in protest, his fingers tugged at her neckline and sleeves, lowering both so that her breasts were soon bare, the cool air hardening her nipples even more. Then he lowered his dark head, his silky lips closing around her wanton flesh.
Eleanor shuddered.
"Ohh."
His tongue was rough and velvety as it stroked her. His fingers found the crest of her other breast and pinched it gently, sending a swath of warmth rushing between her legs. Arching her back, she pushed herself against his hand and mouth, watching as his mouth devoured her with such delicious intensity.
His erection pressed hard against the softness between her thighs. She rubbed herself against it, giving herself over to the pleasure that threatened to bruise her tender flesh. Brahm flexed his hips, adding to the sensation. Greedily he sucked at her nipples, his teeth scraping the sensitive flesh. Her fingers clawed at his shoulders through his shirt. She would shred the fabric if she could. Just as she thought she couldn't take any more, he moved to the other breast and repeated the sensuous torture.
Gently he pushed her back, guiding her steps until the backs of her legs met the edge of the bed. His bed. Only then did he raise his head from her chest. His gaze was hot on hers as his hands came around to the back of her gown, deftly opening the buttons there. He peeled the gown down her shoulders, leaving her in nothing but her garters and stockings. She had dressed with just such an encounter in mind.
No man had ever looked at her as Brahm did. No one ever made her feel so beautiful and desirable. In his eyes she saw herself reflected as a goddess, a woman made for loving.
"You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen," he whispered, brushing the backs of his knuckles along the curve of her cheek.
She rubbed her face against his hand. "I want you naked."
He grinned. "As you wish."
Eleanor watched dry mouthed as he grabbed the hem of his shirt in both hands and pulled it upward over his head. Her greedy hands claimed him immediately, running over the springy hair of his chest, reveling in the hard muscle beneath. He was so warm, so hard, so lovely.
Her hands drifted down, made bold by the knowledge that he loved her as she loved him. She unfastened the falls of his trousers, pushing the soft fabric over his hips and down his thighs. He made short work of them from there, straightening to stand before her gloriously naked, while she still wore her earrings, stockings, and shoes. She kicked the shoes off.
One of his knees came up to settle on the mattress as he slowly lowered her. The coverlet was soft against her back, a delicate friction on her skin. Brahm hovered above her, beautiful and golden in the lamplight. Glancing down, Eleanor saw the full length of him poised between her thighs. How could Fanny Carson have neglected the word "magnificent" when describing Brahm in all his maleness?
He lowered his head toward her as his palm brushed her belly, his fingers teasing the curls at the apex of her thighs. Eleanor arched instinctively, sighing in pleasure as his fingers parted the damp flesh aching for his touch. His thumb brushed her most sensitive spot, lifting her hips off the bed as she bit her lip to keep from crying out. She felt so hot, so liquid and ready.
"You like that, don't you?" His breath was hot against her lips as he stroked her with his thumb.
"Yes." Her voice was low and raw to her ears. Her legs spread wider, opening herself up completely for his hand. He slid a finger inside her and her body clutched it, bringing a moan of pleasure to her lips.
His fingers worked her until she was gasping and writhing beneath him. Then he withdrew his hand and replaced it with his satiny erection. The blunt head nudged the opening to her body and she shoved against it, wanting to take it all inside her— needing it inside her.
"You are so wet," he murmured, shoving himself against her heat. "So beautifully tight."
Eleanor raised her legs, bending her knees to take him even deeper as he slid within her. He filled her, completed her. "I cannot believe how good you feel inside me."
Her words, her sincere admission, drew a low growl from him. "I can't believe it either."
She raised her hands to touch him, but he caught them in his own, pinning them above her head as he slowly moved inside her. There was nothing else but the wet heat of their bodies, the pure, sweet friction that drove Eleanor to the brink of madness and brought her back again.
He teased her, easing himself inside her, only to withdraw, her muscles clenching to pull him deeper. Digging her heels into the mattress, Eleanor lifted her hips, taking her weight onto her shoulders as she gasped for more.
He did not deny her. Brahm's back bowed as he shoved deep inside her, burying himself to the hilt. His pelvic bones dug into her thighs as he filled her, thrusting into her as though his life depended on it.
Eleanor raised her knees even farther, spreading them to take him as deep as she could. Brahm released her hands, his fingers seizing her by the waist. Without breaking the rhythm of their bodies, he rolled them over so that he was on his back and she was atop him.
Eleanor sat astride him, his body still buried within hers. She was wondrously stretched, deliciously filled. Not just in body, but in spirit as well. Brahm filled her, seeped into every part of her, heart and soul. They were no longer two separate beings, but the same creature.
She lifted herself up and down on him, her thighs trembling with tension. Sparks of pleasure shot through her as the aching, swollen nub between her legs brushed against him. She wanted to grind herself upon him until the sparks became a complete blaze, but something made her go slow and savor every excruciating thrust.
Brahm stared up at her from beneath heavy lids, his hands cupping the curves of her breasts.
"Bend down," he ordered, his voice low and hoarse.
Trembling, every nerve in her body alive with sensation, Eleanor did as he bid. She leaned forward, lowering herself upon him so that her mound rubbed against his pelvis. The ache intensified. She braced her hands on either side of his head, bringing her torso down so that her breasts were above his face. She knew what he intended and wanted it as much as he did.
Brahm's hands pressed on her back, forcing her the rest of the way down until one nipple brushed the stubble on his chin. She gasped at the abrasion, bucking her hips savagely against his. He opened his mouth, taking the quivering peak into his hot mouth.
Eleanor cried out at the sharp tugging of his lips, the gentle nipping of his teeth. He sucked ruthlessly as she ground her pelvis against his. She rode him with abandon now, unable to maintain control any longer. She spread her thighs as far as she could, taking the length of him as deep as she could, thrusting herself down upon him in her quest for climax.
She moaned as the tension mounted inside her. She wanted the release at the same time she wanted this moment to last forever.
There were so many things she wanted to say. She wanted to tell him how he made her feel, but there were no words to describe it. He was heaven inside her, the world around her. He was everything.
But she said nothing, the gift of speech having been stolen from her by the desire driving her. She shoved, lifted, and churned against him with an intensity that made colors burst behind her eyes. She arched her back, thrusting her breast into his mouth and her hips down on his. She could feel the dampness between them, and it thrilled her. She rode him with abandon, trusting that he would be there when her control snapped, and that he would be there when she regained it once more.
She stiffened when the spasms hit, plunging her shivering, shuddering body mindlessly on his until she felt him buck beneath her. She cried out against his hair, unable to do anything but let pleasure take her where it would. He released her nipple, his own moans of release muffled by her shoulder as he held her tight against him, his body emptying itself in hers until they collapsed in a boneless heap.
How long they stayed like that, she had no idea. It could have been minutes or hours, she didn't know and she didn't care. She wasn't going anywhere. She had never planned to. Her announcement that she was leaving had been nothing more than a bluff— although she would have had to leave had this not happened. God love Brahm's sisters-in-law for their advice.
"I think you killed me," he murmured later, his voice edged with humor.
It took all of Eleanor's strength to lift her head so she could look at him. She was still half on top of him, and her body refused to move. "You had better not be dead. We cannot do this again if you are dead."
