In Your Arms Again (35 page)

H
e was keeping her waiting.

Staring at the clock on the mantel, Octavia sipped at her second glass of brandy. Dinner had long since been finished, and Spinton had whisked Beatrice off to the parlor to tell her the happy news. They were still in there, doing God only knew what.

At least someone was happy.

“Mr. Sheffield is here to see you, my lady.”

God, she hadn’t even heard the butler knock. “Show him in.”

A few seconds later, North sauntered into the room. He seemed totally unconcerned that he was late. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t agreed on a particular time, he was still late—and he knew it.

“Took you long enough,” she remarked once the door closed behind him.

He raised a brow, totally unrepentant. “I had business to attend to.”

“You always do.” She tossed back the rest of her drink.

“How much have you had?” he asked when she went to pour herself another.

She didn’t look at him, but instead concentrated on pouring her drink. “Two. Would you like one?”

“I think I had better.”

A drink in either hand, she turned to join him, only to find him sitting in one of the chairs near the center of the room. He seemed so large, so masculine—too big for the dainty frame.

She handed him a drink and seated herself in the chair opposite him, where she waited in silence for him to speak, even though she seethed inside with impatience.

At least he didn’t keep her waiting much later. “Why did you not tell me that you had ended your engagement to Spinton?”

Ah, so Spinton had let the cat out of the bag, had he? She would have much rather told North herself—or at least have been there to see the expression on his face when he learned she had denied him of what he considered her “best interest.”

She affected a careless shrug. “I did not think you would be interested.”

His eyes widened, then narrowed over the rim of his snifter as he raised it to his lips. Slowly, he lowered it, his throat constricting as he swallowed. “Why would you think that?”

He sounded so calm, but she knew the truth. She knew
him
. His knuckles were white as he gripped the fine crystal. No, he wasn’t unaffected at all.

“You told me you wanted me to marry him.” Her tone was syrupy sweet—innocent.

North’s expression didn’t change. “I never said I wanted you to.”

She rolled her eyes. “You told me to marry him. You also told me to get out of your life. I thought you meant it.”

“I am an ass.”

Octavia almost choked on her drink. “I will not argue with you there.”

His gaze was level, clear and pale as a summer sky. “And you are a brainless, reckless twit for going to see Harker.”

She smiled at him. “I cannot argue with that either.”

For a moment they simply sat there, watching each other in silence, sipping their drinks, waiting.

She gave in first. That was no surprise. It was amazing she held out as long as she did. “I only wanted to help you, Norrie. I wanted to show you that you are not alone.”

He closed his eyes briefly, an expression of exquisite longing tightening his features. “Thank you,” he whispered.

No matter what she might have expected—yelling, anger—this wasn’t it.

There was only one thing she could think to say. “You are welcome.”

He rose from his chair, leaving his half-finished brandy on the side table. She had almost finished her drink, and she was beginning to feel the effects of so much liquor.

Slightly unfocused, she watched as he crossed the inconsequential distance between them and lowered himself to his knees before her. Gripping the arms of her chair, he pulled her closer, nudging her knees as far apart as her skirts would allow so he could slide between.

“But if you ever scare me like that again, I will lock you in the attic until you are a frail old woman, do I make myself clear?”

She grinned despite the gravity in his tone. “Yes, Norrie.”

“Good.” He raised a hand to her cheek. “Christ, Vie. I’m just so glad you are all right.”

And then his mouth seized her before she could think of anything to say. Her lips parted at the first insistent probing of his tongue. He tasted of brandy and man and something
Octavia had feared she’d never taste again—her dearest Norrie. She opened her mouth to him as she squirmed forward in her chair, eager to give as much as she wanted to take.

Her hands slid beneath his coat, feeling the heat and strength of him through the fabric of his shirt and waistcoat. Impatiently, she shoved, and he released her long enough to allow her to slide the jacket down his arms—their mouths still locked together.

He caressed her face, her neck and shoulders, sliding his fingers around to her back. As she fumbled with the buttons on his waistcoat, he deftly unhooked the back of her dress.

Her tongue slid against his, stroking, tasting. She drank him in as though he were water and she were parched. And when she’d opened his waistcoat, she moved on to the simply tied knot of his cravat.

He broke their kiss long enough to toss his waistcoat and cravat aside, and when she tugged his shirt free of his trousers, he pulled the thin lawn over his head, baring his upper body to her eager gaze.

He was golden perfection. From the jutting bones of his shoulders to the thick-muscled wall of his hairy chest, there was nothing finer or bonnier in all the world than North. And he was hers. All hers.

“You are so beautiful,” she whispered, brandy and desire loosening her tongue.

He smiled, pulling the top of her gown off her shoulders. “I was just thinking the same about you.”

She pulled her arms free of the tiny puffed sleeves, allowing him to peel the gown down to her waist, and when he tugged further she lifted her hips so he could pull the gown down farther, tossing it aside so it wouldn’t tangle around her feet. Her shift followed, and soon she was sitting on the chair, the cool brocade against her bare flesh, in nothing but her
garters and stockings. Those he left on. He seemed to like seeing her in them.

“So very beautiful,” he murmured, sliding his hands up her thighs, up past her ribs to cup a breast in each palm. His thumbs teased her nipples, sending a hot wave of desire through her. The heat pooled between her thighs, and she gasped at the intensity of it. She watched, unable to tear her gaze away as he worked the pink crests into dark, hardened pebbles that begged for his mouth. She wanted him to suckle them, to tug on them until they were throbbing and distended, until they tingled with both pleasure and pain.

As though he sensed her need, he took a nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue, nipping it with his teeth until Octavia’s head reeled. Her hands clutched at his head, holding her to him so he couldn’t—wouldn’t—stop this incredible torture. She itched deep inside, in a place only he could reach, an itch only he could satisfy.

North’s hands went to the falls of his trousers. She could feel him yanking at the falls, peeling the fabric down his thighs to his knees as his mouth continued to bring moans of pleasure to her lips.

She still held his head with one hand. The other reached down between her splayed thighs, eagerly searching for what she craved. His hair brushed her temple; the velvety lobe of his ear was soft against her mouth. A sigh escaped her lips as her fingers closed around the head of his sex. He was hard and hot against her palm, slick with his own lubricant. He was ready for her, and wanted her so badly he pulsated in her hand.

Brazenly, she milked him. He thickened as her fingers moved, groaning against her breast. He nipped at her nipple with his teeth, one of his hands slipping between her thighs, to the heated, damp flesh that craved him.

Octavia gasped, her cheek abraded by the rough stubble of
his jaw, as he slipped a finger inside her. His intrusion was sweet and cool as her heated flesh opened to him, but instead of easing the wanton ache inside her, it only served to intensify it. Her hips moved as he stroked her, as his thumb parted her slick folds to rub the swollen hardness between. Gasping for breath, she pushed against his hand. It wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough. She would never have her fill of this man. She loved him and wanted him with her, part of her and part of her life until the end of her days.

“Give yourself to me,” she whispered against his ear. “Make me yours.”

He withdrew his hand and released her breast, raising his hot, hooded gaze to hers.

“Come down here.”

Even if she wanted to refuse him, the hypnotic timbre of his voice would have made it impossible. But she would never refuse him, not ever. Placing her hand in his as he scooted backward on his knees, she slithered to the floor as though her entire body were hot and melted enough to pour.

He didn’t speak. He simply placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, gently pushing so that her head and upper chest rested on the seat of the chair.

“Grab the arms,” he instructed, his voice rough and throaty.

Octavia did as he bid, her heart hammering wildly as she realized his intentions. This was how he was going to punish her for going to Harker. He was going to make her writhe and beg and squirm and deny her the pleasure of being able to watch him as he made love to her.

But it wasn’t punishment. It was the only way he could do this and still keep himself apart from her. The emotion between them now was so heavy and thick it was terrifying. If they made love face-to-face it would be too much, too intense. As it was, she trembled with the need to have him, not
just physically, but in every way possible. This was about release, about giving and taking, trusting and needing.

His fingers brushed the heated cheeks of her bottom, brushing the delicate flesh between, nerves jumping at his touch. Down to the heated opening of her body he caressed, spreading the wetness there back and forth. Heat flooded Octavia’s face as she realized just how soaked she was, but despite her embarrassment, she spread her legs further when he pushed against her thigh.

God, it felt so good, so urgent. As she gripped the chair with all her strength, her body quivered like violin strings wound too tightly. She arched her hips, thrusting back against his hand, sweat beading her brow as she fought to ease the growing ache deep inside her. Still he teased her, his nimble fingers awakening nerves and sensations in places she never knew they existed, until she thought she might die from the pleasure.

The rounded, thick head of him pushed against her entrance as he stroked the tightened bloom of sensation ruthlessly revealed by his fingers. She arched again, trying to coax him inside. He didn’t budge.

“Please.” She didn’t care if she had to beg. She’d beg if that was what he wanted.

Hot, moist breath brushed her ear. “Please what?”

Her eyes flew open. He was there, the hair on his chest tickling the sensitive flesh of her back.

“Do you want me inside you, Vie?” He slid the head of his erection just inside her wanting flesh.

“Yesss.” Oh God, what was he trying to do to her?

“Do you want me to make you scream?”

“Please, yes!” Scream, sob, yodel, she didn’t care as long as he gave her the release she needed.

“Tell me you love me.”

So that was what he needed. She already knew he loved
her—how, she wasn’t certain, but she was as sure of it as she was her own feelings. If he needed to hear it, she would tell him as much as he wanted, until he finally believed it.

“I love you,” she murmured. “I love you.”

He shoved himself inside her with one fierce thrust, and Octavia couldn’t keep from crying out in gratitude. Frantically, he pumped, driving them both toward the edge of orgasm with deep, uncontrolled thrusts.

Faster he moved, their moans merging as her flesh clenched and constricted around his. Mouth open, brow furrowed in an attempt to keep from crying out, Octavia clung to the chair, incoherently begging him to take her further, thrust faster, harder.

And then the world exploded as spasm after spasm of mind-numbing release shook her. Burying her face in the chair cushion to muffle her cries, she allowed the vortex to carry her, the rapture of release wrenching through her body.

North stiffened behind her, a loud groan bursting free of his throat. He held her hips in his hands, his fingers digging into her flesh as he emptied himself inside her. Then he slumped against her, his torso resting on her back, their bodies still joined.

They stayed like that for some time, as their breathing returned to normal. Finally he slipped from her and then withdrew entirely so she could move.

Octavia sank into a sitting position on the carpet. She was hot and sticky and still a little unsteady, but she felt more relaxed than she had in a long time. North felt the same way—if the way he was sprawled against the side of the sofa was any indication.

She crawled over to him and curled against him, resting her head on his chest. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, stroking her hair with his hand.

“I love you, Norrie,” she told him softly.

His lips brushed his forehead. “Thank you.”

What? Lifting her face, she frowned at him. “That is not what you are supposed to say.”

His smile was sad. “I know.”

Her heart frozen in her chest, Octavia stared at him, tears burning the backs of her eyes. Had she been wrong? Did she not know him as well as she thought? “You do not love me, do you?”

“You are my everything,” he told her, his voice unnaturally hoarse. “You are my always, but I cannot give you what you want until I am certain being with me will not hurt you.”

Grabbing her discarded gown, she staggered to her feet. Her legs trembled and an uncomfortable wetness smeared her thighs. “Being without you hurts me!”

He also stood, pulling his trousers back up his legs. Half naked and still too damned attractive, he tried to comfort her, but she pushed him away, struggling into her wrinkled gown.

“Octavia, please.”

“No!” She jerked away from his beseeching hands. “It does not work that way, North! You cannot take my love and not give something in return.”