[Samuel Barbara] Lucien's Fall(Book4You) (24 page)

Lucien’s face took on a luminosity she’d never seen upon it, as if the music were light, and he only lived as long as it glowed within him. She saw an almost painful joy in his movements. He bowed and moved and bent into the notes, and once again, as she’d seen before, Lucien was the music—it shaped his body or his body shaped the music, she didn’t know.

The piece flittered down, softened, slowed, and Madeline found her hands ceasing, to allow the last dying breaths of the concerto to fade.

His breath came hard as he allowed the bow to drop, his gaze upon Madeline.

And she knew he’d played it for her, he’d let it come from him, at some terrible cost to himself. Triumph and hunger shone in his face, and Madeline realized her face was awash with tears she’d not known she’d shed, and behind her, the gathered guests were stunned into silence.

It was the first round of clapping, followed by more and more, and shouts of approval, that shook Madeline into life. She grabbed her skirts and stumbled away, running out of the room before he could touch her, before she betrayed herself completely.

She fell against the balustrade beyond the windows, feeling thin sprays of cool rain on her skin. Wind, ungentle and carrying threats of damage, swept over her.

And then, Lucien was behind her, his hand against her nape, the backs of his fingers sliding over the bones there, down and down, to edge the back of her dress.

"Madeline," he said, "look at me."

Her breath came in quick, short bits, and she gripped the stone balustrade. "I have never been so moved in all my life," she whispered. "The music is beautiful."

Lucien stepped closer, and she smelled his man-scent, heady as newly turned earth. Along her back, she felt his heat, and his mouth fell on her shoulder. "Never again will it be played, Madeline. Only tonight, for you, because I have no other gift to give you."

At the press of his lips to her skin, Madeline’s knees nearly buckled.

"Look at me, Madeline," he commanded, and this time, she turned.

His breath, too, came quickly. He touched her face, the tracks of her tears. "You move me," he said, as if helpless to resist. He touched her mouth. With more gentleness than she would have believed him capable of, he bent and pressed the most delicate of kisses to her lips. "Tomorrow, I leave you, Madeline, but you have changed my life."

Another soft, delicate kiss, to the corner of her mouth, to her cheek, her eyelid.

She could not resist him. Waves of longing pulled through her, irresistible as the moon’s call upon the sea. She trembled, waiting for him, her hands frozen behind her on the balustrade.

He let his hands slide into her hair. "You’re so beautiful, Madeline." He bent to kiss her, and rubbed her cheekbones with his thumbs. And kissed her again, moving closer. And again, closer yet, until her bottom was against the balustrade, his body against hers from shoulder to ankle.

She raised her hands, intending to pull his hands from her face and escape.

Instead, she gripped his wrists, sinewy and strong. "Lucien, please go away."

"Not tonight, Madeline, Not this time." He opened his mouth now, and covered her own, and without knowing she would, Madeline opened her lips to him, letting his tongue in to flitter against her own, rousing her. She swayed, and he caught her close with an arm around her shoulders.

"Tonight, I will be your lover." He pulled her tight and she let go of a small moan of protest. "Say yes," he whispered, and bent to press his mouth to her throat.

Trembling against him, swept into the need he kindled in her, Madeline pressed her cheek into his hand.

"Say yes," he repeated, and suckled her ear. A rocking shiver moved through her.

"Come salve my wounds and heal my heart. Let me love you." His hand teased her breast through layers and layers of clothing. "Say yes."

She opened her eyes and looked up into his face. A hand of wind seemed to give him help, for it brushed a lock of his dark hair over his face, easing the hard lines. His mouth was wet from hers, and a sultry darkness changed his eyes to a liquid beauty unlike anything she’d ever seen.

All the rest of her life, she would make love to the marquess, happily and easily.

For tonight only, she would give herself the pleasure of sex with a man who knew what it meant to give and receive pleasure of this sort. For tonight, she could no longer resist him.

"Yes," she whispered, and kissed him, her mouth wide open.

A low burning cry came from his throat, and he scooped her into his arms, as if he were afraid she would change her mind. "Oh, God, Madeline," he whispered, and kissed her again even as he moved, striding down the promenade with her in his arms, his grip fierce. He kicked the door into the hallway, and swept up the stairs, kissing her almost helplessly.

Madeline clung to him, her arms around his neck. With a wildness she did not know she possessed, she gave into the feelings that claimed her, and kissed his jaw and his throat, and the underside of his chin.

In her room, he put her down and closed the door, but instead of moving away, he pushed her against the wall, kissing her as he shed his coat and waistcoat, and started on hers. "I’m mad with want for you," he said.

And it was so with Madeline, too. She pushed her hands under his shirt to touch the skin that so tantalized her, and heard him groan. The sound made her bold, and she left his skin to smooth her hands down his buttocks, over the outside of his thighs. "I’ve wanted so often to touch you," she whispered.

He groaned. "Touch as you wish, my sweet." He pulled her hand around to put it against his organ, and at first Madeline was shocked. It was hot, even through his breeches, and instinctively she moved her hand over it. He made a low, almost pained sound, grabbing her fiercely, sucking at her mouth as if he would inhale her. The wild Lucien, she thought, completely under her power. It thrilled her.

"I’ve wanted to touch you," he said, reaching behind her to unlace her dress, which came free under his expert touch. He peeled it from her arms and pushed it down.

The pannier Madeline unbuckled, still kissing him. It clattered to the floor, and Lucien held her hand as she stepped out of it. She tripped, her toes tangling in the wooden bracing for her skirts, and he caught her, lifting her again to put her on the bed.

Only the softest light came through the windows, but it was enough. Madeline lay on her familiar bed, watching as Lucien shed his shirt, then his boots, then his breeches.

Her heart stumbled at the magnificence of his body, at the wide expanse of his shoulders, the narrowness of his hips, at his strong thighs, furred with hair.

He came to her, kneeling on the bed to unlace her corset and chemise, helping her out of them one by one. Her hair came loose a little and he reached up to pull free the pins, one at a time, until her hair tumbled all around her naked form. She knelt before him and lifted her arms to the ribbon that held his hair in a queue and took it out. When she touched his hair, her naked breasts touched his naked chest. The feeling was almost unbearably exquisite, and she moved forward to touch him so again.

He pushed her back, gently, into the pillows, and stretched out over her, letting his body brush hers, their thighs and knees tangled. He moved his arm over her stomach and breasts. And kissed her.

Naked body to naked body made a kiss a different thing. Madeline felt an almost immobilizing tremble invade her. Lucien moved his hand on her body, lifting her breast, rubbing his thumb over the aching point, drawing circles around her navel, and lower, into the dark curls at her thighs.

The shock of that feeling made her cry out, and he quickly covered her lips with his own to capture the sound. Not that anyone would hear.

It made her feel odd to have him touching her that way, and she moved restlessly.

He bent and touched his mouth to her breast, and at the same time moved his hand into the folds of her. She stroked his back, moving restlessly, unable to bear the welling sensation that filled her. He kissed her breasts and belly, her throat and lips, and the feeling built in her as wild as a storm, almost arriving and not yet there—.

He took his hand away, and she cried out in protest, but then he was over her, his lips on her own, his hand in her hair. With one strong thigh, he parted her willing legs and settled himself between them, just for a moment staying just like that, with the heated weight she had stroked nudging the darkest, most secret center of her body. She moved, arching instinctively to put her body against his.

Then somehow, he was filling her, filling and filling, the feeling deeper than all the oceans. He paused for a moment, and reached between them and touched her and Madeline felt two things—a wild swelling breaking thing, rippling pleasure so deep and encompassing she could not dream it was real, and a sharp tugging pain from deep within her. Together the pain and the pleasure engulfed her, rippling and tumbling, wave after wave, and she heard a low sound, long and sustained, and knew it was her own voice.

When she thought she could not bear another instant, the pain ceased and there was only Lucien, filling her all the way, wrapping her with himself, kissing her, touching her. His body was against her belly and legs, and under her hands. She found herself smoothing his long, muscled back and touching his firm buttocks, clasping him closer as he cried her name in a hoarse voice and moved against her, inside of her, his hands tight on her shoulders. A cry left him and he went still and she felt the shudders of his body.

And again her body responded to his and she shattered, holding him close, relishing his presence, knowing it could never last.

With all that she was, she wished that it could.

In delights our pains shall cease,

And our war be cur’d by peace;

We will count our griefs with blisses,

Thousand torments, thousand kisses.

—Sir Edward Sherburne

Lucien could not breathe
her in closely enough. As the waves of intense pleasure subsided, he put his face against Madeline’s neck, tasting there salty sweat and the nectar of her flesh, a unique and heady flavor. He touched his mouth to the hollow of her throat and the curve of her chin, tasting, inhaling her.

He didn’t want to leave her. Wanted to hold her this way, their bodies linked, all night. Bracing himself on his elbows to take some of his weight from her, he lifted his head and placed a kiss on her mouth. It gave him a twinge where the cut was still so tender, but that did not matter. Her full lips, firm and giving, nestled against his perfectly.

Sweetly.

"You taste of rainbows," he murmured, "Of all things, of all the colors in the world. I could kiss you forever." He angled his mouth and illustrated, kissing her deeply, slowly.

When he lifted his head, she gave a whispery little sigh and arched ever so slightly into him. Impossibly, he found himself growing hard again, inside of her, a feat he’d not known since raging youth. He willed himself to be utterly still, willed it to go away, knowing no matter how much care he took, she would be sore in the morning. And yet...

She opened her eyes and pushed his loose hair away from his face. In the quiet light, her face showed only in round highlights and arched shadows, her eyes pools of unreadable darkness, but her hands spoke for her, pushing the handfuls of hair from his face, stroking his jaw, smoothing her fingers over his chin. "I’ll never regret this night, Lucien. Never." She swallowed, and lifted her hips and he groaned at the heat all around him.

There was no way she could know what he wanted then, and yet instinctively, she moved. Her breasts teased his ribs, and she lifted her heels to lock him close to her. He rotated his hips, and now it was she who cried out, and he was amazed that she could feel something, too, so much. So much.

She grabbed his head and kissed him, violently, so violently the cut on his lips split open and he tasted fresh blood between them, falling on her tongue, on his own.

Unable to control his urges at all now, Lucien dug his hands into her smooth, taut buttocks and hauled her as tightly as he could against him. And this time, it wasn’t slow.

It was wild and violent, rocking hard, with the kind of savage need he thought impossible.

Her cry, so sudden and surprised and abandoned, sent him over the edge, rolling into her once more, and his cry joined hers, and they plummeted together into that landscape without end or beginning, where they alone existed.

Lucien exploded into her and died, and came back to life, music alive and dancing all through him, his soul as black as a tar pit. His soul, which would languish always in eternal hell, because for his own purpose, he had used music to have a woman who would not have fallen to any other seduction. He had broken his only inviolable rule, a rule as holy as prayers to another man, and he would suffer for it.

And yet, it was done. He kissed her breasts, and her neck, and her mouth, and vowed he would make his damnation worthwhile.

…

Madeline did not know there were so many things a man and a woman could do to pleasure each other. Nor did she dream there could be so much touching in so few hours, or that she would welcome the many touches with such wonder and joy.

He kissed her—how he kissed her!—from forehead to toes, and she found there were places that made her shudder and squirm that were perfectly normal most of the time: the back of her neck, the soft indentation in her back above her hips, the circle of her navel, the inner part of her wrist. And elsewhere, too, he put his mouth and tongue, until she nearly wept with the feelings he stirred, the pleasure he gave.

In return, she learned the tastes and smells of Lucien, learned what to do to draw from him the soft groans and choked cries she found so erotic. His body, too, provided a plethora of surprises—it was lean and curved and hard all at once, and smelled in the very pores of that scent she found so rich. His organ was silky to the touch, the sacs below as intriguing as a new flower. Her very examination appeared to surprise and arouse him. "Is it unseemly for me to look closely?" she asked.