Tammy Falkner - [Faerie 02] (7 page)

He tipped her face up toward his again. His lips touched hers gently. He wiped a tear from where it pooled at the corner of her eye. “Could you have feelings for me, Claire?” he whispered.

“I could never love you,” she replied. She couldn’t. It was forbidden.

“Let’s go back to the Hall and discuss this there.”

He took her hand and tugged her from behind the curtains. She jerked her hand from his grasp. “How many have there been since me, Finn?” she asked. Goodness, she didn’t want to ask. But she had to.

“How many what?” His eyes narrowed at her suspiciously.

“Women, Finn. How many have there been?” She fidgeted with a loose string on her glove.

He hesitated, and then took a deep breath and said, “None, Claire. How could there be anyone else when all I can think about is you?”

Claire’s heart skittered. She opened her mouth to ask him to confirm what he’d just said, but then Katherine stumbled into the area. “Finn?” she asked. The question didn’t need to be answered. The woman instinctively knew that there was something between Finn and Claire. Katherine smiled softly. “It’s not yours,” she admitted.

Claire’s heart leaped.

“Why did you tell everyone it was?”

“Because I needed to see you. I needed your help.”

“You could have sent a letter,” Finn said, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

“He watches my mail.”

It was then that Claire noticed the bruises. She touched a hand to her own cheek. “Is that why you needed help?” Claire asked. Her heart clenched within her chest.

“I’m afraid,” the woman whispered.

“Help her, Finn,” Claire said without even thinking. “You can help her, can’t you?”

Finn nodded, though he looked pained.

“Take her with us tonight.”

“That won’t be easy,” he warned.

“You can’t send her back to him.” Claire asked the lady, “Are you truly expecting?”

She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “But it’s not Finn’s. It’s Mayden’s.”

Claire clutched Finn’s arm. “Take her with us.”

Finn nodded, swiping a hand down his face.

The woman held up a finger. “Can you give me a few minutes? I need to get my reticule.”

“Quickly,” Finn said with a nod.

The woman scurried away in the dark, and Finn laughed beneath his breath. “This cannot end well.”

“You cannot let her go back to him.”

“I suppose I can’t. What do you propose I do with her?”

“Take her back to the Hall.”

“I can’t take that kind of woman to my family’s ancestral home.”

“We can tell people she’s a friend of mine.”

“Everyone knows who Katherine Crawfield is, and you do not need that kind of friend.”

“Just for a night? You can figure out something else tomorrow.”

Finn nodded. “We need to find something to do while she retrieves her reticule.”

Claire looked down over the ballroom and noticed that it had gone dark, aside from the light of a few flickering lamps. She walked to the rail and looked down. In the center of the room, a naked man and woman danced a waltz. “Let’s go,” Finn said again, as he tugged her toward the door. But her gaze was riveted. She drew her hand from his and placed them both on the rail.

Her heart was beating as fast as the hooves of a runaway team of horses. The bodice of her gown was suddenly so tight she could barely take a deep breath. She laid a hand on Finn’s arm and looked up at him.

His eyes sparkled with sudden awareness. He stepped closer behind her, his length pressing along hers. His arms slid around her waist. “Do you want to watch?” he murmured in her ear. His voice was rough again, and it crawled across her skin like lace, ticklish yet firm.

“I’ll probably go to hell for this, but you look so damn intrigued,” he said. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and pulled a chair from its spot beside the wall, partially hiding it behind the curtains, but positioning it so that they could see out. He sat down and patted his lap. “Sit,” he said gently. He tugged her fingertips until she stood between his parted legs. Then he patted his knee again. “Sit.”

“We should probably go.”

“You want to watch them.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “And I want to watch you watch them.”

“I don’t think—” she started. But he cut her off when he wrapped an arm around her middle and pulled her down.

“Don’t think,” he said. “Just sit.”

She perched precariously on his knee, which seemed much sturdier than she’d thought. Every part of him was sturdy. He obviously didn’t live the life of leisure she’d assumed. He was lithe as a cat, and his body was strong and fit.

“I wanted to talk about—” she tried again, keeping her body rigid in his lap.

“Let’s discuss it later.” His hand landed on her hip, drawing her more comfortably into the shelter of his embrace. When had it become shelter? She wasn’t certain, but the thought was a little disturbing. She fought to remain rigid.

A bell rang down below, its insistent peal catching her ears. And Finn’s too, if the way he sat up to look over the railing was any indication.

“What’s going on down there?” she asked.

“Remember the live intercourse I mentioned?” he replied with a smirk.

“With actors?”

He grinned and shrugged. “Does it matter?”

He was interested now, sitting forward so that his front came up to meet her back. He sat up higher in the chair and tucked her bottom more snugly into his lap so that she was facing forward, still seated between his bent legs.

A shiver crawled up her spine as he brushed her hair to the side. “Oh, sorry,” she murmured as she gathered the lot of it and drew it over her right shoulder.

“Don’t be. I love it.” He tucked a stray lock behind her ear.

“All these curls. I don’t quite know what to do with them.”

“Well, I don’t love the color, but it always smells so good. Like sunshine. You’re certain it will wash out?” She nodded as he leaned his head into her neck and breathed deeply. The cool movement as he inhaled had the hair on the back of her neck standing up. This time, she did shiver. “Are you cold?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not a bit.” In fact, she was a bit overly warm.

“I lose all my common sense when I look at you,” he said softly by her ear. She closed her eyes for a moment to keep from swooning.

“Did you have any to begin with, my lord?” she teased.

A grin quirked the corners of his lips as he placed a soft kiss on her cheek below her mask. She smiled. She couldn’t help it.

The bustle of footmen below caught his attention. They hefted a big bed into the middle of the room and then placed a barrier around it.

“That’s a bed. Why are they putting a bed in the middle of the room?”

“Keep watching. You’ll see. You’re not offended by it, are you?” He suddenly looked concerned about the fact that he was allowing her to watch such a show. “Perhaps we should leave. Your father and my brother will murder me if they find out I brought you here.”

Viewing the show would be the least of his concerns.

“You know who they are?”

“I believe so,” he replied. “But they’ll be masked.”

“I see.” She didn’t know what more she could say. “Why?”

“Some people like to be watched.” He shrugged his shoulders. He pointed out the seating area the footmen were setting up outside the roped enclosure around the bed. “And even more like to do the watching.”

Both men and women were taking seats in the audience section. “The women, are they paid to attend?”

He shook his head. “They come because they like it. Many of them come with men. To share the experience. Still others come alone and try to find an interested party.”

“They’re about to begin,” she said, settling into his arms a little more deeply.

***

Finn was about to insist that they leave and go home. But her curiosity won out over his need to get her out of there. And he wouldn’t give up an opportunity to have her in his arms. The lights dimmed as footmen doused the lamps around the edges of the room. Only a single bright light hung over the bed.

Footmen milled about the room below stairs, ensuring everything was in place.

He allowed his hand to stroke over her hip. She didn’t even flinch away from his touch.

She looked out over the railing and said, “It’s not hard for them to bare all like that?”

“Not for some.” Speaking of hard, he’d been as hard as stone ever since she’d sat down in his lap. But she hadn’t noticed. He adjusted her bottom for a better fit.

“I should get my own chair,” she said as she started to rise. But he snaked an arm around her waist and drew her back down.

“I like holding you,” he said. “Stay.”

She settled back gingerly into his lap.

Two performers approached the makeshift stage. “And so it begins,” she whispered. “Do you enjoy these shows?”

“I don’t get overly amorous because of them, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Do they affect you at all?”

He didn’t answer, and she let the subject drop as the man and woman on the stage began to perform. As they wove their exotic little dream before the spectators, Finn watched Claire.

“Sit back,” he coaxed gently, bringing her body back to rest against him. Her head landed on his shoulder. She fit him. From top to bottom she fit him. Why had he not realized that before? It was almost like she was made to fit into his arms.

He brought one hand around her body to lie on her stomach. She moved it quickly to her hip, her eyes fixed on the stage. The players were now naked, and the man tossed the woman onto the bed. Claire giggled.

“Liked that, did you?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“I like their easy camaraderie,” she said quietly. “You can tell they’re in love.”

“How?” He was blind to it, obviously.

“By the way they look at one another,” she breathed, totally enraptured by what the players were doing.

Finn and Claire were shrouded in complete darkness up on the landing. He almost wished it wasn’t dark, so he could see her face.

The man on the stage took his lover’s breasts in his hands and drew them to his lips. Claire’s bottom twitched against Finn’s lap. Was she getting aroused?

“This makes your heart beat faster,” he said softly in her ear, loving the lemony scent of her.

“I supposed it does,” she said, squirming a little in his arms.

“It makes my heart beat faster too.” She immediately stilled. She didn’t even breathe.

Finn began to move his fingers across her stomach in a slow motion that finally turned into a roaming caress that went from beneath her breasts to her hips. She sat still and watched what was on the stage.

“Claire,” he said quietly, when her shallow breaths were nearly more than he could take.

“Hmmm?” she hummed back absently.

“If you were alone, would you be touching yourself?” She froze again. Barely daring to breathe. “Would you?” he coaxed.

***

Would she? If she truly asked herself that question, she’d have to say yes. She’d never even thought of doing it before that night at his house in Bedfordshire. She hadn’t known what it was all about. But in the months since, she’d touched herself. Heat crept up her face at the thought. The answer to his question was—Yes, she would hike her skirts up around her waist and sink her fingers into her warm, wet folds. She’d rub herself to completion. But she wasn’t alone. Which made this damned difficult.

“Look what he’s doing on the stage,” Finn said. His eyes were riveted there, instead of on her. But when she glanced at the stage, she saw the male character, who she assumed was some debauched lord, nibbling and biting at his wife’s breasts. She didn’t know if the woman was his wife, but she liked assuming she was.

“Do you like what he’s doing?” Finn asked.

Absently, she allowed her own fingertips to grace the plump skin over her bodice.

“I remember what it was like to lick your breasts. They turn cherry red when they’ve been suckled.”

Claire’s belly clinched. She was already wet. At this rate, she’d leave a huge wet spot on Finn’s knee when she stood up.

“You didn’t answer me. If you were alone, would you be touching yourself? Would you slide a finger below the bodice of your dress so you could tease your nipples? Would you, Claire?” She barely registered it when his hand came up to cup her breast. But she didn’t shove his hand away. She liked his touch. Her breasts were more sensitive than normal, but his touch was gentle.

“Yes,” she whispered, ashamed of her own response. She would be touching her nipples. She would be massaging her breasts. She would be ready to find completion.

“Tell me if I do anything you don’t want,” he said. Then his hand grazed the sensitive skin above her breasts. It was all Claire could do not to arch her back to thrust her breasts into his hands. To shamelessly beg him to caress her. “You’ll tell me if I’m not pleasing you, won’t you?” he breathed. His voice had dropped to a husky murmur for her ears alone.

His finger slipped beneath her bodice and grazed that turgid little peak that ached for him. A shameless moan left her throat.

“I would give anything right now to lower your bodice and take you in my arms. Then I’d drink you in.”

She was being tortured. “Finn,” she protested.

“What is it, love? Do you want to come?”

If it wasn’t so dark, he would see her blush furiously at that question. But, heaven help her, she did. She did want to come.

“Do you want me to make you come, Claire?” he asked softly.

She turned her head and buried it in his neck. She couldn’t say no. She couldn’t say yes.

He chuckled lightly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She exhaled. Finally. Thank God.

His fingers left her bodice and he laid his hand flat on her thigh. Then his fingers began to gather her skirts, bunching them up more and more near her hip. He took great care not to expose her, although at this point, she was well beyond caring. When his fingers finally encountered her skin, they lingered to play at the top of her stockings.

“What color are they?” He drew her earlobe into his mouth and suckled it gently.

“Green,” she replied without even thinking.

“One day, I want to remove them from you so I can lick all the way from your toes to—” He paused. Then found the passage inside her drawers through the slit in the middle, and as his fingers parted her flesh, he finished, saying, “Here.”

Claire’s right hand clutched the chair arm, while her left hand clung tightly to his thigh.

“You are so wet,” he murmured.

How mortifying.

“So lovely,” he continued. His free hand cupped her breast, his finger stroking across her nipple through the bodice of her gown. His fingers dipped inside her, as he brought her own moisture forward and circled that little nub of pleasure he seemed to be fairly well acquainted with. “Oh, it’s swollen. I bet it’s thumping like mad. Just like your heart.”

She nodded, her eyes still closed. She didn’t even need to watch the performance on the stage. Finn was more than she could handle up on the landing. In the dark, with his fingers stroking her most private places, with him driving her senseless.

His finger dipped inside her again, drawing that slick moisture from inside her channel so he could slide his finger easily across that knot of sensation.

“Finn,” she cried out.

“Are you close?” he asked in her ear.

She nodded frantically, biting her lower lip to keep from screaming.

The pressure and speed of his assault increased. “Then do it,” he growled in her ear. “Come for me. Let me feel that sweet wash of your release. Let me feel your body quake in my arms. When you come, I’m going to slide my finger inside you and dream about the day it’ll be me inside you again as you flutter in release.”

A breathy little sigh was all she could utter.

“Come for me, Claire. Come for me. You want to come. I know you do. Can you? Will you? Trust me, Claire. Let me pleasure you.”

She pushed toward that impossible cliff but couldn’t fall over.

“Claire, stop fighting it. It’s just me and you. We’re alone. Your breast in my hand. My fingers are sinking inside you. And you are going to find that sweet release.”

“Finn,” she whimpered.

“Now, Claire,” he grunted in her ear. And then she did more than topple. She was flung body and soul over the cliff of pleasure. And couldn’t keep from crying out her release. “Shhh…” he crooned in her ear. But he didn’t stop rubbing that spot that was full of concentrated longing. He replaced his finger with his thumb and slid one digit inside her.

She came. And came. And came. And he milked every last drop from her as she settled back to earth. Her body stilled, supple and pliant as he pulled his hand from beneath her skirt, covered her legs completely, and turned her so that she lay cuddled in his arms, her head on his shoulder.

He brushed a kiss across her forehead.

“Don’t worry. I still don’t love you,” she whispered.

“I don’t love you either,” he whispered back. Then he kissed her forehead again and let her go limp in his arms. She’d try to remember in a moment why this was a bad thing. But, in that moment, she didn’t care at all.