The Golden Spider (The Elemental Web Chronicles Book 1) (32 page)

She turned back to her workbench, arranging the various bottles of solutions on the shelf, not quite daring to meet Thornton’s eyes. She felt guilty. Extremely so. It was wrong of her to press him to break protocol in order to cosset the son of a duke.

Ned’s injury‌—‌if not his intended‌—‌could wait. He had waited five years; he could wait another year if necessary. But Thornton’s injury could not. By her calculations, his peroneal nerve was in danger of imminent failure. The
amatiflora
might not bloom in time to distill more essence for a second procedure. If they were to break protocol to perform experimental surgery on a human, it should be
his
injury they should attempt to repair.

“I’m sorry.” Amanda kept her back to him, as she fought a growing tightness in her throat. “Perhaps another night.” He’d looked so very angry, he couldn’t possibly be interested in continuing what they’d begun earlier. After what she’d pressed him to do, he might never be interested.

He didn’t answer.

She felt, rather than heard his approach, for he crossed the room without making a sound to stand behind her. She finished tidying the workbench and was about to turn around when his heavy hands fell on her waist.

“You have no idea what it does to me,” his breath fell warm on the nape of her neck, “to watch you work. It’s been such agony. To not be able to touch.” His hands tugged at the laces of her corset, loosening them, pulling them free. “No. Another night won’t do at all. Unless you tell me to stop, to leave, I’ve every intention of finishing what we started.” His hands stilled, waiting.

He still wanted her? Even though Ned’s surgery would mean his own leg would fail? She didn’t want him to go. Ever.

“Stay,” she whispered, setting his hands in motion once more.

Heat rushed over her. Her skin was on fire. Her nipples tightened, aching for his touch, straining against the thin shifting fabric of her shirtwaist as he yanked her corset free and tossed it to the ground. Her knees weakened and her world tipped off center.

Then his hands were exactly where she wanted them, cupping her breasts, squeezing them, plying her nipples with his fingers as she arched back against him.

“You like that?” He all but purred.

“God, yes.” She wanted the fabric barrier between them gone. Wanted his hands directly on her skin.

His hands fell away, and her lips parted to object, but then those hands were on her hips, turning her to face him. One lifted, and the pad of his thumb touched the fragile skin beneath her eye. Her breath caught, and her heart stuttered at the tender gesture. “You need sleep. But,” his lips pulled into a smile that promised all manner of delicious naughtiness, “not just yet.”

She tipped her face into the warmth of his palm, felt its roughness against her smooth cheek. A warm, humming thrill rushed across her skin. “What I need is you.” She let her gaze fall on those wide, oh-so-expressive lips.

He laughed, a low soft rumble. “Such directness. Such honesty.” His hand wrapped around behind her skull, pulling her face toward him as his head dipped, catching her lips with his own. Warm and soft and gentle.

Emotions too complicated and unfamiliar to analyze surged through her. He felt so right. She lifted her arms, sliding her hands up his chest to his shoulders, exploring the hard muscles that lay beneath his waistcoat, beneath his shirt. Skin. She wanted to touch his skin. She pushed his coat from his shoulders.

He released her long enough to shrug the annoying garment to the ground, then stepped forward, pinning her against the workbench so she could feel the hard column of his arousal. He caught her mouth again, his tongue sweeping inward, stroking hers with suggestive thrusts. A mere taste, a mere promise of the carnal pleasures that would soon be theirs.

Heat pooled at the juncture of her thighs. She wanted more than mere kisses and promises. Her palms began a determined exploration of his muscled back, moving over the linen of his shirt, tapering downward to his hips and growing increasingly dissatisfied with the cotton and linen barriers that separated them. When her fingers met the waistband of his trousers, she growled her frustration and pushed hard against his chest.

Thornton stepped back, his breath ragged, his eyes questioning.

“Skin,” she panted, reaching for the buttons of his waistcoat. She wanted to feel his warm skin brush hers as his body tensed and flexed. He assisted, making short work of his cravat, then the buttons that held his shirt in place. Moments later all his upper garments joined her corset and his coat on the floor.

For several long seconds, Amanda allowed herself to stare at the glorious, muscled torso that stood before her. She reached out and ran her palm over the crisp hairs that covered his chest.

“That’s long enough,” he growled and gripped her waist, lifting her, depositing her on the workbench. “Your turn. Finish what I started earlier.” His voice, low and commanding, sent a ripple of electricity across her skin. He stepped back, ever so slightly, and crossed his arms.

He’d managed to make significant progress with the buttons at her neck before they were interrupted, but she’d had to undo some of that progress in deference to their guest. But this time he wanted to watch?

She smiled, softly and coyly, reveling under his intense focus as her fingers worked‌—‌slowly‌—‌to regain lost ground. Her nipples strained beneath the fine cotton, drawing his gaze to their hard peaks. But he did not touch. He waited as the cotton of her shirt parted, exposing a long, thin strip of bare skin. A few tangled strands of hair fell forward across her face.

Finally, he reached out, but not to touch her shirtwaist. Instead his fingers pulled first one hair pin free. Then another, and another. Lock after lock tumbled free over her shoulders, falling on the cotton that still covered the tops of her breasts.

It was torture, the waiting.

She drew in fast, shallow breaths as one long finger began to twist a lock of hair, the increasing tension tugging at her scalp, tipping her head backward, exposing her throat.

Enough.

She threaded her fingers through his own tousled curls and pulled his head to her throat.

He let out a low, satisfied laugh at her impatience.

At last he was touching her. His teeth scraped her neck, his mouth explored the column of her throat, his rough beard grazed her smooth skin which screamed in pleasure. A moan escaped her lips.

God, he was taking too long.

She tugged on his waistband, pulling him between her knees. Thornton stepped forward into the folds of her skirts. So many petticoats, all of them working against her. Desperate and bold, she caressed the hard column beneath his trousers.

Long and thick. There was so much of him, but all she wanted was him inside her.

He hissed out a wild sound, his hips flexing under her palm. He yanked open her shirtwaist and cupped both breasts, lifting them. He bent, sucking a taut nipple into his mouth, circling it with his tongue, pulling it gently between his teeth, all while his fingers toyed with the other tip.

Amanda arched her chest with a cry of pleasure, catching herself on her hands. This was what she wanted. Needed. She slid her hips forward on the workbench, wanting to feel the press of his arousal as his lips drove her into a frenzy, but the ridiculous volume of her skirts dulled all sensation.

Finally, she could stand it no longer. She needed more. Dragging his face to hers, she kissed him long and deep, pouring forth all the need she felt. Then, with her hands about his neck, she flexed her hips and slid from the workbench, slid along his long, hard length until her toes reached the floor. She tugged at his waistband, her fingers searching for the catch. “More.”

He laughed and tugged her toward the cot, with only a slight hitch in his step. Then he turned, gathering her into his arms, kissing her forehead and murmuring into her hair, “I’ve wanted this from the moment you first spoke in lecture.”

“You called me a fool.”

“Secrets had to be kept.”

“No more now.”

“No more.” He caught her lips again in a deep, soul-baring kiss. Then released her as his hands moved to his waistband.

His fingers moved quickly now, flying down his own buttons, tugging off his shoes. Amanda turned her attention to discarding her many skirts. Her drawers. But when she reached for her garters, he stopped her.

“Leave them.”

Her heart stopped as she looked up. Thornton in all his glory.

In one hand he held a piece of brown paper. Inside it she knew she’d find a sheath. He’d come prepared. Strong, wide shoulders flexed as a muscled arm reached out for her, but her eyes were drawn to the crisp hairs that covered his chest, his abdomen, merging at the vee of a narrow waist and drawing attention to his large, rampant need.

All man.

An echoing need pulsed between her thighs, demanding fulfillment. She stepped forward, her hand brushing over his chest, her palm caressing its surface. She recalled his leg and glanced downward. Thin straps of jointed metal provided support. Beneath the brace, a jagged scar curved. “Sit,” she said, pushing against his chest.

He frowned. “There’s no pain. Not now.”

“Please.” She pressed again.

He sat, then fell backward onto the cot, dragging her with him. His erection pressed into her stomach. She slid herself over him, kissing him as she moved to straddle him, pressing her wetness against his need.

His hips bucked.

She bent forward, her hair falling in a curtain about their faces while she kissed him deeply, as the tips of her breasts brushed against his chest. Tongues tangled. Hips rocked.

At last the pressure building inside of her was so intense she could think only of release. She wanted him inside her, wanted him to fall apart beneath her as they both found their pleasure. She pulled back, sliding away, reaching for the brown paper packet, sliding the sheath she found inside over his thick member. Nerves flared and her hands shook.

“You’re certain?” he whispered.

“More than anything.”

His hands guided her hips back over him, over his thick column and onto its tip, nudging at her opening. It would hurt, she knew, but only for a moment. She hoped. Spreading her legs wider, she sank onto him, slowly, as he stretched her wide, and she had yet to take him entirely within.

“Fast? Or slow?” he hissed. His every muscle clenched with the effort to not move.

“Fast.”

“Thank God.” His fingers gripped her hips, and he thrust upward with a sudden surge, deep within her core, groaning in pleasure as he filled her tightly and completely.

She cried out at the sharp pinch, twisting at the burning sensation of being stretched so suddenly. Desire was ebbing away.

“Wait,” he bit out through gritted teeth. “Stay. Give it a moment.” He stroked the juncture of her thighs with the pad of his thumb.

Pain faded as pleasure returned and her body began to relax. He pulled her forward, sucking a nipple into his mouth and a bolt of desire shot through her to her center. Her hips bucked against him as she cried out. A sensation like she’d never experienced before took hold, a driving need to move against him.

She rocked her hips again.

“That’s it,” he moaned. His hands helped her hips find their rhythm, lifting her up, pulling her back down tightly against him. Each retreat left her empty, each plunge seated him deeply within her.

Her pulse raced, and her breath came in pants. He gripped her hips tighter now, his thrusts coming faster and harder as the primal need for release built. She rose. He plunged. Again and again and again. Tension coiled within her, all focusing tighter and tighter where they joined.

A low keen escaped her lips as her body seemed to pulse. He growled and drove into her, yanking her against him. Amanda threw her head back and let the spasm of pleasure wash over her. Thornton’s fingers dug into her flesh, grinding his hips upward as he cried out his own release. She collapsed forward onto his chest, heart pounding, lungs heaving. What they’d found together‌—‌this sliver of paradise‌—‌was beyond anything she could have hoped.

At long last, she pushed herself upward and looked into his eyes. For a moment, she imagined she could see his soul. He held nothing back now, nothing was hidden. She felt a closeness, a completeness unlike any she could ever have imagined.

His hands caressed her back, smoothed her hair away, then pressed a kiss to her lips so tender her heart squeezed.

Amanda shifted to move beside him. Thornton’s arm flexed, holding her tight against his side on the narrow cot. His eyes were closed, his face more relaxed than she’d ever seen before. She rested her head on his shoulder, and for a long moment, she lay still, content to do nothing but inhale his scent. She trailed her fingers along his jaw across the rough shadow of beard that darkened his face, feeling its stubble catch and release against the whorls of her fingertips.

If only she could stay like this forever, curled against his strength. Wrapped in his arms, the rest of the world faded. But she lifted her head, glancing over at her workbench. Duty beckoned.

“The drug can wait an hour. Rest now.” His hand reached up, pulling her head down once more against his chest. How well he knew her. She smiled against his skin.

“An hour,” she agreed, then, for the first time in weeks, drifted into blissful slumber.

~~~

She slept for nearly two.

Thornton was watching when Amanda’s eyes fluttered open. He’d not slept a wink. Not with so many thoughts invading his mind.

The deep attraction he felt for this woman in his arms was more than lust. He’d thought their joining would satisfy him, but now he wanted more. She’d given him her trust, her virginity, her passion. She was his. He felt a driving, primitive need to let the world know exactly that. That she was off limits to all other men.

When she next arrived in the lecture theater, it would take all his self-control not to punch the first student whose eyes dropped to appreciate her feminine assets.

Mine
! He wanted to cry the word aloud.