Page 64 of A Dream of Redemption
“Because I love you. I love you more than all of this,” and she spread her arms wide indicating the affluence round her. She stood and made her way to his side, slipping her hand in his. “As to what I would have you do. I would have you find the courage to go after what you want. I would know that you will live every day by my side with no regrets. And I would have you ask me to marry you, for I will truly say yes, but only if you have the courage to defy those who would oppose us.”
“I would move heaven and earth to have you by my side as long as I was sure that was where you wanted to be. Once we start down this path your old life will be gone forever, are you sure?”
Reaching up she combed her fingers through his hair. “I’m more than sure. I’m sure there is no greater pleasure in life than having you at my side, the man I love.”
He pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth and got down on one knee. “Lady Helen, will you do me the very, very great honor of agreeing to be my wife? I have nothing but my heart to give you but it’s yours for the rest of time if you say yes.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, yes. Most definitely I accept, and I will keep your heart safe the rest of my days and beyond.”
On a cheeky grin he pulled her down with him to the floor and kissed her senseless. He whispered in her ear, “Did you lock the door?”
“I’ll have you know you’re marrying a very clever lady.”
“So that’s a yes,” and he proceeded to hurriedly strip her clothes from her glorious body.
Soon she lay naked next to the man who owned her heart. His eyes, dark, burning, focused totally on her, his hunger and need for her clearly visible.
Warmth infused every inch of her and she stretched out in front of the fire like a cat wanting to be stroked. Her skin tingled. He got to his knees and came over her like a prowling panther, his hair as black as a starless night.
He reached for her; palm curving about her jaw, he angled her face, and studied her eyes—as if searching for a truth. She didn’t even contemplate hiding herself from him.
“You know you’re mine. Since that day five years ago when you were kind to a stranger in your sister’s hall.”
Her gaze focused on his lips. She watched, mesmerized, as he drew in another breath. He opened his lips to speak again but she silenced him.
She stretched up, drew his head down, brought her lips close to his and murmured, “I’ve always been yours.”
“Just be careful of the nose, it’s still very sore from your brother’s fist.” He covered her lips with his, kissing her voraciously, all consuming. Hands splaying, sliding over her bare skin like a whispered caress. Reverent. Worshipping. Claiming…
He rolled to his side, pulling her in against him, molding her to him. Naked in his arms, she clung, and returned his kisses greedily, avidly—flagrantly encouraging him to seize, take, and claim.
On a groan, he cupped her bottom, pressing her to him, molding her softness against his erection while his tongue plundered her mouth, leaving her a mass of aching need. Heat bloomed and fire took hold—she wanted more.
With eager hands she pushed his coat wide, trapping his arms. With a curse, he let her go, sat up, wrenched off his coat, and flung it aside.
“I love you so much.” That revelation was simply there, its truth resonant and clear. She loved Clary to the depth of her soul. He loved her back.
She forgot about the world outside the library—outside the house. All she saw, felt, and heard was that he wanted her—now!
And she wanted him—now!
Helen acted on it, yanking the halves of his waistcoat apart, stretching to slip it from his broad shoulders. Impatiently he pulled his shirt over his head, and finally she had her hands on hot, rough skin. She ran her fingers over his chest and stomach, careful of the scab beginning to form from his injury, the muscles beneath rigid and locked. She leaned into him and licked. He tasted divine, addictive.
He pulled her to sit up next to him so that he could once more plunder her mouth, his hands closing about, and then provocatively kneading, the globes of her bottom. The long muscles framing his back flexed like steel beneath her wandering hands. She ran her fingers down his back, counting the ribs as she traced the muscles leading her down his sides and back to his waist, to caress the rippling bands across his abdomen. They flickered at each touch.
Her fingers quested lower. He sucked in a breath and held it as she lightly traced the prominent line of his erection through his breeches. He stilled, his lips on hers, his tongue in her mouth, when she reached for the placket of his breeches. As she undid the flap, he groaned into her mouth. She wanted him so bad, almost as much as he wanted her—more perhaps. This was still so new to her.
She hurriedly undid the rest and slid one hand inside the opened flap, and found the rigid length of him. He was hot, with skin so very soft and smooth…
He was under her spell, entirely focused on her hand and what she was doing. Her fingers explored freely, and traced the size and shape of him. She shivered remembering how good he felt deep inside her.
He was getting harder still, more than filling her hand. Growing bolder, she closed her fingers round him, circling him, and this time his groan was accompanied by a shudder.
She loved playing with fire. Loved to see how much she could make him burn, but she took her time, fondling his sac, desire blooming as it tightened in her hand. She could feel the surge of heated need rising through him, provoked by her play, and it rose in her body in kind. She throbbed and grew damp between her thighs.
His mouth finally left hers, but he didn’t stop her games. He truly was a saint because he let her play. She could see the tension in his neck, the cords tight as a bow.
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