Page 63 of The English Duke
He wanted to kiss her until dawn lit up the room. He wanted to touch her everywhere and find those spots that made her giggle or sigh or moan. She was only a waking dream, half wish, half need, created by the elixir.
Yet one kiss led to another and to another until he felt weak in the knees.
He was going to fall down any moment.
He stumbled backward, feeling the mattress against his back.
She didn’t utter one compassionate word, thank God. This hallucination was not a creature crafted of pity.
He drew her with him and she went, her lips still clinging to his. Somehow they climbed onto the mattress, his delusion remaining with him.
He didn’t say a word, terrified she would disappear and he’d be left staring at a twirling ceiling. Until he lost himself to the opiates, he would enjoy her touch and her mind-numbing kisses.
To his surprise, his waking dream was helping him disrobe. Not only him, but her. Her fingers flew over the fastenings, most of which defied his clumsy hands. Women’s fashions were geared to making it as difficult as possible for a man to understand them.
Virtue maintained through confusion.
She slid from the bed and he stretched out a hand to stop her then clenched his fingers into a fist. Let her go. Let her disappear. What sort of fool was he to want to love a hallucination?
To his surprise, she wasn’t leaving him after all; she’d only stood to remove her petticoat. When she returned to the bed his waking dream was attired only in a shift. With any luck she wouldn’t leave until after they loved.
He might become addicted to Dr. Reynolds’s elixir if it promised this kind of companion.
“You’re not real,” he said.
There, a bit of sanity in the midst of this fog. At least he was attempting to find some semblance of himself. His rational mind was trying to make sense of everything while his body merely wanted the pleasure.
Her finger pressed against his lips, followed shortly by her mouth.
His imagination had provided a dream who could kiss like a houri, who tempted him without a word spoken.
His leg prevented him from being completely mobile, but he could certainly sit up and remove his shoes, socks, and then his trousers. It had been years since he’d undressed in front of a woman, but it didn’t matter because she wasn’t truly there. She was a thought, a wish, something fervently desired and as amorphous as a cloud.
Her hands wrapping around his ankle was surprisingly erotic. But when her fingers trailed up his leg, he stopped her. The pain was there, dormant but waiting to be summoned from his mental fog. Not yet. He didn’t want it to return just yet. Let him experience the miracle of this enchanting, unreal creature for a few more minutes before he surrendered to either the darkness or the agony.
He removed his shirt, lay back on the bed and allowed himself to fully enjoy the moment. His waking dream stripped him of every thought, of every worry. He felt only pleasure at her hands and unexpected joy.
Her hands stroked from his waist, all the way up his chest to his neck before bracketing his face. She lowered her head to kiss him again.
If she was real, he’d ask what gave her pleasure. Her excitement was evident from the soft exhalations of breath escaping her. When his hands stroked her, she softly moaned.
His imagination furnished her with the softest skin, the smoothest curves, and plump breasts fitting his palms just so. She was perfect, created out of his most fervent fantasies.
Her skin was warmer than normal as if she had a fever. If so, it was another thing they shared, this dream creature and his besotted self. He felt as if he was in the middle of a conflagration, flames bursting from inside him.
Sliding to the center of the bed, he raised her over him. He did so with ease, his imagination making this seduction effortless. She didn’t question why he put her in that position. Why would she? This female was an extension of himself, his wishes given the illusion of flesh.
Her shift was white in the moonlight, making her appear like a phantom. His body responded as if she was real. His heart was racing, his pulse jumping in concert. His breath was tight and fast.
Real or not he prayed the hallucination would last. Just for a few more minutes. He wanted her. He had to have her.
She bowed over him, placed her lips on his, and sighed into his mouth. For an eternity of moments he was lost in her kiss.
He needn’t cajole her or charm her or even appear before her flawed and broken. She already knew him. She was part of him. He’d created her solely for these perfect moments. As she allowed him to pull her shift over her head, he realized his imagination was so much more powerful than he’d ever known.
She didn’t see him as damaged or lacking. In this act of joining, they were simply two creatures lost in the throes of passion, rejoicing in the act of making love. Who cared if he was drugged and she wasn’t real?
Her breasts filled his hands, the hard tips pressing into his palms. One hand at her back urged her down. He raised his head until he could mouth a nipple, smiling at the sound of her sigh above him.
