Page 22 of Mending the Baron's Sins
Her lips were so near. He could kiss her, find out what she tasted like. Would she be sweet like that herbal medicine?
He veered back, hitting his head against the back of the chair.
“Is it your headache?” she asked, her voice gentle as she released his chin, those soft fingers vanishing from his skin.
“Go,” he said sharply.
“What?”
“I said, leave.” He practically barked the word under his breath. “Leave my chamber now and go back to your own. At once.” He tore his hand out from under her grasp.
Chapter 7
“What did I do…?” Orla trailed off as she stepped back from the baron.
He shifted in his seat so strongly that she couldn’t help looking down at what he was doing. He adjusted his sleep shirt, flung it over his hips, hiding the tops of his legs and trousers from view. When he turned his head, his pale skin turned a deep shade of pink, and she realized what had happened.
I came too close.
The most shocking thing to Orla wasn’t their proximity, though. It was his reaction to her.
“I did not mean–”
“Go,” he barked again, holding up one hand and hiding his face from her as he leaned forward. The curve of his body now nearly masked what she merely caught a glimpse of. His length was straining against his trousers.
Oh! He is attracted to me?
She didn’t hesitate again. She turned, grabbed her bag, and darted out of the room. She moved with such haste that she tripped on the doorjamb and nearly went flying.
“Orla?” he called after her, but he was too weak to stand. She took the opportunity to shut the door hurriedly behind her and darted down the corridor.
It wasn’t possible, surely not. He was a baron, and she was but his healer–the healer he had never wanted in the first place.
In her haste, she barely took notice of where she was going in the darkness, for she had left the candle behind in his chamber. When she eventually reached the servants’ quarters, she was so distracted that she walked straight past her own chamber and had to go back to it. She hurried inside, dropped the bag at her feet and leaned on the door, breathing heavily.
She could see it all so clearly again in her mind’s eye, the way he had shifted in his chair, trying to cover up his evident arousal.
“He desired me,” she said under her breath, scarcely able to believe the possibility of it. She looked through the darkness as she moved off the door and hurried to her bed. She scrambled to the bed to undress, tearing off her gown and stays with such hurried fingers that she managed to tangle the laces before throwing it to the floor.
When she fell down upon the bed, her whole body was heated, but it was not from the unnatural heat that the baron had mentioned, come about by sickness. It was a different heat.
She started to wonder what could have happened if she hadn’t left the chamber as she had asked. What could have happened if she stayed there with him? What would have occurred if she had reached for his shirt and pulled it up, revealing his chest and his length strained against his trousers?
It was so wrong to desire someone who was ill. She told herself it was disrespectful, but as she tossed and turned on the bed, she pictured a healthy baron above her on the bed. She saw him with that same copper hair, so easy to thread her fingers through. She saw him bend down over her body, exploring her, his hands moving across her.
Without knowing what she was really doing, she reached beneath her chemise, first placing her hands on her own waist that delicately lowering her fingers across her hips.
Many years ago, in one of the books she had read about the natural order of a woman’s body, she had read that a woman could stimulate her own pleasure. She’d explored it that very night, and though rare, she still explored it to this day in the darkest of hours at night, when there was no risk of anyone catching her.
Tonight, though, she imagined it was not her own hands upon her, but Baron De Rees’ hands.
There was a strange mixture of dread at the desire, for she knew it was wrong to want him, and pure thrill. Her fingers reached between her legs beneath the covering of the chemise as she parted her own knees, giving herself access to her own body.
The first touch was delicate, but a tease of herself, as she adjusted to the new pleasure. Yet the resulting thrill was sharp, reaching deep inside of her. She closed her eyes, pictured the baron above her. He was the one now entering her with his fingers, exploring her, placing his thumb on a spot just outside, working it in a firm yet gentle way. It elicited such pleasure that her head thrashed from side to side on the pillow.
Would he moan her name in her ear? Would he kiss his way down her neck as he continued to pleasure her?
The feeling grew erratic, full of need and desperation. Her hand worked faster, unrelenting, as she pictured the baron replacing his hand with his length instead. As he slipped that length into her body, she sat up suddenly on the bed, her fingers leaving her core.
