Page 99 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
“Is that what you want?” she asked. “To leave?”
“No,” he said softly.
“Then don’t.”
And she opened the door behind her and pulled him into her room.
CHAPTER 68
They stumbled into the dark, and she stopped only a few steps from her bed. When she turned, he was still in the middle of the room, left behind in her fevered trail. A sliver of light illuminated his form, his black hair iced with the moon, the rest in shadow. But the blue of his eyes cut through the darkness, something simmering in them that she couldn’t read.
“Bri,” he said, unsure, as if testing the name on his lips. It made everything in her go liquid, and then he said it again, slow, more certain. “Bri . . . are you sure you want me here?”
She stared at him. She wasn’t sure of anything. Not here in Danu or in Bowskeep or anywhere.But this.This she wanted more than her next breath. “I’m sure I want you. That’s all I know. I want you . . . here and now.”
His chin lifted, like her words were something solid that pushed against him, pushed him away, and for long seconds, fear struck her that her want for him was so great she had misread his intent, his touch, even his words—but then he crossed the room, his steps deliberate and slow. He stopped in front of her, and his hands rose to gently hold her face, but instead of leaning into her mouth, his lips met her jaw and slowly grazed upward to her cheekbone as light as a passing shadow. His breaths were husky, uneven, betraying his desire. “This,” he whispered. “This is what I wanted to do that day in the barn. I didn’t want to stop. I shouldn’t have stopped.”
“Why did you?”
“Voices in my head,” he answered. “My own. Others. Ones I should have ignored. The only voice I’m listening to now is yours.” His lips traveled to the corner of her mouth, waiting. “The only thing in this world or any other that can stop me now . . . is you.”
Her breath hitched in her chest. “Then nothing is stopping you.”
With those words, his want was unleashed, as great as hers. His fingers curled through her hair, tilting her head back, and he pressed his lips against hers, pausing like he was soaking in her touch, but then his kiss grew hungry, his tongue searching, demanding. He tasted of whiskey and cherries and magic, and she was dizzy with his scent. His teeth nipped at her lower lip and his fingertips were fire against her cheek. Waves of heat engulfed her, and she slid her hands beneath his jacket. His chest trembled as she undid the buttons of his shirt, his breaths growing heavy. He reached down, pulling and lifting her upward, her legs circling him, both of them caught in bunches of silk tulle and satin, the room tilting, spinning, his mouth discovering hers again and again. They bumped into the wall, a nearby painting clattering, and they laughed against each other’s lips.
“Your laugh,” he whispered. “Every time I hear it, it fills me with something I can’t describe.”
“You’ve never heard me laugh before.”
“At Sun Court when you danced with your friends. I watched from a distance, wishing you were laughing with me. I drank in every syllable from your throat.”
His confession, the things he had felt all along but kept hidden, undid her. It was a vulnerability she understood too well, like all the times she held back and pretended she didn’t care for him. Her eyes stung, and she blinked.
“Then you have to promise to make me laugh more often—and laugh with me.”
His hips were still pressed against hers, and even through all the layers of crushed fabric between them, she could feel the enormity of his passion pressing against her.
“I’m not very good at laughter,” he answered, his voice hoarse.
“Then show me, Tyghan,” she whispered. “Show me what you’re good at.”
His grip on her thighs eased, and her feet slipped to the floor. He gently turned her, so she faced the wall, and his fingers pulled on the laces of her dress. The fabric loosened, tug by tug, slipping from her shoulders, and she tensed, remembering her back. He pressed close, sweeping aside her hair, his lips hot against her neck. “Shh,” he said. “It’s all right. You’re beautiful just as you are. I want you just as you are.”
And she believed him.
It was a soft sound, a whoosh, her dress falling to her ankles. The only undergarment she wore was a wisp of fabric between her legs, and he slipped that free, too. Now his lips trailed her bare shoulder and she turned. His breath caught as he took in her body. He lifted his hand, gently caressing her breast like she was a rare jewel. Needles of heat pulsed low inside her, and her breath skipped. She wanted more, more of his touch everywhere.
“Your turn,” she said, and she slipped his jacket and then shirt off. She struggled with the top button on his trousers, and he eagerly took over, shedding them in seconds. Now it was her turn to take him in and she did, her eyes skimming the muscles of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen, and his obvious hunger just below that. She inhaled sharply because, for a few seconds, she had forgotten to breathe.
He smiled. “There’s still time to turn back.”
“Not a chance,” she said, and their mouths met again, their bare chests touching, hot, damp, skin against skin, and they moved through the darkness, until she felt him lifting her, and then the bed cool beneath her back, his weight pressing into the downy mattress beside her, the soft creak of the bed shivering through her bones, all of it real, and not a dream.
He explored her body with his hands and his mouth, leisurely, like he was claiming every inch of it—or surrendering to it—her throat, her belly, her thighs, and all the places between. Her head swam with every caress, her skin trembling, her thoughts tumbling in a blur as she ceded every inch to his touch. She eagerly explored his body too. Her lips skimmed his chest, and she breathed in his salty scent, her fingers sliding over the hard muscle of his belly, even the roughness of his scar, every touch a declaration,for this night, you are mine, and then lower still, taking him into her mouth. His head tilted back, his breath catching, and she soaked in his moans, kissing him deeper, harder, but then he mumbled a curse like he was losing control, and she was beneath him again, his eyes sinking into hers like he wanted to stay there forever. “This too,” he said softly, “getting lost in your eyes, and never finding my way out again. This is what I wanted. I wanted you. I’m sorry I took so long to say it.”
“And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I imagined this very moment at least a hundred times.”
“You can stop imagining,” he whispered, then kissed her, his mouth tender, and she thought she might weep with the sweetness of it. She reveled anew in the soft warmth of his lips, in the taste of his tongue exploring hers. And then he moved down, his lips perusing her breasts, his tongue circling, as if every part of her was a miracle. He listened to the small sounds escaping from her throat, her uneven breaths, like they were a roadmap, lingering when she moaned, his mouth sliding to other places, and then between her legs, his tongue teasing, his mouth merciless, until he brought her close to an edge, air stopped up in her lungs, sound snagging between gasps, every part of her on fire, her need for him so great she couldn’t breathe.
