Page 8 of Into the Sky With You (The Ladies Alpine Society #4)

Julian wasn’t nearly as drunk as he ought to be after so much wine. It was as if his feet didn’t touch the carpet as they entered the plush lobby of Le Pavillon de la Reine. The hotel was far more luxurious than anything he would have sought for himself, but he was willing to spend the money if it meant being near Ophelia.

A smile grew on his face of its own volition. It was because of Ophelia. The companionship of these other men was nice, especially that of Karl Vogel, a man who had travelled widely and climbed nearly as many mountains as Julian had. But as he picked up his room key from the front desk, he surveyed the other seven members of their party. The three couples, newly married and still very much in love, all draped over one another, roaming hands giving no uncertain ideas of what they would be doing behind their closed doors.

The clock in the lobby struck three, and Tristan laughed. “I won’t be seeing any of you before noon tomorrow, no offense meant.”

“Let’s make no plans for the morning. I don’t want to have to make an effort to break them.” Mrs. Vogel said as her husband picked up the key from the desk.

Ophelia took her own key. Just as Julian had taken his own key. Did she feel as if she were floating? Had the champagne made her giddy as it had made him? She looked up and smiled at him, and his breath caught. She was so lovely. So perfect. So smart and witty... he needed to stop and get a grip on himself.

It hadn’t helped that Mrs. Vogel spoke lavishly of Ophelia’s talents as well, as if she were half in love with her. But then, the level of quiet trust Ophelia placed in Mrs. Vogel made it clear that the regard was reciprocated.

“Tomorrow, then, at some hour,” Julian said, doffing his cap to them. He needed to leave before he began to salivate after Ophelia like some disgusting old wretch.

“We’ll slip a note under the door should we make plans before dinner time,” Mrs. Bridewell said, giggling as her husband pulled her close.

Julian trudged up the stairs, which were infinitely harder now than they had been pre-dinner. Once in his room, he tossed his cap on the dressing table, not bothering to brush it. He shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat and splashed water on his face. His body felt impossibly light and at ease. He pushed the braces off his shoulders and sat down to take off his shoes. Too bad Nicholas wasn’t around to take care of the mud on those, either. It was damned handy to have a valet, that was certain.

He chuckled to himself. Was he becoming a soft Englishman, now that he’d spent close to a year in London? He still missed the bright colors of the flowers and the fruits he’d encountered across the ocean, but spending time with Lady Rascomb and Ophelia and Tristan had helped ease the transition. Not to mention his overwhelming and unexpected success in the RGS. That helped too. He’d forgotten his pride while alone on mountaintops.

There was a light scratching at the door. He frowned. Had he imagined it? Perhaps a laundry service, or a valet service for his hat and shoes? These fancy hotels had all manner of amenities.

He padded over, his feet bare, his socks in a pile in the corner. If it was a valet service, hopefully they’d forgive his sloven bachelor ways. He pulled open the heavy polished brass door handle.

But it was Ophelia. Her shining golden hair cascaded around her shoulders and her neck. She wore her evening gown but had taken off her jewelry and unpinned her hair. He swallowed hard.

“May I come in?” she asked.

“Why?” It was a stupid thing to say. But there was no reason for her to be standing here. A beautiful young woman like her had no earthly reason to appear on his doorstep.

Her blue eyes shone, and she repeated her request. He opened the door wider and made space for her. She walked by and he inhaled a scent of vanilla and citrus and jasmine. He could die a happy man with that aroma in his mind.

“Your room is the mirror of my own,” she said, smoothing one hand across the busy print of the bedspread.

“Is it?” he asked, which only showcased how incessantly idiotic he was. Did he really have nothing to say to a woman who came to his room in the wee hours of the morning? He knew what this was. He knew it. But he couldn’t believe it could be true.

“Do you know why I’m here?” she asked, as if she could read his mind.

“I doubt it’s to go over maps,” he quipped, and then felt cruel. “You’ve been drinking, Ophelia. It isn’t right for me to take advantage.”

She raised a golden eyebrow, but the smirk on her face told him that she wasn’t offended, thank goodness. “I stopped drinking long before anyone else. Too much gives me a headache.”

“But you thought to come here?” His heart sped up. He’d tried not to think about this. It wasn’t right. He was a friend of her father’s.

“I’ve been thinking about it for many weeks. And I don’t make decisions lightly.”

“I know.” He kept his distance from her, circling around to the opposite side of the room. He pulled up his braces, giving him some sense of being dressed, being without his coat and waistcoat with bare feet. It was the only defense he could give. If he was honest, he’d wanted this so badly. His attraction to her was not because she had reminded him of his juvenile tendre for her mother. It was her own wit and charm, her sense of wonder. The way she made him feel like he was important. That she understood and spoke of his endeavors with respect and excitement. That they were, as one might say, two peas in a pod.

“I hated thinking of you with Lady DeMarius.”

“I can’t stand Lord Fairport,” he confessed. “The idea of you marrying him—he’s so boring .”

She laughed, and it was like the tinkling of silver bells. A sound that he wanted to hear over and over. “He is dreadfully bland.”

“It is as if blanc mange became a person.”

She shuddered. “I only remember that from when I was ill as a child. My nanny used to spoon feed it to me, but only if my fever was high.”

“Same for me,” he said. Without understanding how, he was close to her. They were standing so near that he could touch her with little effort, but he didn’t dare. And the nagging thought wouldn’t go away, of what she’d said earlier. “Why would you think of me with Lady DeMarius?”

“I pictured you kissing her,” Ophelia said, her gaze locked to his, pulling him in.

“Why would you do that?” He stared at her lips, the color of a not-quite-ripe plum.

“Because I couldn’t picture you kissing me,” she said. “I didn’t think you would want to.”

Somehow she was even closer, the heady scent of her pulling him like a magnet. “I want to,” he reassured her, without meaning to even open his mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why?” she asked, and he noticed that her breath was faster than it ought to be when standing still.

“Because I am too old for you. Because I am a friend of your father’s.”

“You aren’t too old,” she said. And now she was gazing at his lips, and it made her near-impossible to resist.

“But I’m poor,” he said. “I’m feral.”

“Julian,” she said, and he melted at the sound of his name on her lips. “I climb mountains. I’m not an English rose.”

“You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” Julian admitted. “Watching you discuss your passion has been a privilege.”

“Julian?” Again, his name in her mouth was more than he could take.

“Yes?” Now he realized his breath was coming faster than it ought.

“Please kiss me,” Ophelia asked.

He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t resist any longer. There was no man on earth that could have. He threaded one hand along her jaw and pulled her in close, his mouth at last on hers. The feeling of her soft lips, her elegant neck pulsing beneath his fingers, it was better than he could have imagined.

She was inexperienced, but he didn’t care. She tasted wine-sweet and eager, the heat and desire melting any resolve he had. Her hands rested on his chest, and it was more than he could have hoped to have her embrace him as he held her. How could this divine creature want him? It made no sense.

He kissed her harder, and she returned the pressure, angling her head to step closer, eliminating the distance between them. Now he felt her warm body pressed along his, and the stirring in his trousers became insistent. If he didn’t stop kissing her now, he didn’t have any hope of letting her leave his room before dawn. Her tongue touched his lips, an invitation.

Instead of pulling away, he groaned and opened his mouth. He explored her lips, tangling with her tongue, enjoying the sensations far more than he had any right to. She moaned in pleasure, and it was as potent as any drug. He pushed away from her, stumbling back.

“I’m sorry,” he panted. She looked confused, her lips red and chafed from his, her blue eyes wide with shock.

“Sorry?” she repeated.

“I shouldn’t take advantage. I know better.”

She blinked rapidly. “Better than what?”

“I mean, you’ve been drinking, and you are an unmarried lady; this is very unseemly.” He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. He was rock-hard and it was difficult to think. His instincts were howling in a way they hadn’t with Delphine. Kissing Ophelia seemed to have triggered something basic in him, some blood-deep need.

She licked her lips, and that made everything worse. And harder.

“I’m here for a reason, Julian.”

There was his name in her mouth again. That beautiful, lovely mouth that tasted so sweet. “It isn’t right. I don’t deserve you.”

“This isn’t about what someone deserves. This is about desire.”

“You can’t say that word to me right now, Ophelia. It isn’t fair.” Before he could understand what was happening, she was standing so close to him again, her beautiful hair glimmering in the low light, smelling like jasmine and vanilla and citrus. She was light and goodness and purity. Oh God, she was a virgin, wasn’t she? He was about to deflower an earl’s daughter? “I can’t do this to you.”

Both her eyebrows rose up. “Are you telling me that I don’t know what I want?”

“Yes! No,” he said, not sure what he meant anymore. He couldn’t think when she was so close.

“Because I want you, Julian. You. Not anyone else. And I don’t want to wait for a marriage proposal from Lord Fairport. I don’t want to be the woman who is exchanged for dowry, as if I’m livestock. Let me be a person. Let me choose my lover. Let me choose you.”

“I feel like I must be a bad man, because any excuse that allows me to tear your clothes off sounds like a good one.”

She laughed, that silver bell tinkling sound he loved. “Julian. You can tear my clothes off.”

“Oh, thank God,” he said and rushed forward, pulling her into his arms. He kissed her again, letting his mind go blank, forgetting all the worries and reasons he shouldn’t be doing this.

She pushed the braces off his shoulders, and he started unbuttoning her evening gown. The buttons were damnably tiny as he fumbled with them. Finally, he’d undone enough that he could push it down to her waist. In the back of his mind, his conscience warned him off, begged him to stop.

He pulled away then to look at her. The creamy expanse of her shoulders, and her breasts plump and round in her corset. She was perfect, a dream that he couldn’t have ever conjured up. He exhaled harshly, trying to bring himself under some semblance of control.

She let him look his fill, watching his face carefully, and he didn’t have the awareness to monitor his expression. He couldn’t, instead he gaped at her in amazement. But instead of waiting for him to be finished, she undid his collar, letting it fly wide, and unbuttoned his shirt. Her fingers were deft, easily opening the larger buttons.

He stared at the two perfect breasts cupped in her corset. He felt like a young man all over again, thinking that he might get to touch them. Then her tender palms touched his bare chest, lying flat over where his heart thrummed. He looked into her eyes, and she raised her gaze to his.

She was here for him . This wasn’t like anything he’d experienced before. He wasn’t saving her, as he’d felt with Maria; and he wasn’t a toy, as he’d felt with Delphine. She was his junior, yes, but she was also showing him her entire self, expecting him to do the same. He would not deny her this.

The connection felt deep, moving from him to her and back again, circling around one another, as if they had been two pieces of the same soul, broken apart and flung into time.

“Julian,” she whispered.

“Ophelia.” He cupped her lovely face again. God, she was beautiful. Those blue eyes swallowed him, redeemed him, made every moment from before he met her irrelevant. He had missed her so much in the past months. Even though he had seen her, that distance she’d kept between them had made him feel desperate. And now, now she was in his room, asking for more. Asking for everything he had to offer her.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” she said.

“Neither have I,” he admitted, his thumb stroking her cheek. He leaned down and kissed her lightly, pleasant and soft, which gave her hands time to roam his chest, pulling at his shirt.

She was clearly interested in both of them disrobing, but he didn’t want to assume too much. He had to remind the demon in his trousers that she was a virgin and he needed to go slower than it wanted.

“May I help take off your corset?” His fingers itched to touch that smooth, creamy skin. So different than his own. But he kept his hands away, waiting for her permission.

She nodded and turned away, clearing her golden hair over one shoulder and looking back at him. It was a coquette’s pose, but she looked deadly serious. He loosened the ribbons, his fingers shaking. Why was he nervous?

“I’ve got it,” she whispered, and she pushed it down, wiggling as she inched it over her hips. It was mesmerizing. He unbuttoned his trousers and whipped his shirt off over his head. She turned and gaped at his bare chest. It made him wonder if she’d ever seen a man at this level of dishabille before, and he enjoyed her assessing gaze. Her chafed red lips parted at the sight of him. If he knew how to show off for her, he would. But as it was, his brain could only think of how she still wore some scraps of fabric, and that was unacceptable.

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. She turned, holding her arms close to her chest, covering her breasts, letting blonde locks trail down her shoulders. “And the rest?”

*

Ophelia had never been this bare before. Not just her clothing, but every part of her ego. Any harsh word from him would destroy her, and she trembled at her vulnerability. That he might find her ridiculous and laugh at her. That he might tell her she was doing this all wrong, and if she were smarter, she would know that.

And he asked her to remove her last bit of clothing, her underskirt and stockings. She’d already removed her bustle and the crinoline before coming to him wearing a dress that did not require those enhancements. But now, stripped of all those defenses, she was left only as herself. As the rest of her clothing dropped to the luxuriously carpeted floor, she heard his harsh intake of breath. Had she done something wrong?

His dark eyes were fastened on her, roving her body. She dropped her hands down. This was her. She took a deep breath, waiting, uncertain what came next.

“You’re so beautiful, Ophelia,” he murmured.

He was bigger than she expected. Somehow, with clothes, he was unassuming, harmless. But without, the lean expanse of his chest, peppered with dark hair that convened below his navel, seemed more powerful, stronger, wider than before.

She’d once overheard some newly married women talking in a ballroom, saying that the most ridiculous-looking thing in the world was a naked man. But Ophelia would have to disagree. At least with this naked man. Julian was proportional. His upper arms were wide and muscled, just as someone with such capable hands would require. And his thighs were thick, likely from all the mountain climbing he’d done. And the other part... it was unlike anything she’d seen before. It waved in the air as Julian stepped closer, bringing them touching.

The cool air in the room should have caused her to shiver, but she felt as if she were on fire. He touched her shoulders, let his hands graze down and one moved over to gently cup her breast. It was surprising, but pleasant.

“We can stop any time you like,” Julian reassured her, leaning in and kissing her.

“I don’t want to stop,” she said, putting her hands on him, letting them roam all over his shoulders and his chest.

He guided her to the bed and they lay down on their sides, touching one another. But her inherent curiosity couldn’t be subverted by her desire. “May I...?” Her eyes flicked down to that unfamiliar piece of anatomy that pushed insistently at her stomach.

“Of course,” he said. “Do with me as you will.”

She smiled and he looked almost drunk on his lust. Admittedly, she did as well. She took him in hand, plumping the sac underneath it, which felt like precisely like an overfull coin purse. To her shock, the skin moved as she explored.

“Oh my,” she said, alarmed. “Is it supposed to do that?”

“Mmmm?” Julian propped himself up on his elbows. “Move? Yes. Has a mind of its own sometimes.”

“How odd,” Ophelia said. “How do men get anything done?”

Julian laughed. “It takes effort, but we learn to control it. Most of us, anyway.”

Moisture beaded at the tip, which Ophelia touched, feeling the silky liquid and smoothing it around the top of his erection, which was hot to the touch, and nearly purple. Julian began to breathe harder, and occasionally exhaled strongly, as if he were climbing a mountain now.

“Ophelia.” his voice sounded strangled. “If you keep that up, I’m going to come, and I want to make sure you have your pleasure before me.”

“Oh.” She immediately released him, as if his cock were a hot tray. “I’m only curious.”

He chuckled again and said, “That’s why I’m having trouble controlling it. Your curiosity is very attractive.”

She laughed and touched his chest, which seemed to be acceptable.

“May I have my turn to explore you?” he asked, rolling onto his side.

She nodded, much more comfortable now. His hands roved her breasts again, and this time, he slid kisses down her neck, stopping to suck each of her nipples into his mouth. It was a shock of pleasure, and as he continued, she found it more and more enjoyable.

His other hand skirted down her abdomen to the thatch of silky curls between her legs. He gently massaged and kneaded and pulled until Ophelia moved her legs open, falling onto her back. His fingers found the slit there, exploring gently. She expected it to be uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. He moved in small circles until she arched her back involuntarily. It felt better than she could have imagined. She had explored on her own before, and had been able to feel this pleasure, but it was nothing compared to the way her body shook tonight. Nothing had prepared her for this. Pressure built in her, as if the gas lamp key was turning past its capability, opening her wider and wider until it broke, and she erupted into light and heat and her head threw back as she panted.

As she came back to herself, she waited to hear him laugh, but he didn’t. He was serious as he climbed on top of her.

“I want to be inside you, Ophelia. Will you let me?” He held his cock in one hand, away from her body, as if it might get away from him and wreak its own havoc.

She nodded, curiosity and desire again winning every argument. “Yes.”

He pushed his cock downward, rubbing it along the inside of her. The sensation sparked her all over again, and she knew it wouldn’t take nearly as long this time to build that feeling. Then, something was inside her, but it didn’t feel like much.

“Is that it?” she asked, lifting her head to look down at where they were touching.

He laughed again. “No, darling. Just a finger. I wanted to try to get you used to having something there.”

“Oh,” she said, suddenly very glad that at least one of them knew what they were doing. “Will you tell me before you do it?”

“Of course,” he said. “I’m slipping two fingers in now.”

The sensation increased, and she rocked her hips with it, an instinctive push. It felt better than the first.

“Your body seems ready. Are you, beautiful Ophelia?” Julian looked down at her.

“I think so,” she said.

“You can say no, and I’ll stop,” he said, wearing a very pained expression.

“I’d like to keep going,” she said.

“Thank God,” he said, and he continued to rub himself against her. “I’m going to push in now.”

And he did, and she felt a lovely expanding in her lower belly. It was a completely foreign and shocking feeling. He pulled out, and she could feel it, a dragging sensation, before he entered her again.

Soon, a rhythm emerged, and she couldn’t help but mirror it. When she did so, Julian’s eyes glazed over and he pulled on her shoulders, making her hit against him harder. Even though each thrust came with more and more power, it didn’t hurt. And soon, that gaslamp key turning sensation took over. She threw her head back, concentrating on that feeling because it was so good.

“Come, Ophelia,” he panted.

She understood what he meant, and while she couldn’t manage it, suddenly his fingers were there, blindly moving as opposed to their deft execution earlier. It didn’t matter, the sensation came, and light appeared behind her eyes as she crested, moaning as he pumped harder and harder into her. Then he moaned, pulling out, spilling seed all over her thighs.

Blinking, comprehending that a threshold had been crossed, she looked down at him. He was on his knees, sitting back on his ankles, holding his deflating member.

“Towel,” he said breathlessly, and got to his feet. He wound unsteadily until he reached the towels folded in the top drawer and pulled one out. She expected him to hand it to her, but instead, he slid it under her bottom, and then lovingly wiped her and her thighs. He then cleaned himself, discarding it in the corner. He pulled down the top blanket and ushered her underneath.

Before he came to bed, he turned down all of the lights and then slipped in next to her. Sliding over, he fitted his front to her back, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Ophelia was still forming questions and thoughts from the experience, ordering how she might even say them aloud, when light snores drifted up from behind her. He was already asleep. So she must be expected to stay the night.

She wondered if she had acquitted herself well. Considering Julian was already asleep should be an indication that the event had gone well. And being held so tightly in bed was a revelation. She loved it. So warm and protected—it was not a familiar sensation for her. Should she talk about this experience with Justine? Or should she keep it to herself, so as not to let the secret escape? What she was doing was against the moral code of women of her rank. Marriage first. But she knew of so many girls who hadn’t married as virgins, and she was almost thirty.

And really, the truth bubbled to the top: she didn’t want to marry Lord Fairport. Not one little bit. And once she admitted such a truth to herself, that she had only been allowing the courtship to please her mother, she felt lighter, and clearer. So she snuggled down in Julian’s capable embrace and fell asleep faster than she’d ever done before.