Page 40

I want you. The words rang like a bell, echoing through every part of him.

Ophelia wanted him. Even after his clumsy attempts to offer something she didn’t need, she still wanted him.

She believed in the man he could become, just as he believed in the woman she was becoming.

He tried not to think about his maimed leg, about how she deserved someone perfect and whole, untouched by war.

But his heart and body were greedy, and so instead of putting distance between them, he ran his fingers down her spine, feeling the ridges of her corset laces through the thin fabric, each tiny button holding the dress tight around her body, smooth under his fingertips.

“We’ll take care of each other, love, won’t we? We’ll listen to each other.”

“Promise,” Ophelia murmured. Her arms were still around his neck, and she had thrust her face into the crook of his neck, kissing and licking the sensitive skin above his collar, nipping at his earlobe.

Her keen mouth was slipping against his skin, her fingers sliding through his hair.

Being more eager than experienced himself, he recognised the fumbling fervency in Ophelia’s touch, like she couldn’t get close enough to him, like every barrier was a monumental frustration.

Taking her hands in his, he pressed a kiss to her damp, swollen lips and spun her in his arms. Drawing her back against his body, he held her hands, palms open, to her breasts.

Covering them with his own, he spoke into the halo of hair at her ear.

“Fee, my own sweet Ophelia. My God, you’re so bloody beautiful. I’ve waited so long to touch you.”

She arched back, one hand flying to his neck, her arse, free of trousers and tunics, grinding into him. He hissed a curse and gently placed her hand back on her breast.

“God, Fee, when you move like that, it’s ... I mean, your arse against me is?—”

“It is, isn’t it?” Ophelia said half laughing, half awed. “I can feel you, Silas. Everywhere, especially here.” She wriggled farther back against him, fabric and flesh rubbing against his aching cock. “Oh ... please hurry, I want to turn around again.”

“Fee,” he ground out, “you must stay still if I’m to get these cursed buttons undone.”

His fingers felt enormous, the buttons lilliputian and endless, as he worked each one through its embroidered eyelet.

The pieces of the high collar of the dress fell apart revealing the long column of Ophelia’s neck, pale and delicate where it disappeared into the thicket of her wild, dark hair.

His throat felt tight, and his hands froze in their work.

He wanted to brush his lips against the skin he was revealing and for a moment, he forgot that he could.

Forcing himself to move slowly, he placed a kiss at the base of her neck, just where the dress opened and her shoulder blades began to fan out.

Silas heard her breath leave her lungs in a gust and felt goose bumps rise along her skin, under his lips.

He kissed upward until he reached her hairline, and sweeping her hair aside, stroked the tender spot behind her ear with his tongue.

“Oh,” she said and tilted her head to give him better access to her neck.

He let himself taste her in long, lingering strokes.

Sweet like honey, a bright explosion of fruit, and the tang of summer heat.

It all went straight to his head. His senses were filled with Ophelia, her scent wrapping itself around him, the glorious curves of her body soft against his, the small sound of surprise and delight she made when he kissed the lobe of her ear.

He felt flustered by the magnitude of his desire, like his mouth couldn’t cover enough of her skin, his hands not able to fist enough of her clothing, his body never close enough to hers.

She squirmed against him, pulling one of his hands back to her breast. He ran his fingertips over her, feeling the heavy softness of her breast against the stiff ridge of her corset.

He imagined her nipples, just out of reach, and groaned, his body a riot of lust and anticipation.

“Buttons,” he growled.

“Buttons?” echoed Ophelia, dimly.

“Buttons.”

Silas straightened her in front of him and set to work on the back of her dress again, each slice of creamy skin further incentive, urging him on.

Finally, the dress and petticoat could be slid down her hips, and Ophelia stepped out of them, turning to stand in front of him in her corset, chemise, and drawers.

Her legs were bare to the embroidered hem of her chemise, and it was all he could do not to drop to his knees before her.

She was so beautiful it took his breath away.

What a hackneyed phrase, he thought, for the punch-drunk feelings Ophelia inspired in him.

All the time he had spent remembering their summer, their friendship, thinking he had embellished her in his mind.

Surely, he had told himself, surely no woman is so perfect.

But she was. Her hair curled down around her shoulders now, loosed of its pins, and one shoulder of her shift slid down, revealing the smooth ridge of her collarbone and the expanse of her breasts, lifted by the cut of her corset.

The fabric was something with a slight sheen, and the light from the small window lit upon it, gilding Ophelia, making her shimmer.

Silas was familiar with corsets in principle, but unsure of their workings in reality, and so for a few moments he only stared, taking in the contour of her waist and hips, the tempting line across the tops of her thighs where the corset ended.

He knelt before her and pressed his forehead to her stomach, hands holding her hips.

He could feel her intake of breath, then her hands in his hair, fingernails carefully scraping his scalp.

She whispered his name above him, and when he pressed a kiss to her belly through the satin and boning, he felt her quiver, rubbing her legs together.

“I want to touch you, Fee, may I?” he asked against her stomach.

“Yes,” she said, solemnly, her fingers tightening in his hair.

His forehead still against her middle, he ran a hand up either leg, clasping her slender ankles then moving slowly up to the taut muscles of her calves.

She wove a little the higher he went, so he slowed and traced gentle circles at the back of each knee.

The skin there was unbearably soft, a secret revealed only to him.

Ophelia moaned and pressed her knees against him.

“Your skin, Fee ... I’ve never felt anything so smooth.” Still circling with his fingers, his cock harder than he could ever remember, he muttered, “God, I want you so badly.”

She groaned and pressed herself against him, lost in the moment.

He pushed up her chemise to reveal her drawers, the split between the legs drawing his eye to the shadows there.

Looking up and catching her eyes, he traced a fingertip up the inside of one leg, up under the thin fabric, moving slowly as much to give her time to adjust to his touch as to give himself time to think of how and where to touch her.

He was aware of his inexperience, nervous that he might not do this right, but then her hands clutched at his hair and she whimpered when his fingers brushed the damp curls of her mound, and he let himself follow her lead.

“Bloody hell, Ophelia, you’re perfect,” he said, his fingers stroking the wet seam of her sex.

His body was screaming at him to move more quickly, but he wanted to take his time to learn her, couldn’t bear to rush through these first glimpses.

Ophelia sighed and writhed against his hand, her fingers tight in his hair, her legs quivering when he stroked a finger between her lips.

She was incredibly wet and warm, her flesh smooth and muscular against his finger.

He had never felt anything like it. His cock strained against his trousers, and he couldn’t seem to fill his lungs properly.

Fuck was the only word that came to mind, and so he chanted it quietly as he pressed kisses to the insides of Ophelia’s thighs, his damp lips catching on the thin linen of her drawers.

He pressed his nose to her centre and inhaled the sweet, earthy scent of her arousal, and gathered his courage to ask for what he had been wanting to do for so long.

“I want to put my mouth on you, Fee ... would you let me taste you?”

“I ... is that what people do ... lovers, I mean, I don’t know all the—” She fumbled through the words, her voice thick and slow.

“I’m not sure if other lovers do it, but kneeling here in front of you it’s all I can think of,” he said, nuzzling against her thigh, his body afire with the feel of her.

“Yes,” she said, running her hands along his shoulders. “I want that, too. Show me ... please?”

He leaned back, his hands on his thighs and took a deep breath. Ophelia laughed and reached for him.

“Shall I hold my chemise for you?” she asked, lifting the sheer lawn and holding it saucily above her waist.

He smiled and nodded, reaching around to undo the knot holding her drawers up. The beribboned and embroidered fabric fell to the floor, and Silas reeled at the revelation of Ophelia completely bared to him.