Page 27 of Pretending to Love a Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

T hey talked all night, until the early hours of the morning, long after Amelia had fallen asleep, curled up at the end of Alston’s bed like a cat. Alston had grown tired, eyes heavy, and Graham had ordered him to go to sleep, too, told him they’d have breakfast together in the late morning after everyone had rested. Alston had nodded, but he was already half asleep. Even then, dawn was breaching the horizon.

Graham considered leaving Amelia there but decided not to. He picked her up, though it hardly required effort. At some point, she’d put on her nightgown and robe, and both were thin enough that he could feel every curve and dip of her body as he carried her to her room, the warmth seeping into him.

Her door remained partially open, and he nudged it wider, expecting her maid to be waiting either awake or asleep, but the room was empty, her bed already turned down. Graham laid her down on her side, peeling off her robe as milky-blue light filled the room, lighting her achingly beautiful face. He got the first half of the robe out from under her, and he glided the other sleeve down her arm, slowly, admiring her stunning beauty while she couldn’t castrate him emotionally, but then she opened her eyes.

She smiled, her eyes glowing. He thought maybe she was dreaming, not seeing him at all, or she wouldn’t look so happy.

“He’s awake,” she said in a sleepy, raspy voice that made him want to kiss her.

“He’s resting now. I promised we’d all have a late breakfast together, but you need to sleep, and so do I.”

She reached up and grabbed his shoulder, giving him a little shake. “But Graham, he’s awake.” She said it once more. Because it was a miracle. An absolute miracle.

He grinned down at her. “So you are more stubborn than Death.”

She scrunched her nose playfully as she smiled and sat up, shrugging, clearly more awake now. Her nightgown slid off her shoulder, the neckline falling low on her breasts. Graham tried not to look, but he was as weak a man as he’d ever been, and in the early morning light, he could see the shadow of her nipple, just below the edge there, tempting him. He tore his gaze away and met her eyes. She licked her lips, and once again, there was a challenge in her stare.

Do it, you coward. Touch me. I dare you. I want you to.

He was more than just a coward. He was a man, fallible, and too tired emotionally and physically to gather the strength he needed right now to resist her.

He reached out, dragging a knuckle over her bare shoulder. She didn’t move. She just watched him, her cheeks blushing with rosy colors.

He did it again, but this time he went slower, down the slope of her breast to the edge of her nightgown, and over the pebbled tip of her breast.

She drew in a shaky breath, biting her bottom lip.

He repeated the motion, this time snagging the edge of the gown and pulling it down to reveal her dusky-pink nipple and the fullness of her breast.

She closed her eyes, a whisper of a sigh slipping out of her moist lips, before opening them again.

Blood molten, cock straining in his tan breeches, he kneeled on one knee next to her bed. He cupped her breast, pinching the nipple lightly, and she softly moaned.

That was it for him. He unraveled, the shackles of his control falling away, the loud clanging a knell of warning in his mind. The final warning. One hand on her breast, the other dug into her hair as he pulled her to him and claimed her mouth, breathing deep the sleepy, sweet smell of her warm skin. She arched into his hand this time, opening her mouth to his and drawing him even closer.

She wanted him, and for his bruised heart, that was enough. On this quiet morning, full of light and hope, she wanted him, and he gave in to the reckless, wild impulse to let himself have her.

He broke the kiss. He stood to close the door and lock it. She watched him, breathing erratic, not covering her one exposed breast from his hungry gaze as he stalked back to her, his cock hard, his resolve harder.

She looked over his body, gaze catching on his cock bulging the fabric of his breeches. He was at her side again, sitting on the edge of the bed with her and pulling the other shoulder of her nightgown down to free her other breast. He held one in his hand and drew the other into his mouth as she lay back, pulling him down beside her.

She cried out, fingers in his hair, holding him to her while her hips squirmed on the bed. They said nothing, as if both were aware that words might break the spell. Graham ran his free hand over her hip, gathering up the length of her nightgown to her waist. He sucked her nipple to a rosy red, then licked it to soothe the smarting peak. He slid his hand between her thighs into the slippery warmth pooled there and she moaned, parting her thighs for him, giving him access and permission with abandon.

This is how she would be if she were his wife. Impetuous, wanton, affectionate, and confident in bed. She wouldn’t hold back. She’d let him lead as long as he gave her what she wanted, and he would. Whenever she beckoned, he’d come crawling on his knees to her.

That was still a fantasy that fate had not promised him, but for right now, he could pretend. They had a fake engagement and now were playacting as husband and wife, at least in his mind.

Graham spread his fingers through her wetness and teased the sensitive peak that made her buck her hips into his hand and part her knees wider. He wanted to feel her beneath him, skin to skin, heart to heart, but he knew if he did that, there’d be no going back, no more pretending, and he wouldn’t force her hand like that. She’d let him take her innocence, too caught up in the passion to see reason, but then she’d balk at having to marry him.

So instead, he would taste her. He stood back up, grabbing both her legs and turning her so he could pull her hips toward him, to the edge of the bed. She lay there, open to his heavy stare, vulnerable and trusting, nightgown gathered around her waist. He took in the beauty of her body, her flushed, creamy skin, her rosy nipples, thrusting up with each breath, and the glistening hollow of her body. He stood between her spread thighs, his cock straining. He could unsheathe himself and press into her. She was slick with arousal and aching with need. He closed his eyes, battling his own will. His head clashed with his body, and the temptation to bury his cock deep inside her.

She propped herself up on her elbows to look at him. “Graham?” she whispered.

Her gentle question was just enough to break through the haze. He dropped to his knees and lifted her knees over his shoulders. She gasped but did not pull back as he arranged her the way he wanted to feast.

“I’m going to kiss you, Amelia. Here,” he said, kissing her inner thigh. The muscles flexed in response. “And here,” he said, kissing her other thigh, and she let out a shivery sigh.

“That feels so good, Graham.”

“And here.” He took a deep breath, inhaling the essence of her—the glorious scent of her arousal, everything that was Amelia down to her very being. Then he closed his mouth over the hooded peak of her sex, gently sucking.

She cried out, half scream, half an exhale, and started to shake.

“Graham, oh Graham. I don’t know what’s happening to my body.”

He pressed his eyes closed, groaning as he explored her further, licking, sucking, and teasing until she writhed beneath him. Her knees squeezed his head, and he knew she was coming to the rise—the explosion that would leave her weightless. Perhaps for her first time. He was honored to be here—for her first taste of intimacy, of carnal ecstasy.

He wanted it all. All of her heart, all her firsts, and all of her lasts. His head spiraled as he continued to devour her, and her body tightened like a rope until she snapped, arching and reaching for his hair and pulling, holding his mouth to her until her fingers and legs went slack. He gazed up at her, her breathing ragged, her face a portrait dazed bliss, and pride filled him.

The urge to claim her returned full force. Now was the perfect time. She was weak with release, relaxed, and pliant. He could slide into her and she’d feel no pain. Only pleasure.

He turned his face into her thigh, taking a deep breath and fighting himself. She stirred, reaching for him again, this time running her fingers through his hair tenderly.

“I’ve never experienced such a thing. Fran tried to describe it to me, but it was nothing like what she said.”

Graham smiled into her thigh, his ego soaring. He had to stand, back away, and cover her delicious body.