Page 39

O ne last dance, William told himself as he kissed her. One. Last. Dance. Why couldn’t he stay detached? Why couldn’t he abide by his resolutions? What otherworldly hold had she over his will? The weariness of traveling through the night from Albemarle to London, unable to breathe unless he saw her again, faded. He became alive at her lips. One last dance. He cradled her face and tilted his head to better reach her.

“You haunt me, Helene, but how I want you.”

William pressed open-mouthed kisses to her neck, biting her chin, then trailing his tongue along her cheek.

A flush spread where his mouth traveled, and moaning, she yielded to him. William reveled in her flexibility, her body bending to accommodate his. Breathing heavily, control in tatters, he peeled away her simple day dress. Chemise and underclothing went next, making a heap of cloth atop the piano. An inferno coursed through his veins. Above the flame of his passion, deathbed vows, legacy, duty—all became ashes.

She reached for his shirt, her fingers working his buttons. Closing his eyes, he stilled her hands. He had obeyed her wishes, and it had them wrecked.

Now, he would do it his way.

William shoved the music sheets to the floor. Holding her waist, he lifted her high. She looked at him from above, her hair cascading down her cheeks and sweeping his chest. He rested his forehead on her belly, and after he had controlled his breathing, he lowered her, smelling her skin from navel to neck. He had to force his arms to let go and settle her over the keyboard. Desperate notes poured forth as she shifted. Her eyes never left him, as if to lose eye contact would end this interlude.

His heart pounded, each beat a clash between control and surrender. William stepped back, his breath ragged, waiting for her to deny him, to demand he be as naked as she. She didn’t. Lips parting in a mute invitation, she poised her elbows over the lid, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. Her silent acceptance blessed his desire, cursed his restraint.

His nude muse sprawled across the piano, candlelight dancing over the curve of her ivory thighs, the soft swell of her breasts rising and falling with each breath.

William brushed his knuckles along her cheek—a restrained touch when every wicked part of him screamed to devour her.

“I wish to set you in music,” he murmured.

Then he could keep her—this moment—forever.

Sighing, she licked her rose lips. “How would it start?”

He answered not with words, but with sound. His fingers drifted to a key just beside her thigh, pressing it gently, then moving up the scale.

“Your melody is sultry—a whispered secret shared in the dark.”

He coaxed out a line of notes so rich they trembled in the air, lingered, then dissolved like breath on skin. The rhythm he set was unhurried—heavy with heat—like the way she stretched in the morning, half-awake and already wanting.

Then William weaved in an undercurrent of tension—a slow burn building with each passing phrase. He let the music breathe, allowing the space between notes to stretch, like the anticipation before penetrating her. His left hand set a throbbing bass, sultry, insistent, almost touching her, but never there, while the right hand enticed a melody that curled, flirting with her skin when he neared her thigh.

William bent forward to speak in her ear. “Open for me.”

He bit her earlobe, then kissed the sting away.

Her breath caught, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Her legs played the sweetest song as they made space for his hips.

“More.”

Her knees stretched wider, as he knew she could, displaying her stunning sex. William stepped closer, careful not to touch her yet. Instead, he pressed the keys between her thighs—notes that shimmered into the air like heat off skin. The melody unfurled, thick and heady, wrapping the room in smoke and musk, filling every breath with want.

Her eyes were on him, their weight an intimate caress. The melody climbed higher, more urgent now. He gave her pauses so sharp they sliced, glissandos that touched and vanished.

She shifted her hips in response—a slow, aching tilt—like a question posed in the language only they spoke. His fingers teased the dominant chord, circling it, never letting it fall into the relief of resolution.

She arched her back. Her breasts were swollen, a flush rising over her chest.

He stopped mid-phrase, letting the echo trail off unfinished, like a kiss denied. The silence that followed was heavy, charged with electricity.

“William,” she breathed.

He brought his thumb to her mouth.

She sucked it in without hesitation, eyes closing. The wet heat of her mouth made him see red, a desire so intense he wanted to howl.

The room pulsed, the air thick with her arousal and the sound of their mingled breaths.

He tugged his finger away and skimmed his hands over her thighs, inching closer to her core with every brush. She lifted her hips, offering herself with aching grace. The shimmer of her wetness caught the candlelight, and the sight made him groan low in his throat.

He touched her. First the right fold. Then the left. A stroke for each side, measured and slow, like tuning an exquisite instrument.

A soft whimper escaped her lips when he finally sank one finger inside. Her walls gripped him—wet, hot, begging.

He thrust gently. Rhythmic. Deep.

Curl and release.

Tension and echo.

A prelude. A promise.

His thumb joined the song, circling her clit—soft, then hard, then harder. More pressure. More friction. Her belly tensed, her thighs trembled.

He felt her peak rising. So he stopped.

“Non. I need—“

“Do you need my hands here?”

Her sweet words were lost in a gasp when his hand swept lower—over her mound, down the slit, and finally… he touched the key beneath her. He played her, holding the note longer each time, letting the sound vibrate inside her, filling her with his song.

Her nectar dripped into the keys, the ivory gleaming. Mouth parting and thighs quivering, she rolled her hips sweetly, seeking more.

William bent and kissed the hollow beneath her jaw, then sucked hard on the skin above her pulse. “I love making your pussy dance for me.”

She widened her legs, her movements frantic. “Come inside me, please.”

Fingers trembling, he opened his trousers and freed his cock—thick, rigid, flushed with need.

His breath came harsh now as he positioned himself between her parted thighs. He flexed his knees and guided himself to her entrance, the head nudging her slick heat. Slowly he pushed inside, and watched himself disappear into her, inch by glorious inch, her body stretching to take him. Her walls clenched around him, and he nearly lost himself right there.

Helene clung to him, and he to her. He buried his face in her hair, and then licked the salt from her neck. She surrounded him—heat, scent, sound. She was everywhere. And still it wasn’t enough. His chest ached, swelled with something beyond lust. He wanted her inside of him.

Not just her body—but everything. Her breath. Her voice. Her soul. His arms wrapped around her, and his heart pounded so strongly she had to feel it throbbing against her. Each breath he took was heavy, and a surge of passion flooded him, so intense it obliterated all else—his goals, his resolve, his promises, his vow.

“I missed you.” Her eyes were moist as she searched his gaze.

Miss? William tightened his hold over her waist. He didn’t exist beyond her. His control slipped, leaving him groundless. Inside, the beast surged—snarling, desperate to break free, to own her, to lose himself inside her and never return.

He could not allow this to consume him. Not again.

The contact with her, so close, threatened to push him into the precipice. With a shuddering breath, he gripped her hips and pulled away. Chill air hit his cock, a sharp contrast to her moist heat. His hands lingered over her waist.

Crying out, Helene protested in broken French, her eyes glazed by desire.

Jaw tense, shoulders high, he controlled his breaths.

Panting, William tugged her to her feet. The piano emitted a shivering cry, the notes protesting her absence. She complied, her body pliant as he turned her and splayed her hands atop the lid.

Her back flexed. The muscles honed by her art were a work of art. He reached out and brushed his fingers along the ridges of her spine. A tremor shot through her, her skin alive beneath his touch.

“I don’t have wings anymore,” she whispered.

“That’s not true.” He kissed the space between her shoulder blades, letting his lips linger. “When you visit me in my dreams, you always fly away.”

She made a sound—part gasp, part sob.

He pushed her legs farther apart and bent her over the piano. Taking his erection in hand, he brushed the head against her sex, preparing her for his invasion. Once, twice. He controlled himself, waiting for the right tempo. When she cried out, arching her back and widening her stance, he thrust forward in one long, gliding stroke, filling her to the hilt.

His groin met the round of her ass.

A sharp gasp left her lips. Her body clutched around him, tight and wet, claiming him right back.

He entered her from behind, her palms sliding forward with every stroke, fingers bracing against the polished lid of the piano. The surface reflected them in blur and motion, their bodies melting into one amorphous shape—writhing, fused, endlessly seeking. William caressed her goosebumps and cupped her breasts, rolling her nipples between his thumbs. Her soft sounds of pleasure ignited him, pumping his heart into vertiginous speed.

Her skin came alive. He craved the full of her blush skimming against his naked chest. Damned coat. Keeping him away from her. The wool chafed him, and it was an effort not to rip it to shreds. His control faltered. That side of him wanted out, wanted to wrestle out of his clothes, take her like a savage, and roll with her in the wilderness of their love.

But William didn’t give in.

He clenched his jaw, called every thread of discipline he had ever known, and forced himself to stay still, to hold the line. His thrusts slowed, became deliberate again. Precision where chaos wanted to reign.

He buried himself inside her until he felt her body begin to quake—inner muscles fluttering, gripping him with rhythmic desperation.

Her climax bloomed around him, and he held her through it, pulse roaring in his ears. Then he pulled away.

He withdrew with a groan, body trembling with the denial. Reaching into his coat pocket, he spent into his handkerchief, eyes locked on her trembling back. His breaths were ragged, uneven, the only music left in the room.

William caught her in his arms before she dissolved into the floor, his heart pounding still.

“You haunt me, Helene,” he whispered. “But I cannot let you go.”

He pulled her against his chest, holding her close. Their last dance? No. Unacceptable. The mere thought that this could be their last time made his muscles contract and a denial scream in his head. He could never have enough of her. The thought of her flying away hollowed him, yet he knew—they couldn’t go on as they had.

Their affair had led to chaos because he had allowed her to dictate the terms. She was his weakness, but control was his strength. He tightened his grip on her waist and kissed her neck, breathing easily for the first time in days. If he controlled the beast inside of him, he could keep her in his life.