Page 13 of The Love Remedy (The Damsels of Discovery #1)

13

Thorne’s words dripped like treacle from Lucy’s temple, where he’d set his mouth, down her neck and shoulders to the rest of her body. A fire burned beneath her skin, heightening her senses. The wall against her back, the insistent pressure of his cock between her thighs, the friction of her chemise against her nipples, all this conspired to leave her dizzy and unsure.

This was only lust, she told herself. What they did in the dark, away from the world, it held no meaning, no tenderness. She repeated these words to herself, not speaking until she was certain she believed them.

“ Thorne ,” Lucy whispered. “Is that the word you want?”

He leaned in and set his mouth to the skin at her temple again. The slick heat of his tongue surprised her, and he tasted his way down her cheek, down her neck, and came to rest on her shoulder at the neckline of her dress.

Licking her once, hard, as though she were made of candy, as though he would bite her if he could, Thorne then raised his head.

A dark hunger made him unfamiliar in the low light of the single candle behind them. Little about Thorne’s face was handsome. What drew Lucy to him was not signs of past violence on his skin. She lusted after the grim certainty that accompanied him like an aura. The intensity of his stare, the honesty of his words, and the knowledge that he would never harm her.

“The word I want is yes ,” he said. “Yes, Thorne, touch me, and taste me, and make me come.”

“What about me?” Lucy asked. “Will you tell me yes?”

Thorne leaned forward and pressed his body against hers as he slowly bit her lower lip. Excitement bloomed between her thighs, and she grew damp with anticipation.

Releasing her lip from his teeth, he spoke with his mouth slightly touching hers.

“Yes, Lucy. Yes, I want you to touch me, and taste me, and make me come,” he said.

Lucy’s fingers sank into Thorne’s hair, and she gave in to her need, opening her mouth against his, tasting his tongue, his teeth, while she tightened her legs around his hips, grinding slowly against the solidity of his cock. She licked the roof of his mouth, and when he grunted in approval, she suckled his tongue.

He kissed her harder, deeper even than she’d imagined, as if he could enter her through her mouth, and when his bare hand slipped under her skirts, she nearly climaxed at the unbearable friction of his skin against hers. His touch lingered at the back of her knee, and a quiver of bliss shot straight to the center of her. Impatient, greedy, Lucy reached between them and began pulling up her skirts.

She’d dressed nicely, a plain mulberry-colored silk gown with a neckline only slightly lower than her usual dresses, her thinnest petticoat beneath. The material was slick beneath her palms, and Thorne reached down to help her without stopping his kisses. Lucy pulled him tighter, kissed him harder in return, pressing against him as though she could melt into his skin and quench the burning need beneath her own.

Thorne slipped his hand up between her thighs, keeping her aloft with one arm as he gently rubbed his thumb over her entrance. The pearl at the top of her quim throbbed in time with his movements, and he broke off the kiss to whisper in her ear.

“I’m going to make you come now, Lucy.”

Lucy bent her head back against the wall and waited for the release he promised.

A cobweb waved at her from the top of the bookshelves.

Lucy squeezed her eyes shut. Now was not the time to worry about the cleanliness of the office. Not that there was ever time to worry when there were more cures to mix than she had hours in the day. So much work awaited her this week, the familiar choke hold of worry fought for supremacy against the pleasure of Thorne’s touch.

“Lucy,” Thorne said, his lips against her neck. “Where did you go?”

His warm hand had stilled at the juncture of her thighs. That sensation of melting, of falling, had left.

“I can’t,” she said. “I want to. I’m so sorry, but I can’t.”

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, concern pulling down the corners of his eyes.

“No, no. I just...” Her head dropped and she rested it on his shoulder while he continued to hold her up.

How was she to explain the way her mind worked against her body? Every time Lucy tried to let go, her muscles would clench and every thought she’d ever had would race through her brain like a herd of oxen, so noisy and distracting that she had no choice but to pull away from her pleasure.

“Were my kisses not compelling?” he asked. His question brushed against her mouth behind the rough tickle of his beard.

“They were,” she said, her skin still afire with residual longing.

Thorne took his hand out from under her skirts and Lucy fought back tears. She’d ruined everything. He would think she was strange, would never want to...

“Were my touches not gentle enough?” he asked, trailing the back of his hand down her neck to her chest, then back around her to pull down her dress as far as it would go, freeing her breasts.

Once again, her clit throbbed, and Lucy nearly cried in frustration.

“I can’t...” She lifted her head and rolled her bottom lip under her front teeth, trying to think of how to explain.

“I go too far and can’t come back. My head won’t stay quiet after that.”

“Where are you going?” he asked.

Lucy knew he wasn’t joking. His eyes held hers, and she could feel him listening to her with his whole body.

Where did she go?

“To work, always,” she confessed. “To home sometimes. To where I am needed and where I am not.”

“I can take you out of your head, Lucy, only if you give me permission.”

Permission.

This would make them equal participants.

Lucy nodded slowly. Yes. Yes, she would do this.

“There are tins of prophylactics in the bottom drawer of the counter out front,” she said. “Shall I go fetch them?”

Thorne embraced Lucy’s torso, trapping her arms at her sides beneath his. He pushed his cock against her hips, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Not yet. Not this time.” Thorne’s voice was so low and thick, she felt the words down her spine, beneath her skin.

“I give you permission, then,” she said. “I want you to help me.” Unsure of what help she needed, Lucy trusted that Thorne held the power somehow to quiet the thoughts and take her away.

“Let go,” he said with no inflection.

Lucy didn’t understand. She tried to move but he’d pinned her against the wall. There was no place she could go.

“Lucy. Let go,” he said once more.

Lucy struggled against Thorne’s hold, half-heartedly at first, and then when she realized he wasn’t moving an inch, she twisted in his arms. As she did, the friction against her nipples woke the desire that hadn’t completely disappeared.

Her petticoat had fallen back between them when Thorne had removed his hand, but her drawers were still untied. Thorne slowly thrust against her, his hips pulling the thin cotton against her bared center. Lucy was trapped.

Lucy. Let go.

So she did. Lucy let go of everything except what it felt like when she clamped her legs tighter around Thorne’s waist and returned his slow thrusts. She let go of any embarrassment when she moaned, sucking his bottom lip while she pressed her breast into his palm. Any time her brain threatened to interrupt her pleasure, Lucy fought Thorne’s hold, fighting him to let go when she couldn’t force herself to do that.

Thorne ground his cock in a steady rhythm, hard enough to tease her but not hard enough to hurt. He pushed her breast up with one hand and bent to take it in his mouth while he kept moving his hips. The pleasure from his mouth combined with the throbbing need at her center made Lucy see stars when she closed her eyes.

Tighter and tighter his hold, harder and harder they thrust, as though their friction could disappear the material between them until finally, the tension snapped, and Lucy truly did let go. Her head thrown back, she let loose a silent scream of completion, and Thorne lifted his head from her breast, grunted, and pushed his hips one last time against the softness of her center, his mouth exploring her temple and his hands coming up to frame Lucy’s face. He made no sign of embarrassment at having come before removing his trousers.

“Lucy Peterson,” he whispered, then ran the tip of his tongue along the curve of her jaw, painting a line of desire along her skin. “That was incredibly satisfying. Please, never tell me if you were thinking about Mr. Gentry’s tumor while I came. I will never survive it.”

Lucy giggled, then laughed outright.

“Jonathan Thorne,” she said. “You can be assured that I followed your orders and let go, much to my satisfaction as well.”

Their eyes met, then held.

A tickle of fear rose from Lucy’s belly at what she saw in Thorne’s gaze, but she squashed it with the reminder that a man’s touch held no promises.

Sex did not mean love.

No matter how good it felt.