Page 34 of Unforeseen Affairs (The Sedleys #6)

Charlotte opened her eyes. It was far earlier than she expected; the gentle hint of dawn was barely filtering through the old, worn shutters of the room’s single window.

She felt slow, with a hazy sense of security hanging thick about her, clouding her senses.

More than a minute passed before she realized a heavy arm was draped over her, with a hard, warm body pressed against her back.

She stilled.

Last night he’d all but sworn he’d never touch her again. It had not been a good feeling, with the handsome lieutenant so stridently keeping his distance from her as if she were an untamed beast.

She would have sighed out loud, but for fear of waking him.

Charlotte felt like an untamed beast. Even having just awoken, that uneasy, expectant ache was already building within her, growing considerably every time she considered the heft of his forearm or the firm pressure of his chest against her back.

Even his frowns and protests from the night before had done nothing to dampen her ardor.

No, he seemed even more human when his mask slipped. Baser, rawer.

Charlotte squeezed her thighs together, which unfortunately only reminded her of just how thin the fabric of her drawers was, and how close he was, how close his…

Her breath caught.

Some things in this world were a mystery to her, and likely always would be.

What, if anything, awaited beyond the mortal coil?

Did her Sedley forebears toil in Hell, or had they been granted forgiveness by the Lord, as her stepmother seemed to think?

What other direction might her life have taken, had her mother not fallen ill?

Would Charlotte have come up in the theater herself, and become an accomplished actress?

She would never know. Just as she would likely never ascertain the truth of how the dowsing crystal that had disappeared from her bedside table had turned up in one of her younger siblings’ dirt mounds in the garden.

But other things… other things were just waiting for her to discover them, if only she were bold enough.

She knew that her little escapade might have already begun to unravel.

It was possible that her father and stepmother in London had received word from Cousin Marcus and his wife, alerting them to the fact that neither she nor Cousin Bess had turned up at their home in Knockton.

And with them not having made it to Manchester, the time they had left to accomplish their mission was already running out.

Thankfully, though, Charlotte had always been adaptable, and it occurred to her that she ought to see the positive side of their trip’s unplanned detour.

So she shut her eyes and smiled, listening to Sir Colin’s shallow breathing.

It was a soothing sound, and she soon found herself matching his rhythm, breath for breath. She shifted slightly, settling her back more snugly against his chest.

And her rear against his thick, rigid prick.

What would it feel like, buried inside her?

She bit her lower lip and tried not to move. She didn’t want to find out what he might think of her, were she to awaken him by rubbing herself against him like that. She had no choice but to lie still under his arm, desperately trying not to think about the heat rising rapidly between her own legs.

Suddenly his arm moved, accompanied by a low, sleepy rumble of pleasure. Her heart took off at a gallop.

Would he push her away? Leap from the bed as if he’d burnt himself on a red-hot iron?

Not yet. For he lazily brought his hand to her side, fingers grazing first against her breast, then her waist and the gentle curve of her hip. And then he squeezed her.

Charlotte could not hold back the moan that escaped her lips, powerful and yearning.

He went still.

She bit her lip again, desperate for him to continue, aching to feel him and join with him. To finally realize her womanhood, and the culmination of this desire for him. To revel in his desire for her. He thought her pretty. He thought her brave.

Charlotte felt a flutter in her stomach. He had feelings for her. She knew it. He had to.

Minutes ticked by, the time stretching out interminably. Colin did not remove his hand from her rear, nor did he pull away from her back where he was pressed firmly against her in his sleep.

Tears filled her eyes. Charlotte squeezed them shut, horrified at her inability to hold them back.

All this because an honorable man does not wish to corrupt me?

How to make him understand that she wished to be corrupted, that she wished to be ruined—that is, if it were by him?

It required her to speak, and she did not trust her voice in the moment.

Suddenly he shifted, and his movements felt more deliberate now. He was waking up. Charlotte was about to scoot away, but he gently pulled her closer, pushing the bedlinens down her legs. His mouth came to her shoulder and pressed a soft kiss against the lace trim of her chemise.

She released a ragged and relieved sigh.

“Charlotte,” he murmured against her skin, “if I—”

“Shhh,” she hissed, not wanting him to cry her off, to deny her this.

“But—”

“Please,” she begged, arching back into him.

He made his own muffled moaning sound as he accepted her into his hold, his arms encircling her slowly and hesitantly as if in disbelief.

“I cannot,” he protested, even as one hand slid down her middle, between her legs. Even as he kissed her neck, firm and demanding. “Not without asking—”

“Please!” Charlotte cried, her hand moving to grasp her breast seemingly of its own volition. She ground herself back against him. He felt even more rigid, even more exciting. “Please, Colin,” she gasped softly as she palmed herself. “You promised not to apologize.”

Then his fingers ghosted the slit in her drawers, and she cried out.

“Charlotte, I must ask you, before we continue—”

“Yes!” she keened, her breath hitching as he slid his hand underneath the fabric. “Of course yes.”

How could he think otherwise? How could Colin even dream that she might not wish for this? She shoved her back into him again, and was rewarded with a strained groan.

And then his entire bearing shifted in an instant, and he fell upon her like a starving man.

Charlotte could barely catch her breath as he dipped into her with a finger, then two, thrusting in and out with such a natural and needed movement that she wondered why she’d never considered such an act before.

She was certainly no simpleton; she’d read plenty of books, seen plenty of lurid imagery.

She’d even petted herself on occasion… but this she’d never attempted.

When he removed his fingers she wanted to whimper, but he deftly dragged them up her sex, slick and wet, to circle the center of her pleasure.

It felt thrilling, powerful… and yet at the same time, the simplest and most human thing she could imagine.

She sank into the delight, into a heightened awareness of all of her senses—from the taut anticipation coiled in her body to the smell of him, to the strong, collected energy she felt emanating from each of his touches.

He kicked away the rest of the bedlinens, freeing her completely, and she hooked her foot around his, opening her legs wider and allowing him more room to pleasure her.

With his other hand he took her breast, which he began kneading unyieldingly as his fingers worked between her legs, quickening just as her breath did.

By the time he slowed long enough to tease at her hardened nipple—brushing it gently at first before rolling it between his fingers—she’d nearly reached that height of ecstasy.

And then Charlotte did cry out, moaning his name in a low, urgent voice with all the wildness and hot, molten pleasure that coursed through her.

When she finally stopped trembling, she felt profoundly at peace; it was as if she floated in a large, warm tub, her entire body at ease.

With a shuddering breath, she relaxed even deeper into Colin’s hold. His kisses upon her neck resumed, slow and languid.

If that had been desire, then this—lying here with him, two people setting aside the worries of everyday life to find respite from their loneliness—must be contentment.

Satisfied to remain like this forever, Charlotte let her eyes flutter shut. How long they remained so she could not say. But the light in the room was much brighter when Colin gently shifted her, turning her so that she could face him while cradled in his arms.

In the morning light he was somehow even more perfect, with his hair falling over his brow, his lips wet and parted, the masculine lines of his face no longer stern, but rugged and romantic. His eyes, earnest and heavy-lidded, were fixed on her, waiting and wanting.

Looking at him now felt different. But she did not quail, and held his gaze as she wet her own lips.

Those kind, gentle eyes fell to her mouth. Another wave of delicious heat washed over her.

He kissed her.

But more meaningfully than before, that time in the alleyway.

More certain, full of feeling and hope, rather than desperation.

Her hand came naturally to his shoulder, and she caressed his neck as she returned the kiss, parting her lips to deepen the connection between them, to taste his mouth and allow him to taste hers.

He still wore his shirt and trousers from the day before, and beneath that, whatever undergarments men wore.

She wanted to see, to find out and then peel them off.

Thinking of her own half-undone chemise, she began fiddling with the tiny, terrible buttons that remained.

Colin seemed to understand; without breaking the kiss he reached for her drawers, the linen wrinkled and damp, the slit parted so wide she was completely exposed.

Sparing her one gentle stroke, his palm ghosting over her hair, he came to the tie at her waist and deftly undid it.