32. More Falling

32

More Falling

After only a second or two, Warrick angled his head to the side, evading the light pressure of her mouth. “I don’t want to hold back, not with this kiss,” he rasped against her skin. “Nor do I want you to take alarm and cause you to tremble and trot.”

If he scared her with his ardor, scared her at all, and caused her to run? ’Twould cut like?—

Gentle, if determined, fingers upon his jaw turned him back. “I might be trembling, but not trotting away from you. From us. Please.”

With that, he released all the restraint and yearning he’d stifled every time he’d been near her. His strong hands splayed across her back, his tongue delved within her mouth, licking against hers. Her ardent moan and eager response fired his own. His groin twitched—or did it?—as her tongue reciprocated, following into his mouth, surging against him, drinking in his taste as he consumed hers.

His hands roamed up and down her spine, found the plumped flesh of her arse and squeezed once, twice. She squirmed toward him, not away, and he tugged her forward, released her buttocks to draw her higher against his chest. She scrambled ever closer, bringing her legs up and over his.

The persistent bird swooped nearby, Mercury’s blind but tenacious chase tightening the rope about his wrist. He firmed his balance, his hold on the delightful bundle now, somehow, in his lap at long last.

Breath ragged, tongues active, the cold air heating around them, they kissed and kissed. Her legs wrapped around his waist, feet locked behind his back—thank heavens for low stone walls—as she rubbed against him, both firing his blood and soothing his soul.

His hands mapped across her back, stroked up from her waist, fingertips nearing her spine while his thumbs—torturous, traitorous bastards that they were—edged over the sides of her lush breasts. Her hands petted his jaw, his cheeks, fingers threaded through his hair, tips scratching along his scalp.

A couple of excited barks and the rope on his wrist tugged, but not painfully. Nay, the only harsh and painful thing between them was desire. Hitting hard, hot and fast. After so many long months without his prim Aphrodite—who was anything but, he had come to learn—he should have anticipated the conflagration.

Though his past injuries still deadened much feeling, and the cold stone deadened the rest, he imagined she rocked her loins against his. Imagined he felt her slippered heels snug about his hips, his sitting place through the weathered-dampness of his trousers. Imagined he was hard as a result. But wasn’t sure. Wasn’t thinking that far below, concentrating instead upon her mouth. The sweetly swollen lips that sighed against his when they broke apart before surging back together.

Capturing her top lip with his teeth, he exulted in her moan. Released her to swipe his tongue back into her mouth, only to retreat after a few strokes and nibble her lower lip until he enticed yet another sweetly seductive groan. She continued stroking fingers over his head and neck, nails engaged over his scalp until all he wanted was to kiss her till sunrise. Until forever.

She rested her breasts against his chest, the big mounds that he felt for certain. He skimmed one greedy hand beneath the edge of her night-rail, grazed his fingers up the surprisingly warm flesh of her leg and thigh. Groaned against her lips. Could not help but venture delicately farther…

Her heat. Her warmth. The liquid desire from her body greeted his questing fingers the moment he reached her core. And shockingly—he was erect. His prick pressed against his thumb even as he sought to turn his hand, to caress her more fully. Breathing as though her chest were made of bellows, she leaned back, touched his cheeks, placed fingers on either side of his mouth. “Yes,” she breathed between them, “aye, please…more.”

He brought his thumb up, through her moist petals, edging deeper and higher, until she wiggled against his forays, and then he did it again. Her slick heat coating his thumb. His breath came swiftly and lightheadedness hit out of nowhere. Had he forgotten to breathe? His lips still devoured hers. His heart thundered against his ribs.

Prim. Aphrodite—the woman he needed beyond all others—was in his arms, not afraid but eager and responsive, the motion of her hips encouraging?—

With a sharp cry, the bird flit inches above their heads. Mercury gave chase, attempting to scale Warrick’s legs, threatening to destroy his tenuous balance.

They broke apart. Abandoning his naughty play, he wrapped his arms fast around her back, holding her secure. Harsh, staggered breathing shared betwixt them on a ragged chuckle.

“Oh, my.”

“Indeed.”

But he’d relaxed his guard too soon, for the bird chattered hauntingly and the dog responded. The rope pulled hard against his arm, jerked him to the side, and in his efforts to combat the motion, he lost. Fell backward, brought her with him, and toppled, hitting the ground on the other side of the wall in a blaze of embarrassment, aye, but more one of pain.

Pain that burst through his low back like a raging wall of fire. Slammed into his forehead as he held on to consciousness with a thread…

It took Aphrodite seconds, seconds that seemed like an eternity, to make sense of what happened. They had been kissing. Touching. The wild thrill of riding his fingers, of experiencing such an intimate, slick touch, one felt so much deeper than any of her own. And then she had been flying, soaring, seeking the elusive goal his tantalizing touch promised, arching her hips, groaning, kissing…kissing… Oh his taste, his tongue. She could not get enough of him. And then she flew faster. But instead of soaring, she crashed. Landed with a jolt that stunned. Hitting the ground with a staggering thump that jarred every bone in her invigorated, now thoroughly disordered, body.

Behind them, claws scrabbled against the wall, Mercury barked like a madling.

Against the echo of Richard’s teeth knocking together at their hard landing, she aimed to make sense of the insensible. Her woman’s flesh fluttered around nothing, seeking the return of his touch, so hungry for him—for all of him—yet empty, barren… Her brain grappled against her body’s cravings. Not the time!

Nay, not the time at all. She shoved away the disquieting urges, the emptiness now taunting her.

“Are you injured?”

“Did you hurt yourself?”

They both asked at once.

“Back.” Anguish propelled his sharp response. “Something’s…bad. Ahh, different ,” he gritted out from tightly held teeth. “Give me but a moment. I shall rise and?—”

“You shall wait . Let me see.”

“ See? ” he snorted as she untangled off him as awkwardly as she felt—what they had been doing!—and as carefully as she could without jarring him further. “Prim, ’tis not sunlight but moonlight”—a harsh whimper, one he instantly subdued—“that surrounds as now. Doubt you will be seeing much of anything till morn. Return inside where?—”

“Pah. As if you think I’m leaving you to freeze here until the cock crows.” Quickly did she explore every inch of him she could reach. His legs, one upright still resting on the wall; the other had slid wide, down the side. Perspiration dotted his brow, and above his lip, where she cupped the side of his face. He lay in shadow. She moved to the side so she could see him better, with the nearly full moon at her back.

Moisture thickened the air. Are you sure it isn’t just coming from betwixt your legs? She shook off that naughty thought. Heavy clouds marched forth, heralding more weather. “Talk to me. You said your back. Where else?”

“Head. Did I split it open?” The question was more ragged gasp than clear speech. “That and my spine?”

“May I turn you on your side?”

He didn’t answer, just kept breathing in a deep, harsh pattern.

She brought his legs together, lowered them both down this side of the wall. Sensing her movements, Mercury bounded near, jumping against the other side of the stone wall, small yips of delight, thinking this was a new game. His front paws scraped across the top, spilling frost down upon them as he sought a way over.

“Cocks crowing… You remarked upon…” Even as the rock fence kept them shadowed, his speech, though slow, gained in clarity and volume.

That had to be good, right? “What of them?”

Kneeling at his side, she lifted and heaved the shoulder closest to her so she could roll him to his side.

“Have to ask now, Prim. If I freeze tonight or Old Winter pilfers my ballocks, might not get another chance. Did you…notice? My cock crowed—for you.”

Her frantic motions stilled. “I…ahm…”

“First time, Aphrodite. Second or third if I count dreams and music, but all for you. Ay!” Another burst of pain he quickly stifled. “Growing darker. If I falter and swoon, needed you to know. You’re my angel, sweet Prim.”

“’Tis growing darker because of the clouds. Can you smell the snow?”

His angel ? Would angels have participated in what she had just been doing?

Oh glory and goodness—what was he spouting? Admitting to spectral fancies? “I need to check your garret for bumps and bruises.”

“Aye. You need to…” His volume wavered. “Check me all over, I’m sure.”

The rake. He might be in severe pain and close to sweltering into a faint in truth, but his wits were intact, that was assured.

As soon as she had him turned, she brought fingers to his back. He did not react. But a thorough, explorative pat over him and the ground “showed” her much, especially what caused the pain. “You landed on a large stone. A jagged-edged, pointy one. And with your full weight, and mine as well. Can you move? Can you still move your toes?”

He laughed at that. A pained chuckle. “I nearly fainted to naught, still might, and all we care about is can I wiggle a toe. I do not know. The thought of trying is agonizing.”

Mercury barked, no longer playful, but now howls of distress, his efforts frenzied as the dog tried to leap over. “Let me settle him and we shall get you inside.”

That he didn’t answer nor protest worried her. Even weakened and upon his back, he was a force: humor, wit, determination. The thought of hauling all two hundred pounds of him by herself, if he sweltered to naught, chilled more than the air.

After unwinding the rope circling his wrist, she climbed over the wall and urged Mercury inside.

She secured the dog in her uncle’s bedroom, a place he was comfortable with, but still had to battle Mercury’s efforts to slip out the door before she could shut it. Of course, howling plaintively all the while.

“Stop whining, boy. I shall let you out as soon as can be.”

She returned outside with a blanket to see that fat, puffy flakes had begun to fall, the moon’s light shuddered by thick clouds. “Still awake?”

An unmistakable grunt her answer.

“All right. I do not want you to try and walk, not now. Let’s get you on this and I will drag you around to the front.”

He barked another laugh, reached out and grasped her ankle. “No. Nay.” He took several breaths, less ragged than before. “The pain. It’s faded, partially. Grant me a few more moments and I want to stand. You’ll not be dragging me around this cottage and the next to get back to your uncle’s. Who knows how many stickers, rocks and brambles you might embed into my noggin?”

It took longer than one might wish, but less time than she had expected, and they were no longer battling the cold and falling flakes. Just Richard’s flagging energy and the constant noise from Mercury’s hearty lungs.

First was a brief rest in the kitchen, where they removed his greatcoat and she brought a chamber pot per his request and made herself absent, but only after his, “Ah, damn me. Apologies, Prim. Appears you’ll also be cleaning the broken crock and flour after all.” And her, “As if that bothers me any. Summon me when you’re done.”

And then ’twas time they made for his room, pausing in between “steps” while she raced around him, dragging two chairs from the kitchen forth and back, to give him handholds and a “seat” when needed, both of them cursing his mysteriously “missing” chair.

“Should have brought the lamp.” Thought of only after she bumped into a table and knocked something off with a thump .

“Cannot do it all, even as talented as you are.”

His room was in shadows. No curtains on his window, but only muted moonlight now that snow fell. She eased him onto the mattress. “On your stomach,” she directed. “I need to inspect?—”

“No, thank you.” He remained sitting. Naught but a dark, gasping-for-breath shadow. “Now that I’m here, I will be fine, just return to bed.”

“Oh, you sparking imbecile. If you think I am going to run craven now .” She bent to lift his feet, tugging on the bottom of his trousers until they, too, were situated atop the bed. “After I retrieve the kitchen lamp, I shall see if there is any damage visible , make you some tea to help you sleep, and remain downstairs in case you call out.”

His hand shot out and snared her sleeve through the gloom. “If you expect to stay downstairs? Near? Waiting for me to call out, then you can damn well sleep next to me in this bed. It isn’t as though I will be doing anything untoward. Not tonight.” Definitely stronger now. No chance of losing consciousness now, not with how forceful he sounded.

“Not tonight? So mayhap I can look forward to something tomorrow night?”

“Do not make me laugh. It hurts too much, you wicked woman.”

She left his room with a naughty smile, glad he could not see it. How quickly she had come to both an awareness of him as well as an acceptance of their closeness. Granted, the unexpected proximity still spun her thoughts into disorder—as he did her body—but despite their joint flirting, the earth-shaking kisses of earlier, she could not deny the ease she felt in his company.

Moments later, she bustled back in, placed the lamp near his bed and turned it up. “Can you take off your shirt? Trousers?”

“You just want to get your greedy hands on my body.”

“How could I aspire to anything else?”

He snorted at that. “It’s not pretty, what you’re going to see.”

“That’s all right. Your face makes up for it.”

He laughed and groaned. “Told you not to be amusing.”

Well, he needed to stop being so deuced appealing. “Let us remove your shirt and loosen your falls. We may not need to take the trousers off?—”

“Pity.”

Ignoring that, they worked together—or she worked and he rolled, maneuvering from one side to the other, face-and-stomach down as he was, the clothing practically trapped beneath the bulk of his body. When she helped him tug the shirt over his head, saw the expanse of his naked back, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from exclaiming.

Though she’d seen all of him the day of her arrival, the whole—the standing whole—had proved so mesmerizing, she hadn’t studied, at length, his spine. But seeing the torn and once-shredded skin, healed but severely twisted, scars upon scars, had her stomach and throat rebelling.

She slapped one hand over her mouth. Swallowed down the sick nausea that churned like the ocean in storm. She refused to turn away. To blink or demure. He lived it. The least she could do was learn the extent. To understand, if only a fraction.

“You did not believe me, did you?” A bleak whisper. “Told you to leave off, that I?—”

“It could be worse.” He could be dead.

And she was so very, very thankful he was not. That cleared her throat, calmed her stomach. Made her heed the urge to lean down and press her lips to the worst of it—whether he could feel her or not.

“I’m glad it’s not.”

“That makes both of us.” Of course, she’d seen worse injuries. Living with her uncle, a trained surgeon, and assisting him, meant she was no stranger to gruesome injuries. ’Twas that this wasn’t simply a patient to help. This was the man she lo?—

None of that, now, missy. Love is for ladies; lust is for affection-starved governesses who know their lot in life.

Another light kiss and she straightened. Now that she had gotten over the shock of things, it wasn’t as awful. “I believe, for all that it looks quite wretched, you healed rather well.” She probed the area, tugged down the waistband of his trousers. “Goodness. You did land on that rock. Your skin is torn.” She feathered around the area. He hissed, stiffened, then held still. “You felt that, then?”

Something to celebrate? Or to deepen concern?

“Every brush of your fingers. Please. Continue.”

She did, exploring the gash that had ripped through the surface of his skin in a series of jagged tears. Since he could not see, she became his eyes. Described things as Uncle had demonstrated time and again while her younger self had hidden nearby. “Everything around the gash is red and swollen. Likely to bruise, I am sure. ’Tis not quite a three-inch rent upon your skin. And not just one, but a small series, it appears.” Her weight crashing down on top of his hadn’t helped.

“Bleeding?” he asked.

“Not drip bleeding,” she said, lightly circling the area. “Scrape bleeding, yes. I don’t know that there’s anything to clean from it, as it didn’t rip through your clothing. Wait, let me make sure.” She climbed over his legs and reached down from the side of the bed, where she’d tossed his shirt. Lifting it, she sought the bottom hem, then searched upward. “No. No loose threads, no tears in your garments, so there is that, at least.”

When she pushed off the edge of the mattress, he shackled her wrist and tugged until she toppled onto her side, facing him. His head was turned, hair mussed and damp. “It doesn’t need cleaned, then,” he concluded, deep blue eyes sparkling as much as ever, she was pleased to note. “Stay. After you let out the barking alarm.”

Stay? Stay on a bed, in a bed, with a man she knew was in no position to take any sort of liberties—even should she want him to? Drat.

She gave a deep sigh. “Let me turn down the lamp. In truth, there is nowhere I would rather be. Are you cold? Shall I retrieve more blankets? Build up the fire?”

The ones she’d started after her arrival and he’d helped maintain. He shook his head, the action muffled by the mattress. “Dog. Lamp. Naught else unless you are cold.”

“After lugging your ranklesome self through the cottage? Not cold at all.”

He gave her a sleepy smile and a squeeze on her arm before she slipped from his hold and went to release Merc to a suitable number of murmurs, pets and apologies for his brief and unexpected confinement. Then she returned, the canine snuffling at her night-rail. Her frost-dampened night-rail. Extinguishing the lamp, she removed the wet, dirtied garment, illicitly drew his discarded shirt over her head and climbed atop the bedclothes. Pausing. Uncertain.

Was he still awake?

“I hear your dithering. Lie down, Prim. The dog shall chaperone.”

A small smile grew upon her face when Mercury sniffed atop the bed, made his way around and jumped up behind Richard. The dog dug into the coverlet and settled with a loud sigh that ruffled his long lips.

Gingerly she followed suit, lying stiffly on her back until a big arm hauled her closer, followed by a grunt of discomfort. “Relax,” he coaxed, drawing her back to his front. “Become comfortable, remain at ease, and sleep.”

Was he telling her—or himself?

“ You cannot be comfortable,” she said, “sardined between us.”

“Of course not. Feels like a damn horse stomped on me and left his shoe embedded in my spine. I confess, though, I have grown accustomed to the dog’s heat. ’Twill likely soothe my tight muscles if naught else.”

The arm he’d wrapped about her remained neutrally at her waist. She grabbed his hand and brought it up to her heart, held it there. Every bit as much as she held him inside that very organ as well. “Can you sleep? Should I bring you some wine? Port?”

“Likely so, but no. Just let me breathe you in.”

And so it was, that cold and snowy night that progressed so very differently from whence it began, Aphrodite Primrose knew three things with utter certainty:

1. Sleeping with a man brought about extreme awareness of herself as a woman.

2. ’Twas significantly warmer lying alongside him without any coverings than it was sleeping bundled up alone.

And…

3. She would never, ever, ever be able to forget the handsome rake after this.

Her brain was doomed. Heart stolen and lost forevermore.

Vivid memories embedding themselves with every second, every breath that gusted over her shoulder and across her cheek...