Chapter Twenty-Three

Samuel didn’t say one word as they collected their things. The goodbyes were dismal, with even his mother suffering from a momentary lapse of politeness, allowing Myfanwy and Samuel to leave the cottage without a proper farewell. It was for the best. Myfanwy didn’t know what she would have said anyway. Thank you for this lovely afternoon didn’t seem appropriate under the current, acrid circumstances.

As they walked out to the carriage, Samuel kept his distance, but even the few steps he lagged behind Myfanwy felt like a schism that might never be bridged. His chin down, his eyes heavy and downcast, Samuel was a shadow of himself. His body continued to move, but his soul, the happiness that Myfanwy had begun to see these last several weeks, was missing. He was pale and bloodless, as if being here had drained it all from him.

Was this truly what he did every Sunday? Travel to his family home and withstand his father’s jealousy and abuse in order to gift his mother money? Couldn’t he just send the money with a messenger? Anything seemed preferable to having to sit at the same table as that cruel man. A man who looked so much like Samuel but was so very different.

Nevertheless, the answer came swiftly to Myfanwy. The joy his mother had for his presence was telling. Samuel would never take that away from her; he couldn’t hide in London knowing it would cause his mother pain, even if visiting created fresh cuts into his skin each week. On this one day, Samuel would always lose. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.

He stopped outside the carriage, lifting his hand to help Myfanwy inside. Still, he kept his gaze averted as if he was Medusa and afraid he might turn her to stone with one glance. Her heart wept at the pink spots highlighting his cheeks, at the red rims lining his eyes. Samuel wouldn’t cry in front of her, but the effort it took to remain impassive was making its mark.

She placed her hand on the top of his shoulder. “Samuel—”

“Not now,” he said. The words were blunt and harsh, and he softened them with a wan smile. “Please? Not now, Myfi. I just want to go.”

She dropped her hand. “Of course,” she said, allowing him to tuck her into the conveyance. “I understand.”

However, the longer they sat together, bumping from the road, their thoughts clouding the atmosphere like a fireplace with a broken flue, the more Myfanwy did not understand. Samuel had no reason to be mistreated so. He hadn’t failed. And he had absolutely no reason to be disappointed in himself.

Samuel was…well, Samuel was Samuel.

And the love of her life.

And Myfanwy would not let him live one more second on this Earth believing he was anything less than remarkable.

She was on him before Samuel had a chance to blink. Crossing the divide of the carriage, straddling his lap, Myfanwy locked herself in place with her thighs. If he thought he was going to throw her off, he was in for a fight.

Samuel’s eyes went wide, and his mouth opened, and Myfanwy cut him off the only way she knew how. Placing her hands on his cheeks, she brought him toward her, crushing him with a kiss that would leave no questions. Myfanwy swept her tongue between his teeth, conquering any resistance she felt, canting her head so that she could envelop him totally and completely. Samuel was safe in her arms; he was whole and admired and loved.

And he was…unresponsive.

For a moment, Myfanwy felt his arm lift behind her. She could sense it hanging at her back, not touching her, as if he were judging whether he should continue this dance or sit it out. That was no good. Yet again, she couldn’t allow him to think.

Still holding his face, Myfanwy leaned back, meeting his eyes, which were bright but also stunned.

“I am going to make love to you right now, Samuel Everett,” she stated firmly. “And before you say it, you have to know that you are not capable of ruining me. You are the finest man I have ever known. Nothing you could ever do would change that or lessen my feelings for you. Do you understand?”

Myfanwy was certain they were both holding their breath. She waited, fighting the bashfulness and unease that threatened to force her back to her side of the carriage, pretending this whole burst of emotion had never happened.

The ring around Samuel’s damaged eye became deeper, blazing like blue flames. The intensity scared her, as did his continued quiet, but his next movement saved him. Cautiously, almost timidly, Samuel stretched toward her, placing a sweet, languid kiss on her lips. It lingered there, rekindling their breathing and the passion that was stirring between them. And then his hand behind her finally landed, gently palming the back of her head, shifting her so that his kiss could gain more purchase, gain more of her.

And that was all it took.

Myfanwy’s pulse hammered between her ears, creating a thumping, savage rhythm of pure need. Samuel fixed his other hand on her hip and intensified his grip, rocking and swirling his pelvis against hers in pace with their kisses.

The atmosphere was charged and muggy, and in no time, Myfanwy was tearing at her clothes, begging Samuel to help release her from the confines of her tight muslin sleeves.

“I don’t want to—”

“Don’t you dare say you don’t want to do this…that you don’t think we should do this,” she cut in ferociously.

Samuel regarded her curiously, his smile crooked. “I wasn’t going to say that. We definitely should do this. Over and over again. Forever and forever.” As if putting a period on that statement, he bit at the rose-petal curve of her earlobe. His hands trembled as he reached behind her to work on her buttons. “I was going to say that I don’t want to hurt you. I should go slow, but I don’t think I can.”

“Then don’t,” Myfanwy replied with a franticness to her voice that excited her. “I’m not asking you to. Just give me what I want. You.”

Samuel grunted in response, and together they fought through the layers of fabric they could. Myfanwy bounced and twisted on his lap, ever mindful that the more she wiggled, the harder he became under her. Whenever she would shift too far away, Samuel would pull her back down, grinding his pelvis into the cradle of her thighs, rubbing her until she was panting with the thrill of what was to come. Having never made love before, Myfanwy was in the dark on how it would work in a carriage. To be honest, she hadn’t thought that far ahead. But, as usual, putting her trust in Samuel was a safe bet.

He had no issue with the confined space. Samuel wrapped his arms around her torso and hugged her with a hint of vulnerability. The act almost stole all the breath from her lungs, but Myfanwy swiftly concluded that breathing was not as important as hearing his heart beat erratically against her sensitive skin.

“My God, I love your smell,” he said, his soft voice at odds with the tension in his body.

Myfanwy giggled. “What do I smell like?” She dipped her head to his neck and licked his skin, delighting in the way he jerked at the sensation. He tasted salty and clean, and she had to do it again.

Samuel lifted his head from her hair and kissed a trail down her neck, pushing the neckline of her dress down and out of his way. Awkwardly, Myfanwy tried to help him and rearranged her gown so that her arms were finally free, and it pooled at her hips. Her corset still shielded her body from him, but at least she could hold him without being so restrained. Freedom was what she needed, utter abandon.

Languidly, like dew drifting down a flower stem, Samuel caressed her clavicle with his nose and forehead. He only stopped to kiss her at the base of her neck, before continuing his journey. Overheated and piqued, Myfanwy shivered from the attention.

“You smell like lavender and sex,” he said with a hoarse chuckle. He ducked lower and reached inside her corset to lift out her breasts, which were firm and puckered from the frenzy. Samuel blew on the nipples, a wicked smile on his face as the rosy points stood proudly under his amorous onslaught.

He caught her eye and held it as he dipped his head to a nipple, rolling his tongue around it like it was melting candy, catching every last bit, before finally capturing it between his teeth. Myfanwy’s mouth dropped open at the intimacy, but nothing came out, and nor could she look away. It was a confusing, heart-pounding effect having him touch her in that way while also making love to her with his gaze. She felt weightless and raw, prime for ravishment.

When Samuel turned to the other nipple, Myfanwy attempted to remember what they were speaking about. She licked her lips. “I…I don’t even know what sex smells like,” she replied. In response, Samuel grinned around her flushed nipple. “But I’m sure I don’t smell like it.”

It was if she’d dared him to do it, because in an instant, Samuel’s hands were underneath her skirts. Without taking his lips from her breast, he repositioned Myfanwy in his lap so his knuckles could sweep across the heavenly schism between her legs…once, twice…three lazy passes, which were enough to make her close her eyes and mew in pleasure.

“You always get so wet for me,” Samuel purred against her skin. “Sopping wet.”

Myfanwy’s eyes shot open. “I’m…sorry?” she said, although she couldn’t understand why.

Samuel nipped at her nipple. “Never apologize. You’re perfect. I want you wet. Because when you’re wet, I can do this.”

He sank two fingers into Myfanwy, and a fullness overtook her. It was still slightly uncomfortable, and her muscles tensed from the invasion. Samuel leaned toward her, taking her mouth once more, exploring her ecstasy as he pumped into her, stretching her walls, milking her sex until the discomfort was completely lost. “Breathe,” he said, resting his bottom lip on hers, sweeping his tongue along her teeth. “I’m getting you ready, sweetheart. I think we both know I’m much bigger than my fingers.”

Myfanwy answered with a broken laugh. He was showing her too much at the moment for her to focus on everything he said. When he added another finger, she winced, but didn’t pull away, not when his thumb had found the little bundle of nerves that somehow made it all work. He petted her gently, and then more insistently, undulating his hand in a way that made her dig her hands into his hair and hold on for dear life. Myfanwy bounced on his lap, recognizing the bursting stars that were beginning to build inside her lower belly, stretching all the way to the soles of her feet.

She held him against her chest in a shocking grip, but suddenly, everything was too tense. She was pulled so tight and waiting, waiting, waiting, for the tinder to spark inside her.

“Relax, my love” she heard Samuel say, but Myfanwy couldn’t. She needed something and she needed it now. Nothing could happen, nothing could move forward, until that need was assuaged.

She was bucking against his hand with abandon, and the explosion seemed to sneak up on her. One second, she was mindless, and the next she was keening, arching her back to a degree that had her head hanging halfway to her seat.

In a rush Myfanwy couldn’t contemplate, Samuel moved, and soon she was back on her side of the carriage, boneless and dreamy. He shifted between her legs and pushed up her skirts while his other hand worked impatiently at the buttons of his trousers. The blue-green vein in the middle of his forehead pulsed as he finally released his manhood and massaged it in his hand, pumping himself with the savage grace and care with which he’d just touched her.

Myfanwy watched the performance with avid curiosity, in a fever over what he was about to do to her next.

Samuel glanced at her, and the intensity of his face softened. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “You’ll be able to take me.”

“I know,” Myfanwy replied. “I’m not afraid.”

“You were the one that asked for this,” he went on, his voice hitching as his rod appeared to jump in his hand. A small spurt of liquid sat on the head, and he coated the rest of himself with the glistening substance. He slanted over her, placing one hand on the cushion at her side.

Myfanwy wiggled her bottom closer to him so that her thigh rubbed up against his swollen appendage. Samuel groaned, and she did it again. “Don’t pretend that I was the only one,” she whispered. “You wanted this too.”

Samuel closed his eyes, his forehead furrowed as he placed himself at her entrance, pushing inside one blessed inch at a time. “Open for me, baby,” he urged. Myfanwy grasped his arm and could feel the power he was using to go slow for her benefit. She took a deep breath and allowed her legs to relax as much as they could, begging her resistance to fade.

“That’s good, so good,” Samuel said, sinking halfway inside her. The pain was there. As ready as he’d made her, it hadn’t been enough, yet Myfanwy found that watching the emotions play out on his face helped her. Despite his gruff exterior, Samuel was only ever gentle with her, and her making love for the first time was just another example of that sensitivity.

But Myfanwy wasn’t a doll or made of glass. She was a woman.

She reached for his chest and began to unbutton his waistcoat and the linen shirt underneath. When she’d created enough room, she seized on his bare skin, rubbing her hands up and down his torso with the same energetic pressure she’d used for his leg. “Samuel? Samuel, look at me.”

It took a moment, but he eventually opened his glossy eyes to find her.

“Kiss me.” Without hesitation, he curved down, capturing Myfanwy’s mouth. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kept him near her, whispering on his lips, “I won’t break.”

Samuel tried to rise away from her, but she wouldn’t let him. Taking advantage of his internal confusion, she flexed her pelvis, pulling more of him inside her. The difference was startling. Actively participating in the act alleviated most of the discomfort, at least in her mind. It was like playing a match versus standing on the outside, merely watching.

She did it again, and Samuel gave up, dropping his head with a groan. “I know you won’t break,” he said, his voice strained. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I won’t let you hurt me,” she replied readily.

And it was the perfect thing to say. Samuel stared at her for a long pause before letting out a soundless laugh. He nodded, coming to terms with the rightness of that one little statement. Myfanwy was strong and sure of herself. She would not let him hurt her. Though perhaps the reason she loved Samuel so much was because he would rather die than ever do so.

“Now stop thinking and ride me,” she said, experimentally rolling her hips. Yesss. That was rather nice.

Samuel definitely agreed, because with one smooth motion, he surged into her, filling Myfanwy until she felt ready to burst. He didn’t stay there, allowing her to acclimate to their situation. Samuel’s blood was high, and she had asked for it.

There was no time to think about the consequences of the action or the minor tinge of burning that was quickly turning into a distant memory. There was only Samuel as he laid claim to her.

Like dealing with an unbroken stallion, Myfanwy kept her hands securely on the reins, matching his thrusts with little ones of her own. They pounded into one another, without finesse or poise, only lust and greedy fervor.

Samuel’s mouth was never far away. He went back and forth between her lips and her nipples, never sure which he wanted more. Myfanwy felt like her entire body was held hostage by him and his whims, and the more he doted on her, the more he coveted.

His tempo swiftly turned inelegant, and it was that zealous eagerness that pitched her over the edge. Her sex began to tighten and reach for the friction it needed. She cried out from the helpless want of it all, and Samuel answered with a cry of his own, thrusting harder and harder, faster and faster, until they were brutish and heedless for that one thing that would split them apart but also make them whole.

It came upon them in a rush. Samuel grew impossibly large, brushing her inner walls at just the right angle to make her combust, spasming and jerking inside her with shallow dives until he called out her name in a growling benediction.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Samuel whispered as he collapsed on top of her. It was a lovely prayer, though one Myfanwy wouldn’t be repeating in public anytime soon. She would save it for the bedroom.

She held the back of his head, tickling his damp neck with her shaking fingers. “I agree,” she said.

Samuel didn’t respond. He didn’t even chuckle. For the rest of the drive, he stayed in her arms, sleeping peacefully against her inviting skin.

Myfanwy did not do the same.

Now that she knew what sex smelled like, she was content to enjoy the idyllic fragrance as long as she could.