46

M emories of Clay, reading soft springtime poetry in a field of flowers, lingered in my mind as I moved through the Manor and tried to distract myself that evening. His long fingers delicately flipped through the soft old pages, eyes scanning the words and lips pursed as he found poems that spoke to him. His voice was deep, husky almost, and carried on the breeze so effortlessly that I could hear it clearly even now in my memory.

I slipped the books back into the library, expecting to find him there but seeing nothing but books and pages of notes. I caught myself pouting when I didn’t spot his tall, handsome figure leaning against any of the shelves, his nose in a book. So I continued my lazy search of the Manor, trying not to seem too eager. For my own sake but also because the house was uneasy. Ever since that night in the bathing room, it had been looming over Koen like a dark cloud and I was sure it was waiting to strike, but biding its time.

So I had tried to pull back from him, from them all. But especially Koen.

His heart was just too big and fragile. I couldn’t bear the thought of him being hurt.

It had been painful to do so, but I desperately wanted to keep him safe, and it was the only way I knew how to. My conversation with Wesley had stuck in the back of my mind. Oddly enough, it had put us on a level of understanding I don’t think he realized. I understood why he was so protective of them. They deserved every ounce of that fierce loyalty.

“Clay?” I called out, noticing a flickering haze coming from the bottom of the stairs, the flame of a candle dancing off the study’s walls. “Are you in here?” I picked up the skirt of my dress and floated around the corner to find him lighting more along the fireplace mantel. “What are you doing?”

He wore a clean white shirt and dark pants that fit nicely to his thighs. His hair pressed back off his forehead in a bundle of deep brown waves that curled around his ears and stuck out in places endearingly.

“You’re early,” he laughed, and the room was filled with the most beautiful posh sound, a playful twinkle behind his blue eyes.

“For what exactly?” I looked around and stepped further into the study to see that he had pushed all the furniture back from the center of the room and lined all the surfaces with candles. In the middle was a large blanket he had pulled off a bed upstairs and plates of food and wine.

“I know you don’t need to eat, but–” he stopped, seemingly nervous as he rubbed his hands on his pants and licked his bottom lip. “I wanted to…” he trailed off.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered. It’s intimate.

“Not all men are as unappreciative of the wonders around them, Florence,” he said, the words slow and meaningful as he spoke them. “I see your magic. ”

I was taken aback by his confession, unsure how to respond as I wrestled with the idea that he had spent time planning this for me.

Clay stepped forward, extending his hand to me. He pulled me into the study to my spot on the blanket. He settled down next to me and handed me a glass of wine. “Can you get drunk?” he asked.

“I’ve never tried,” I shrugged and pressed the wine to my lips. It had been a long time since I had anything to drink but, as the red wine hit my lips, I remembered how delicious it could be.

“Did you know the Manor has a cellar?” He asked, leaning back against the couch behind him with his leg curled toward his chest. “At first, I thought it was through that one door that disappeared.”

My stomach sank, and I forced a tight smile at the thought. That door never opened; it constantly moved and sometimes I wouldn’t see it for months, but I knew one fact for sure. Pure evil laid beyond it.

“But then I found the cellar door in the kitchen, lucky us.” His shirt pulled up over his wrist and exposed the tendrils of the ink on his skin slightly.

I nodded and set the cup beside me, turning into his space and resting on my knees. “I’ve been meaning to ask what these are.” I said pointing, as the wine warmed my belly, I aimed to change the subject.

Clay’s eyes flickered to his skin and back to me before his fingers worked the button and he pulled the sleeve back. “Tattoos?” He asked.

“I’ve only read about them in books! I’ve never seen anything like it.” I wrapped my fingers around his wrist, tugging it closer to the light to see them. They caught my curiosity the first time I saw them, but it had felt improper to ask. Now though, something had shifted between us. I was more comfortable with him. Touching him felt… normal. “How do they mark the skin to make it stay?”

“It’s a needle. It pushes the ink beneath the surface.” He brushed a finger over a line of swirls that spun delicately around his elbow beneath the fabric of his shirt.

“Like a stain?”

“Sort of,” he confirmed.

“Are they…” My eyes flickered to his chest.

Clay slowly worked at the buttons of his shirt before letting it fall open to expose all the beautiful artwork beneath. Wings of gray fanned across his firm chest, their tips curling over his shoulders. “What is it?”

“A stone angel,” he said, looking down at it. The tattoos expanded down over the soft expanse of his stomach and around his back.

“Your entire body is covered in them?” I asked, fingers trailing the fine lines of the wings. Without realizing I had all but climbed into his lap, blinded by my curiosity. His fingers rested carefully on my hand as my eyes traced the wondrous artwork. “Did it hurt?”

“Most places, yeh, horribly uncomfortable,” he laughed, and his breath fanned my face.

I looked up at him, our mouths so close now that I could smell the wine on his lips.

His smile was bright and curved to the left, showing off all his pretty white teeth.

“Florence.” He swallowed tightly, his throat bobbing nervously as I waited for him to act on the tension between us.

“Clay,” I breathed.

His lips were on mine before I could protest, soft but full of need. His hand tangled into my hair, pulling me against him to deepen the kiss. A deep moan rumbled from him as I climbed over his thighs and settled against his hips, never breaking our connection.

Clay’s mouth was overwhelming in the best way possible. As if he couldn’t stop himself or have his fill of me. He busied himself with the buttons of my blouse and slipped it from my shoulders, seeming to revel in touching the bare skin of my arms as he trailed his fingers back up and over my shoulder, hovering just above my collarbone. I could see his brow furrow as he took in the corset, and looked up at me, a shy smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Are corsets not a common garment anymore?” I asked playfully, guessing by the look of bashful confusion on his face that they likely were not. Without awaiting his response I deftly unhooked the clasps that held it shut. I tossed it gently to the side and brought my gaze back to his. I watched as he swallowed visibly, heat in his eyes.

His hands reached for me and softly cupped my breasts in his palms over the light cotton chemise, as if he were holding something precious. Clay’s fingers tickled beneath the collar, skin brushing skin as he pushed back the fabric. Heat pooled between my legs when his mouth sucked delicately at my newly exposed skin. My body leaned into him as he nuzzled the base of my throat and nipped with his teeth.

His hand danced across the scalloped hem of my collar. His fingers swept against the swollen tops of my breasts as his mouth found mine again and kissed me feverishly.

“Is this too much…” He pulled back, eyes searching mine. “You’ll tell me to stop if it is?” Lust-blown pupils glimmered in the flickering candlelight as I dipped back to his mouth, stealing a kiss from his worried lips.

Of course the worry swirled in my own mind. Was I crazy? Perhaps. But the way he looked at me had lit my tired and worried soul on fire, and it burned so brightly for him that I wasn’t sure I could stop it, even if I tried. Clay’s touches were warm and slow as he pulled the shift free of my chest and let it fall away without ever breaking our stare. His fingers grazed my spine, rising up my back until his hand wrapped around my neck, and he stared at me. Longing and desperation settled across his fox-like features. His eyes searched mine for confirmation that I wanted it all, too.

My body ached for him in a way I could not put to words.

Koen had given me that same primal spark but it was somehow deeper and needier now. Like he had opened a door and I couldn’t force myself to close it. The fight persisted, the little voice in my head that warned me against all of the intimacy. The act of sleeping with one man outside of my marriage was scandalous, but two? My body reacted to the thought, but not how I expected. My thighs squeezed tightly as a new pressure formed between my legs.

All of my reasons to stop were wrapped up in a marriage that had ended over a hundred years ago, and ideals that didn’t resonate with me then, and especially did not now. The worry was muted, still swirling my thoughts, but the lust was loud and honest. Clay remained quiet, his hands never moving, allowing me the excruciating time to clear my mind enough to think, to fully be aware and tell him what I wanted.

“I should be asking you that,” I said, grazing his bottom lip with my fingers. “I know you know about Koen.”

“Koen and I have always been good at sharing,” he said genuinely and kissed my fingertips so gently it sent shivers down my naked spine. “I want this.”

“Are you sure?” I asked again as his fingertips tightened around the back of my neck gently. “Because…” My eyes fluttered closed as his hips lifted, the entire length of his erection pressing forcefully against his trousers was brushing against my core and stealing the words from my lips. “...I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Good,” Clay chuckled, pulling me down by my hips against him and returning to his onslaught of needy, hot kisses against my mouth. His palm ghosted over my rib cage to massage my breast gently. The motion caused my back to arch into his touch. “But if you need or want to stop, say the word,” he said.

“Alright,” I whined as he pulled away, the possibility of needing to stop long forgotten. My hands pushed beneath his shirt and rolled it down over his broad shoulders, feeling each muscle between my hands as his kisses became feathery and teasing on my throat and chest.

I felt delirious, like my head was swimming through clouds, and I couldn’t catch my breath. Clay’s hand roamed from my neck and brushed in ticklish motions over my back and down to my bottom, palming it in his hand and guiding my hips forward against him. Moving over his skin, I kissed and nipped at his neck in return, feeling him tremble beneath my touch and he let out a throaty groan that only fueled the passion that built in my core.