“Open for me,” he ordered. And God help her, she did. Was he going to make her his wife in truth here against a willow on the edge of an out-of-the-way Gretna Green sheep paddock?
But he wasn’t removing his breeches; he sank to his knees in the wet grass. Using his thumbs, he gently parted her cleft and looked directly into her center.
“Tuck.” In some vaguely sensible corner of her mind, she knewthat she should ask him to stop, that she shouldn’t be doing such wicked things anywhere, let alone outdoors, but she’d promised not to lie. And in this cocooned world of stooped green branches, stopping was the very last thing that she wanted.
“Look at this goddamn perfect pink. Fuck, I can see your slick right there in the slit. You’re so wet. Is that all for me?”
Their gazes locked. Despite the cold rain, she burned.
She didn’t know why he kneeled or looked at her like a man starving. “What do you want?” Her question was a half whisper, half plea.
“To taste you.” He nodded at her exposed center that he still held open. “Can I?”
“D-do people really do such things? It’s not just in books?”
“If they see a pussy like yours? They’d beg to. Do you want me to beg, Lizzy?”
Someday she might want exactly that. But at this moment, she wanted...
She just wanted.
“Do it. Please.”
He pressed his mouth to her center, and everything fractured. Her scalp tingled and she was delirious, fighting and losing the battle to keep herself upright. His mouth demanded release, rolling over the sensitive bud, and when he groaned, the sound vibrated to her very core.
She was warm. So warm. Too warm. But she didn’t care. If she was going to burn, she wanted to ignite. Her thighs tensed. Quivering.
When he eased a finger inside, she gasped at the unexpected fullness. He pulled back and stared, his lips shiny from her want.
“Is this too much?” His voice was hoarse.
“More,” she choked out. Somewhere above, or in another world, thunder rumbled.
He curled his finger inside her, and the tension built; her knees threatened to buckle again at the deep fullness, and when he did the beckoning gesture again, her body obeyed. He kept coaxing, and shivers increased until he gave her a slow, hard suck and pushed his tongue deep inside.
Time stopped.
A surge of pure sensation set her free. It pounded and pounded and pounded like a wave, but she wasn’t drowning. It was as if she were flying.
Tuck stood and was holding her face between his big hands. “Lizzy? Lizzy, are you okay?”
The flames within her still burned. She wanted to kiss the palms of his hands and then both of his eyes. But instead, she simply stared at his concerned face, then rested a hand on her forehead. “Hello there.”
“Jesus.” He lowered her arm and repeated her gesture. “You’re warm.”
She bobbed her head, her thoughts as vague as a dream at dawn. “You set me alight.”
“No, Lizzy.” Worry had eclipsed the desire in his gaze. “I’m serious. I think you’ve spiked a fever.”
The next thing she knew, she found herself in the bed at the inn, though the details were fuzzy. She vaguely recalled Tuck carrying her on his back. Her memories were like half-formed pictures, with him removing her shoes and arranging pillows. However, amidst it all, she kept imagining a talking raven at the window, leaving her in a state of mind that hardly suggested reliability.
She slept in fits and starts, and occasionally there was low talking. Tuck. Henry. Once a man she didn’t recognize who lay a warm fabric over her chest—a poultice. The heavy smell of mustard made her nauseous but her head ached too much to move. A cup was held to her lips. She swallowed, coughing when it wasn’t water. It was white wine, which did little to mask a bitter flavor—willow bark. She recognized the taste from Mamma’s small medicinal cabinet, the tinctures and salves she could make if a doctor didn’t need to be called.
Sleep hit hard and fast after. When she woke again, the sun was still shining, but she felt like she’d lost time.
Rubbing her eyes, she pushed herself up on her elbows. Tuck was leaning back in a chair at the side of her bed, staring into space. His hair wasn’t long enough to be disheveled, but he was pale, his eyes puffy from lack of sleep and framed by violet half-circles.
“You look about as bad as I felt,” she said, wincing when her voice came out with an unfamiliar deep huskiness.
