She bent to fetch the oil, her lips passing so close to his cock that he could feel her breath. His hips jerked, and he tried to get himself in hand, tried to master his baser desires,triedto make himself leave—
“Let’s find out,” she murmured, and then slid one delicate fingertip down his length.
He gave in.
He wasn’t leaving the tower. He wasn’t leaving her side.
“It’s—” His voice went choked as she poured the oil in her palm, then slid her palm around him. “There’s nothing—I won’t like. Touch me however you wish. But—oh fuck—I’m going to spend in your hand. It’s going to—my seed—”
Bloodyfuck, he couldn’t string words together. His vision was going black. Her hand was so slippery, and she had no sense of rhythm or finesse, stroking his bollocks, sliding up and around and over—
“R-ruby,” he got out, and oh Jesus it had only been about twelve seconds and he was about to spend in her hand. He tried to hold back, trembled in the earthy tension of restraint and relief together.
“Malcolm,” she whispered back, and her fingers closed tight around him, and then he did come, hard, gasping, messy and endless, pleasure on pleasure on pleasure.
He wasn’t leaving.
The thought revolved in his head, a sweet resonance, his sole certainty. He thought it again as he pulled her down atop him on the chaise; again as he wrapped his arms around her warm, soft body; again as he nestled his chin into her hair.
He wasn’t goddamned leaving her. Not ever.
Chapter 18
Ruby supposed it could have been awkward. She knew awkward—knew sidelong glances and hot embarrassment rising to her skin—and the morning after ought to have been ripe for such a feeling, as she crept down the tower stairs with her chemise sticking to her legs and blue paint all over Archer’s irremediably pigment-streaked shirt.
It ought to have been awkward. But she could not stop laughing to feel it.
His hand was on her waist, holding hard to the ribbons there, and their legs kept knocking into one another. There were 197 steps to descend, and she supposed he couldn’t pause to kiss or touch her oneveryone, but he certainly seemed to be trying.
He wanted her. It was perhaps a sign of her weakness that the very notion of her own desirability could bring her such pleasure, but—well. She was weak, then. She liked this sweet-tongued, true-hearted, wicked piratical man so terribly much, and she wanted him to fancy her too.
As they crept down the stairs, she felt almost lightheaded with happiness. The princess was coming, and the house was nearly ready. Ruby had painted and patched and carted furniture and put earth in pots and somehow, the peculiar old house was almost beautiful now.
Somehow, it seemed to her that they had made it that way—she and Archer together.
For however long it lasted—however long she might be able to remain here at Pomeroy House—they were on the same side.
At her own corridor, she hesitated. They had stayed all night in the tower room, tangled together on the chaise. The sun was just now rising, and Tamsin and Alice were sure to be asleep in their chambers, here in this very hall. “Do you suppose I should try to hide?” She glanced down at herself—whisker-scraped along her breasts, glistening with oil in spots, and heaven only knew the state of herhair—and then back up at him. “I’m afraid I look...”
“Guilty as sin?” He was laughing too, his dimples softening the impossible angle of his jaw. “Edible? Do you know, the first time I saw you sparkling all over, I thought you looked like a comfit. Come on, stand behind me. We’ll creep down the corridor and if someone peeks her head out of her room, it’ll look as though I’m walking by myself.”
“Oh, to be sure. Whilst your petticoats flap around your ankles. No one will suspect a thing.”
He winked lasciviously at her. “I suppose you’d best remove your petticoats, pet. For the purposes of disguise.”
“Is this your offer of assistance?”
He nudged her back against the wall, fitting his body to hers. “Anytime,” he said fervently. “Day or night.”
His mouth was at her neck. Her voice came out breathless. “Your purposes are so often nefarious.”
“Mm. My motives always ulterior.”
The string of tiny nips and bites he had delivered to her throat seemed to have touched off sparks inside her body, and her attempt at further repartee emerged, unfortunately, as a melting sort of whimper.
“God,” he mumbled, “I could—”
Any further interesting revelations of what he could do—hopefully to her person—were interrupted by the resounding slam of a door.
