Sebastien watched with interest. “You can make fire,” he observed.
“Just little ones.”
“More pyromancy than I can do,” he said with a shrug, coming to her and settling his hands on her waist. “Third time is the charm?”
She nodded, unable to speak. Sebastien kissed her, taking his time with those long, dreamy kisses, until her head soon swam with dizzy delight, and she melted against him, losing all self-consciousness. He trailed more kisses under her jaw and down her throat, sending shivers of delight all through her, thewarmth penetrating to her bones, which felt as if they dissolved. He nibbled, licked, and kissed his way to the hollow between her collarbones. A tug at the neckline of her gown bared her shoulder, and he brushed light fingers over the round of it.
“You have the most beautiful skin,” he murmured. “I want to see all of you.”
Her mouth dry, she nodded, and he cocked his head.
“Are you in there? Words would be good.”
“Yes,” she whispered, then shivered at his wolfish grin, the way his gaze dropped to her bosom as he undid the simple laces of her worn gown, gently drawing it over her breasts, teasing her sensitive and taut nipples, before easing the dress down her arms to drape around her waist. She chewed her lip, uncertain as he drank her in. Probably she looked exactly like Rose here, also, so he knew what he’d find, but she still fretted.
“You’re so lovely,” he said on a breath, feathering fingers over her breasts so that she shivered, goose pimples rising. She bit back the argument that she was simply a mirror of Rose, an imperfect one, but he seemed to intuit her feelings. “Every woman is different,” he mused, stroking her breasts in arousing circles. “It’s amazing to me how sex changes with each lover.”
“But the act is surely the same,” she managed to say, quivering as he cupped her breasts lightly, as if weighing them.
“Pretty much,” he replied, lifting his eyes to hers, the green now dark as the forest in the shadows. “There are variations, in intensity, for example.” He squeezed her breasts, lips quirking when she gasped, clutching at him. Gentling, he bent to bestow kisses on her breasts, which felt marvelous and unlike anything she’d ever experienced. “But the essence, the true delight and infinite variation, is in who we are with. Your unique scent. The feel of your skin.” He drew one nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, making her cry out. “Those lovely little sounds you make. All of that is uniquely you, Lilythorn.” He gave the same treatment to her other nipple, lingering with it until she squirmed in bursting need.
Then he lifted his head and, gathering her close, kissed her sweetly. “Just in case you were worrying,” he murmured against her mouth.
She didn’t know how he knew about her worrying, but something in her relaxed at his reassurance. From the beginning, from even before they’d met and he was only a dream to her, she had trusted Sebastien on some deep level that went beyond reason. And yet… she also lived in fear that he’d change his mind, that he’d turn on her, that he’d decide he wanted Rose more—because who wouldn’t? But now, held against him like something precious, his hands stroking her bare back, words of love and tenderness showering over her like his soft rain of kisses, she knew Sebastien would never betray her.
Hesitantly, because she still wasn’t sure what she could or should do, she released her death clutch on his shirt and smoothed her fingers and palms over his chest and shoulders. He purred encouragement. “Ah, yes love. Touch me.”
“I’m not sure how.”
“You’re doing fine.” Smiling at her, impossibly beautiful in the firelight with the rain-drenched evening darkening the windows, he wrapped his hands around hers and guided them to the open vee of his shirt, to his hot skin, soft as expensive leather from the city, the golden hairs silky. “Your least caress is magic.”
She peered up at him. “Is it the psychometry?” Because, if she opened those channels just a little, the essence, the everything of him poured into her. Never had she experienced another person this way. As if the history of his body lived in every skin cell, in the rush of his blood, and in the pulse of his desire.
He chuckled. “That’s not what I meant, but maybe.”
She read other women in him, countless women, far more than Rose.Every woman is different,he’d said. “Have you had many lovers?” she asked without thinking it through.
He stilled, sobering, a coldness and prickling shame turning his passion into something murkier, ugly. “Though in one senseanswering that would be a simple yes or no—and that answer is yes—explaining fully would have to be my one story for today.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” And now she’d ruined the mood.
“You didn’t. That is, it’s all right. And it occurs to me that I should talk to you about this before we, shall we say, consummate our love.” He smiled at that, a hint of forced charm in it.
“You don’t have to.” She hated the sorrow that ghosted through his usual sunniness—and that she’d brought it to him.
He considered. “I think I do. I want there to be honesty between us. If we’re going to share our lives together, I want you to know important aspects of my past.”
She nodded, a bit nervous. “I would like to listen then.”
“All right.” He stepped away, leaving her suddenly chilled without his warm presence, and so self-conscious that she covered her naked breasts with her hands. He returned with a throw blanket and a knowing smile, draping it around her shoulders. “Just to keep you warm,” he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “You don’t have to hide yourself from me.” Putting a hand on the small of her back, he guided her to the rug before the fire, holding her hand to help her to sit as if she were a grand lady seating herself at a feast table, then settling beside her, cross-legged on the thick rug.
27
Sebastien considered how to explain the ugly world of court politics to the unspoiled Lily. Though she’d suffered in her life—far more than he or anyone he knew—she also possessed an almost pristine innocence about the darker motivations of other people. Perhaps she persisted in believing that Jada embodied all the evil in the world. She didn’t seem to fully understand the extent of Clotaire’s crimes against them, but he probably hadn’t explained it well and that would best come from Rose.
“I should get us refreshments,” she said into the long pause, gathering the blanket around her so she could stand.
“No, you don’t need to serve me,” he said, then realized he’d said it too strongly. She physically flinched, apologies tumbling to her lips. He took her hands, to keep her there and so she’d feel the sincerity of his mind and heart. “You’re done being a servant. That’s all I’m saying. And this is difficult for me to talk about, so I need you to be still and quiet a moment.”
