Wolfsgate Page 12

  Would his jagged edges ever ease? Would he ever feel that the fragmented pieces of his self were mended or in some sort of order at the very least? In his current irregular and mercurial state Justine was becoming his touchstone.

  Touchstone.

  His forehead creased with the memory of that word. His father had once used it in reference to his late mother. “She kept me sane, my boy. It’s a rare thing. Perhaps one day you’ll be blessed and find yours,” he had told him.

  With Amanda he remembered feeling a keen excitement and a raw, boyish eagerness. She would flirt shamelessly with him one moment and then behave demurely the next. Her girlish games entertained him because he had always been beguiled by her physical beauty and itched to claim it, and he knew she was enthralled by him in turn. She was the prize of the neighborhood, and he was sure she would be his one day. How could he want anything more?

  But was Amanda ever his touchstone?

  No.

  He really hadn’t given that much thought back then, not at that age. Although he had felt a wave of anger upon learning of her marriage to his cousin, his ego had been bruised that he’d been so easily forgotten, that life had moved on without him.

  Amanda was still beautiful and alluring from what he had seen through the window that rainy night at Crestdown, however, Justine intrigued him and invaded his thoughts at every turn. Traces of the sadness and loneliness he remembered about the girl still clung to the young woman, but they only shrouded a deep, innocent delight in life and a practical inner strength. A strength on which he found he was relying more and more.

  Yes, his touchstone.

  His jaw tightened as he watched her finish his brandy.

  A touchstone he badly wanted to taste.

  His arousal was stronger than ever these days. The girl whom he had always felt protective of, he now wanted to possess—be in her, on top of her, under her—the lot of it. They were married after all, but this was Justine. Her feelings actually mattered to him.

  With her beside him in bed he was finally getting quality rest. Before falling asleep they would banter about the estate, she would tell a tale about a local, the minister’s snobbish wife, the changes in the village shops, make an observation, or a joke or two. He would inquire about his friends and how their lives had changed since he had been gone. He had never had this ease and restfulness, this sort of friendship or companionship before with a woman.

  Justine usually fell asleep long before he did, curling up into a ball at his side clutching a pillow. He would put his arm around her, draw her close until she released the pillow and clutched him. He had told her she wasn’t alone anymore, and he had meant it. Every night he would sink his fingers into that incredible hair of hers. Touching her relaxed him. Keeping her body close and safe from the cold pleased him somehow. Marriage had a certain appeal after all.

  Last night he had woken up with another nightmare. He teased himself with the memory.

  She had instantly rolled into his body, wrapped herself around his shaking frame, her hand stroking his heaving, damp chest. He took her in his arms and pressed his face against her throat. She had kissed his temple and dragged her fingers through his hair and over his shoulders. The tension in his strained muscles began to fade.

  “Was it the shipwreck?”

  “No, the hospital this time.”

  “Did they harm you there? Did you remember something particular?” she asked him.

  “No, the dream was more about how I felt there.

  “Tell me.”

  He sucked in air. “Desolate and abandoned. Broken. Helpless and alone. All of that laced with the ethereal effect of the opium. Quite a desperate combination. Two years of that, Justine. And just now it had me in its grip again. I couldn’t breathe. Felt as if I was drowning.”

  “It’s over. You’re here now.” She rubbed her legs against his. If she did more of that, he was going to pull her under his aching body and drown inside her.

  “Justine, you’re cold.” He hooked her knees with his hands and brought her legs up towards his hips. He rubbed her icy feet, then stroked a path up her bare legs. She shivered—from the cold or his touch? Her body slackened into his, and he took in a deep breath, his lips brushing her forehead. He pulled the covers around her, his hand drifting down her lower back over her nightdress, but stopped before the beautiful curve of her rear. They lay there in silence listening to the wind roaring outside the window.

  “Do you think he’s out there?” she asked.

  “The wolf?”

  “I like to think he is, you know.”

  “Really? You were always the one crying for his release from his supernatural bonds.”

  “I know. But he’s been a part of your lives from the beginning, a part of Wolfsgate. Without him there would be no Barons of Graven, would there? And you have been a part of him. You are forever entwined. I like to think he needs us as we need him.”

  “Do we? He’s not simply an irritation?”

  “Oh no, he’s not. I don’t think he stays to haunt you. I think he stays to keep you on the straight and narrow, my Lord Graven.

  “There’s a thought.” He planted another kiss on her forehead.

  She snuggled into his side. “You’re naked.”

  He chuckled. “I enjoy the feeling of clean, soft bedlinen against my skin and a real bed under me after so many years. Would you prefer I wore a nightdress in future?” She’d only smiled against his skin, breathed softly, and drifted back to sleep.

  Now, sitting here in the parlor, both of them drinking before the fire, another memory ignited a flame inside him. That of his cock throbbing in her delicate hands while they had lain on this very floor. His hand rubbed down his torso at the recollection.

  That night his uncontrollable lust, his drive for release, his need to feel her touch had been all-consuming. Frankly, he was surprised she hadn’t pulled away or protested. Justine had embraced him, let him guide her hand to his salvation and shuddered in his arms when his mouth had finally found her magnificent breasts. Thankfully the next morning she hadn’t seemed embarrassed or awkward in his presence, and he found he only wanted to show her affection over the remnants of their breakfast.

  Fancy that.

  Yes, there was a definite current of mutual desire between them. With every laugh, smile, casual touch or graze of their hands, arms, and legs in their early morning tangle of sheets or her fabulous hair on his pillow, it was there, charging through his veins, heating his blood, filling him with need. Flashes of the same tension were obvious in her eyes, in the sound of her irregular breathing when she’d first climb into bed with him. Even in the dark he could sense it, smell it.

  “More brandy?” Her rich brown eyes swept over him. Brandon exhaled, but it didn’t help. That brutal need only coiled tighter inside him.

  “Bring the bottle.”

  THEY HAD FINISHED THE BOTTLE.

  Holding onto each other, they managed to climb that interminable staircase and get to Justine’s room. She wrestled with her stays and her corset and skirts as the cold settled on her skin, while Brandon peeled off his clothes and belted a thin wool robe about himself. He crouched by the hearth adjusting the logs with the iron poker, making the flames blaze once again.

  “What was it you used to say when we played Kings and Queens?” he asked.

  “‘Thank you, m’aaaaaaaam’ in my finest northern accent.” Justine repeated it, drawing out the vowels even more this time. Brandon’s body shook with laughter. Justine fell back on the bed.

  “You made a fine lady-in-waiting for Queen Annie,” he said, placing the poker back in its stand.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And I the finest King, I must say.”

  “Oh, of course.” Justine let out a soft laugh.

  “And William was some sort of Lancelot? Was that it?” He went to the basin to rinse off his hands.

  “Yes, albeit a wicked one.” She sighed. “And if Andrew was about, he was h
is lackey or spy.”

  He grit his teeth at hearing the Adonis’s name cross her lips. “Yes, poor Andrew,” he muttered, drying his hands. Justine sprang from the bed and darted towards the large antique trunk in the opposite corner of the room. She jerked it opened and rummaged through layers of clothing and objects.

  “Annie and I loved dressing up in your mother’s old gowns that she’d given us to play with. We would trip over those huge skirts everywhere we went. And these faux jewels of hers, too. Look, Brandon.” She held up a long strand of colored glass beads putting it over her head.

  “Very regal,” Brandon said.

  “What did you take us for, sir?” She curtsied and let out another soft laugh. An unusually eager sensation spiked through him at the sound once more. His eyes met her bright ones, and it was as if a flaming arrow pierced his chest. Her long thick waves of hair tumbled over her naked shoulders which peeked out from her nightdress, her taut nipples searing through the delicate fabric, the necklace falling between her breasts. A surge of heat flashed through his body and filled the room, squashing his ability to breathe. She turned back to the trunk.

  “I’ve saved a few souvenirs from our childhood.” She spun to face him wearing a worn dark blue tricorn hat on her head. “Does this look familiar?”

  He grinned. “That was my pirate hat.”

  “Indeed it was, Captain. I think it was your grandfather’s before that, wasn’t it? And here we have your weapon of choice.” She brandished a small, thin wooden sword. “Oh and wait, there’s one more for you here somewhere.” She dropped the sword on the bed and bent over the trunk again digging through its contents. She shot up. “Here it is. Your majesty, may I present, the royal crown.” She flourished a fabric crown in the air that Molly had sewn for him out of several layers of thick gold material.

  Justine lunged on the bed crawling across it to get to Brandon who stood on the other side. His breath jammed in his throat at the sight. She would be the death of him tonight. She sat up on her knees at the edge of the bed and propped the crown on his head. Her hands slid down his arms. He was under the spell of her relaxed, pleasure-filled eyes.

  “Christ.” Brandon tossed the crown to the floor. Her eyes widened as his hand stroked her flushed cheek. “It would seem the lady-in-waiting is actually a Pirate Princess in disguise,” he whispered. His lips brushed the corner of her mouth, and she let out a tiny gasp.

  Hunger for her flared all through him. Years worth of hunger that demanded its fill. Raw need combusted in his veins igniting small explosions through his entire body. He couldn’t stop it, and he didn’t want to.

  He had to have her.

  “And this Pirate Princess,” he said, his thumb tracing a line over her lower lip. “Has taken the King prisoner.”

  His fingers slid down the slope of her throat, then back up around her neck. He scattered tiny soft kisses next to her mouth then pulled back to look at her for just a moment. Yes, she was speechless. His hands fisted in her hair, and his mouth crushed hers. The old tricorn hat tumbled to the bed.

  His fingers stole over a breast and captured the nipple through the light fabric of her chemise. So beautiful, so soft, other worldly even. His tongue explored her mouth, tasting her, demanding of her. She let out a low moan and arched against his chest. He growled in her mouth as he pressed her back on the bed, the mattress shifting under their weight. His hands skimmed down her sides and swept under the thin fabric of her nightdress. Finally, her silky, naked flesh was in his hands.

  “Brandon—”

  He pressed his hard length in between her legs, nestling it there. She whimpered. That was encouraging. His wool dressing gown had opened, exposing his bare chest and abdomen. “Take it off me,” he whispered roughly. Her hands reached out and tugged on the belt until it untied. She slid the robe off his shoulders and down his arms, her warm hands stinging his skin. He shook the robe off, and it fell away. Her fingertips skimmed over his bare chest as her breathing grew deeper.

  Brandon tugged the chemise from her body. His entire being seized at the sight of her bareness, the glass bead necklace laying over her breasts. She was an odalisque of the Orient. An exotic creature. Familiar yet foreign.

  All expectation. All promise. All for him.

  She was his.

  He licked at her throat, drinking in her faint scent of lavender and the sweetness of the brandy on her breath. She was maddening. He was mad. Stark raving mad. For her.

  He rubbed the glass bead necklace over her nipples and sucked on them both together. She writhed and let out soft cries at the friction, at his hands caressing her flesh. He squeezed her breasts together and suckled and adored them. Everything spun into a blur. He was a hungry, greedy beast. His one hand glided down over the delectable, smooth curve of her hip until it sank into the most private part of her.

  “Oh, Justine,” he groaned in her ear softly biting on her ear lobe as his fingers explored her silken heat. He found her pearl and teased it, caressed it. A soft cry heaved from her lips.

  “Brandon—” Her raspy voice sent a shiver down his spine.

  “So wet for me.” His fingers moved more insistently. He raised his head and watched his hand working, her hips squirming. Then his gaze returned to her face, and his eyes melted with hers.

  “I want you, Justine. Do you want me?” Her fingers dug into his arms, her breaths came faster.

  “Tell me,” he whispered through ragged breaths. He had to hear her say it, needed to hear her say it.

  “Yes. I want you.”

  He kissed her like a famished beast, his lips then dragged across her jaw and down her throat. He removed the necklace from her neck and brought it between her legs running the beads gently up and down over her. He wanted nothing more than to make her as insane with need as he was.

  “Brandon!” Her back arched, her legs squeezed together, her pelvis tipped up pleading for more.

  “Yes…” he groaned as he dragged the necklace over her, teasing her, then laced it over her breasts. She grasped it, kneading the beads into her soft flesh. His finger entered her silky wetness slowly, and her body quaked underneath his invasion, her mouth falling open. Brandon let out a groan. Her eyes exploded with feeling, and she cried out.

  “Christ, so beautiful, my beautiful Justine,” he murmured against her skin. He took the end of the necklace in his mouth, and her eyes flashed at him. He let it drop from his lips and licked a nipple. “I have to taste more of you, my delicious girl.” She arched her body into his like a kitten eager for play, her hands sweeping up into his hair, tugging at it.

  He raised himself up and nudged apart her thighs. She blinked up at him and let out a whimper. His mouth sank over her, his tongue swirling through her. Her hands pulled at the necklace, and it broke apart, blue and green beads popping over her pale skin, skipping over the bed.

  “Holy…”

  The sweet and salty tang of her secret flesh on his tongue made his insides explode. He glanced up at her. Her head thrashed against the pillows, and her hands reached out to grip his hair once more. He caught her wrists and pinned them to the bed at her sides. His fingers entwined in hers holding her hands firmly down in the twisted sheets, and her upper body finally stilled. Her moans drummed in his ears like a siren’s call.

  This was heaven.

  Pure, bloody heaven.

  What had come over him? He had never done this before to a woman, never been enticed by it, but now, now he was lost in Justine, sucking, swirling, his tongue pressing round, darting inside her. Her hips rocked to their own needy rhythm against his mouth urging him on. Her body shuddered in his ruthless hold, and she cried out sharply coming to a frenzied, pulsing release against his tongue. He licked at her gently, his heartbeat hammering in his chest.

  “My tongue will never be the same,” he murmured against her inner thigh. A moan escaped her throat.

  He needed to be inside her right this minute. This wasn’t just his body screaming for release, bu
t the desire to completely consume Justine. He got a hold of his senses and his cock as he grit his teeth. Her eyes snapped open at the promise of his rigid length at her opening. He only wanted to explode, but he didn’t want to hurt her. He was determined to make it good for her. Very good. Damn well amazing.

  He wanted her to like it. A lot.

  He entered her, sinking inside her.

  Her eyes pleaded with him one moment, then softened the next, her jaw slackening. She took in a breath, then lifted her hips up to meet his, her hands on his biceps, pulling him closer. Brandon gasped and closed his eyes for a moment, groaning over her as he filled her inch by devastating inch.

  There was no breathing now, no thinking. Time stopped.

  His lips touched hers as his one hand brushed the hair from her damp face. Her glassy eyes were fixed on his, her body stiffened.

  “Am I hurting you?” he whispered hoarsely. She shook her head.

  He shifted himself and sank deeper inside her, then pulled himself out just a bit and slowly thrust in again. Their heavy breathing hung over them, the musky, warm scent of their arousal filled the room. His face loomed over hers. Justine’s eyes practically glowed. His lower lip quivered, his lungs tightened painfully, his throat thickened. His entire body throbbed, begging for one thing only. Her body took his in, offering him the world.

  His eyes tried to focus on hers through the blur of sensation, this maelstrom of foreign emotion that had him in its grip, but he couldn’t. The breath choked in his throat.

  He stopped moving inside her.

  Justine’s one hand reached up and gently swept back his hair then slid down and wrapped around his neck. Her other hand cradled his face. What a soothing touch she had. How did she know he needed…

  His heart thudded in his chest. Could she hear it?

  “What is it, Brandon?” she whispered.

  “You feel so good, so good. I want to…” He swallowed. “I want to stay right here.” He was drowning in Justine’s large eyes. If he could stay sheathed inside her forever, this luxurious, safe haven, he would. Here was a bliss he had never known before, and it wasn’t artificially induced. It was something else, he didn’t know what exactly. Had coupling ever been like this before?