Feral Hearts

36

Victoria lay in her bed that night, surrounded by the cold darkness of her room, and tried not to think about the moment where Lukas arrives in front of her. Kissing her with fervent passion 

 She tried not to long for him.

 She lectured herself on the reasons why she was doing this, but the arguments had become muddled in her own mind and all she could hear was the drag of her breaths in and out of her body. She focused on the dinner brought by the servants which she really enjoyed, but each image wavered and slipped through her mind’s grasp. She even tried remembering the taste of the syllabub at dinner, the smooth texture of cream, the tart wine, but the phantom sweet dissolved in her mouth, and all she could taste on her tongue was Lukas’s mouth.

 Damn! All she can do now is to close her eyes, wishing that she won't be bothered again by the idea of him being with her.

 There in the darkness she might’ve moaned.

 He came at last,

moving like the ghost. She didn’t even know he’d entered her room until she felt the warmth radiating off his body.

 She trembled before he ever touched her.

 He lowered his mouth toward her, slowly, so that she could see what he would do. Her eyes widened before she let them fall, surrendering.

 It was the least she could do to make amends.

 His kiss wasn’t like the gentle embraces of before. This was a seal, a promise of purpose, a pact of understanding. His thumb pressed against her chin, opening her for him, letting him lick inside, claiming her. 

 Her doubts rushed to the surface, making her stiffen, but he wouldn’t let her pull away. He held her and bit down on her lower lip, waiting until she stilled again.

 She opened her eyes and saw that he watched her, assessing her even as he let go of her lip, leaving it slowly with his hot tongue. She snapped her eyes shut again. This was too close, too personal.

 He’d paused at the corner of her mouth, licking it almost pensively, until she yielded with a shudder, parting her lips wider, inviting him in. He made a low, pleased rumble at the back of his throat, and then he was inside her again and she caught his tongue, suckling in atonement. 

 His hands drifted to splay over her neck, arching her head back so that she was entirely open, entirely vulnerable to him, her mouth a sacrifice.

 His hands slid from her neck, down her bodice to her waist, and then he was lifting her, walking with her across the room, his mouth on hers, his tongue between her lips. He set her down by the bed and only then lifted his head. While her chest felt tight—her lungs laboring to draw breath—only the dampness of his mouth, the heaviness of his eyelids gave any indication of what they did.

 “Take off your clothes,” he ordered.

 Victoria’s eyes widened.

 He tilted his head down, looking her in the eye. “Now.”

 Her lips parted, swollen and oversensitive, and she touched them gently with her tongue, exploring. 

 “Will you help me?”

 “I’ll undo any hooks or laces you can’t reach.”

 She bowed her head then, fumbling with her clothes.

 And in the end, she would be exposed.

 But he stood before her, only inches away, and demanded it, so she complied.