Entwined (Darkest London 3.5)

Hesitantly, he reached out and touched a lock of her hair that hung limp over her shoulder. “Because you are my heart, Lu. And my home.”

Lu took a deep breath, ready to tell him that he was that to her as well. But all that came out was a weak sob, and as a shiver wracked her body, Eamon stood and backed away. “Let us go inside,” he said woodenly. “You need rest.” He did not touch her as she rose. And she did not protest his withdrawal.

* * *

Lu slept. She slept through the night and far into the next day. A dreamless sleep of one returning home after a long journey. And not a soul disturbed her. When she finally awoke, her mind was clear and her body twitched with the need to move.

All was quiet as she drew herself a bath and then eventually put on a dressing gown.

Eamon’s room was empty. Not surprising. She’d been expecting it.

Sliding on a pair of slippers, Lu went to the smithy.

The sound of metal clanging against metal filled the air and grew louder as she let herself into the sweltering room. Oh, but he was a sight. Shirtless and wearing a pair of dirty, low-slung trousers, he was bent over the anvil, sweat making his skin gleam as he pounded out a piece of steel.

Eamon Evernight was utterly glorious. Nature had given him beautiful proportions, long legs, wide shoulders, a graceful back. Hard work had given him immense strength.

She didn’t know where to look: the rounded caps of his shoulders, the great slabs along his back, the hard rocks of his biceps. He seemed cut from granite, yet with every blow of his hammer, his muscles bunched and twitched. They rippled, for God’s sake.

The fires in the forge colored his skin gold and bronze. A shock of red hair fell over his brow. He was a living flame. A bronzed god. And he was hers.

Mine.

The knowledge and the want were undeniable.

He noticed her then, and his hammer froze midair. Heaven help her but his chest was just as delicious as his back.

“Lu.” He lowered his arm. “Are you well?”

“I am.” She came closer. The heat in the room was nearly unbearable, and she was glad for her light gown. Sweat pebbled over Eamon’s chest and ran in rivulets along his neck and down the valley of his abdomen.

But his scent was clean, hot metal and soap.

His teeth bit down on his bottom lip, and he wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. “I know what you saw, what I can do, must be…” He searched for a word and his cheeks went ruddy. “Shocking.”

“Yes.” How could it not be? It was wondrous and strange. Much like Eamon.

He flinched, all of his muscles bunching tight. Lu came closer still. “And yet it doesn’t change a thing.” Taking a breath, she said what she’d come to say. “I still want you, Eamon.”

He closed his eyes as if her confession brought him pain, looking like a man who didn’t believe himself worthy. And her heart squeezed. “The question is,” she went on, “do you want me now that you know who I am?”

He looked at her then, his eyes like polished lapis in the flickering light. “Names mean nothing. I’ve always known who you are. Inside.” He turned his head as if it hurt to look at her. “And I’ve always wanted you, Bit.”

“I lied to you.”

He laughed without humor. “And I to you. It doesn’t matter. Not to me. I want you still.”

“Then why do you stand there? Shying away from me?” No matter how much she wanted to go to him, she needed him to meet her halfway. Call it pride or insecurity, she did not know. But she needed him to open his arms to her.

He set the hammer down and stared into the flames. “I killed my father.”

After last night, Lu rather thought that might be the case.

“I did not intend to,” he said quietly. “I did not even know I could.” He turned then, his expression guarded and pained. “He caught me reading your letters.”

Lu’s breath hitched.

The corners of Eamon’s eyes creased as though he were looking inward upon the memory. “He accused me of trying to steal my brother’s bride.” A short, harsh laugh left him. “I suppose I was.”

“Eamon—”

“He came at me much like Arnold did, swinging an iron like a club.” Eamon’s face went white. “He wanted to kill me. His own son.” A shudder went through him, and she couldn’t stand still.

Lu went to him, wrapped her arms about his waist, and held him tight. Eamon didn’t move to embrace her but stood stiff. “I grabbed the iron. I knew it wouldn’t burn me. But I didn’t know what would happen to him. Not then.” His throat worked on a swallow. “Ah, well, Bit, you know what happened next. All that heat went directly into him and he was lost before I realized what I’d done.”

“Eamon, love, I’m so sorry.”

His arms came around her then, so tight and hard that her ribs flexed. He did not cry but simply held her to him as his body shuddered in waves.

“I am never leaving you, Eamon,” she said against his chest. “Never. Do you hear?”

His hand smoothed over her hair and along her back. “Yes, Lucinda. I hear.” There was a smile in his voice, and his tension slowly ebbed.

“Good.”

They held each other for a long while, softly swaying in a soothing motion that had her going boneless, and she pressed her cheek to the smooth swell of his pectoral muscle. His flesh was wonderfully firm and warm. A dusting of auburn hair covered his upper chest, playing about his small ni**les and swirling in the center. The hairs tickled her cheek as he breathed, and she found herself nuzzling him with her nose. Eamon stilled, his grip on her growing more secure.

Lu’s body went wonderfully tense, a tight sort of ache that made her sex throb and her stomach clench. Barely daring to breathe, she grazed his chest with her lips, and his skin prickled. A smile pulled at her lips as she trailed them over him, heading toward his tight little nipple.

A raw sound tore from him when she nipped the bud. With the tips of her fingers, she drew a path down the center of his chest. His pecks jumped, a small twitch. A light trail of dark red hair gathered below his navel. She traced it with one finger, loving the way he began to pant and his flat, rippled abdomen rose up and down in rapid, agitated movements.

With a strangled gasp, Eamon gripped her upper arms, and he pulled away. They stood apart, merely a handspan in distance, yet the separation seemed only to heighten the sensation of being surrounded by his strength and warmth. They stared at each other, breathing light and fast. He held her gaze as the backs of his fingers touched her collarbone and then drifted down her bodice.

Lu’s breath hitched. His touch was so light that his knuckles barely skimmed the fabric, yet the whole of her feeling was centered on it. He traced the path of the buttons fronting her dressing gown. When he met the rise of her breast, his exploration grew even lighter, a mere tickle that had her heart pounding.

Eamon stopped at the button between her br**sts. “You smell nice.” His voice was so low it felt like an intimate caress against her skin. He fingered the tiny shell button, circling it with the blunt tip of his thumb, and a shiver went through her. “Had a bath, did you?”

He was teasing; her hair was still damp, falling in a dark wash down her back. But she found the strength to answer. “Yes.”

His gaze darkened. And she knew that he knew she wore nothing beneath her dressing gown. He said not a word, but fiddled with her button, driving her mad. When her lids began to flutter down, he gave her a reprieve.

His thumb pressed against the button, twisting it slightly as he pushed it through the buttonhole. And her breath hitched in a small hiccup. Button undone, her bodice gaped between her br**sts. Eamon slipped a finger inside.

The rough tip grazed her nipple. “Oh!” Lu sucked in a breath.

Eamon’s dark gaze held hers, and he worked his finger back and forth, slowly, lightly.

Her sex clenched hard, wetness flooding her. The tormented nipple grew stiff under his ministrations. So hard that it throbbed. Lu’s fingers opened and closed on air. She wanted to grab him, wanted to beg him to put more pressure on her aching nipple, pinch it perhaps. Do anything. But she remained still, hating him, loving him.

“Shall I tell you a secret, Lu?” The light rhythm of his fingertip did not abate.

She could scarcely breathe much less nod. But he told her anyway. “I used to take myself in hand thinking of seeing your br**sts. I’d spend myself, dreaming of sucking, oh so gently, on their pretty tips.”

She swayed, catching the hard slab of his waist to steady herself. “Eamon,” she said weakly, struggling to keep her head from falling forward.

His breath grew quicker, agitated, the packed muscles on his abdomen clenching. “Show them to me, wife. Show me your br**sts.”

Her head grew light, and her insides dipped. Panting lightly, she lifted her hands to the buttons. Her fingers shook as she pushed each button through, fresh air chasing along her skin, marking her progress. She couldn’t look Eamon in the eye, but focused on his throat, where his pulse beat a visible tattoo just above his collarbone.

The bodice grew loose and gapped. When she got to her waist, she was shaking.

“Let me see you.” Eamon’s husky demand rolled over her.

Slowly, she raised her eyes to his as she bared herself to him, the hot air in the forge feeling cool against her skin. His breath stopped and held, his gaze molten as it roved over her. That look and the sight of her own naked br**sts, the pink tips quivering ever so slightly from the force of her unsteady breathing, filled her with liquid heat.

“I’ve died,” he whispered, and then he moved.

His mouth opened over one nipple, and she moaned, her head falling back, her hands clutching the massive swells of his shoulders to keep from falling. He did as promised, suckling her so gently there was barely a pull, just the flat of his tongue against her flesh as the wet heat of his mouth surrounded her.

She was undone. Nothing could feel better. Then he filled his big palms with her br**sts, kneading them lightly as he moved to the other nipple and tortured her anew.

Her hands now gripped his hair, holding on, holding him to her. “Eamon,” she said desperately, “I shall faint.”

He pulled free and glanced up at her, the wet curve of his lower lip grazing her distended nipple. Lust and wicked triumph glinted in his eyes. “I’m not done.” And then he grasped the sides of her gown and tugged.

The fabric tore with a loud, long rip. Before she could protest, he threw the gown upon the worktable and then set her upon it, stepping between her legs and cupping the back of her head with a swift move.

His looked wild and fierce staring down at her. High color stained his cheeks, and his nostrils flared. Over six feet of immensely strong, roused male. And it sent a thrill through her.

“What are you waiting for?” she whispered. She was splayed out before him, naked and leaning back upon her hands. And he hadn’t yet moved.

Eamon’s lids grew heavy, his gaze traveling over her in lazy perusal. The muscle at his jaw twitched, and his grip upon her neck tightened. “I’ve waited four years,” he said. “I’m merely enjoying the moment now.”

She laughed lightly, as if anticipation and nerves were not making her heart pound and her insides flutter. “Hardly fair.” She let her gaze roam over his chest, glistening with sweat and so very hard with muscle, down to the bulge pushing against his trousers. “When I am naked and you are not.”

In an instant, he’d let her go and ripped open the packet of his trousers. They slipped to the floor, and Lu sucked in a sharp breath. His thighs were powerful and thick, lightly furred. His cock. She’d had that inside her? Beneath a thatch of flame red hair, his c**k was long and weighty, bobbing as if impatient.

“Oh, my.”

All his glorious ruddiness, the various shades of red and gold and bronze that colored him, did something to her, made her want to devour him whole, lick him from head to foot.

She settled for reaching out and grasping him. Eamon groaned in approval, his hips swaying forward as she tugged. His skin was shockingly smooth and hot, his flesh so dense that it had no give beneath her questioning squeeze.

“Lu.” He fell forward, leaning into her, his hands slamming onto the table with a thud. He gripped it hard, his arms and shoulders bunching. “Pump it. Up and down. Like you’re… that’s… Christ.”

“Am I doing well?” she asked, though she could guess the answer.

He swallowed audibly. “A perfect student.” He voice ended on a strangled note, and he dove his hand into her hair once more and placed an open-mouthed kiss on her neck.

“Eamon, you haven’t yet kissed me, you realize.”

He stilled, his breath buffeting her sensitive skin. “I haven’t,” he agreed.

Lu let his c**k go as he cupped her cheeks with his large hands and tilted her head up to him. Tenderness softened his hard features. “Lu,” he said, “I love you.”

His soft lips brushed hers once. Then again. And they both let out a sigh. It was her first kiss. As she knew it was his.

“I love you too, Eamon.” When he pulled back to look at her, she curled her hand around the base of his throat, holding him. “I have loved you, you, since I sat with you beneath the willow tree.”

He was not kind, not gentle, when he kissed her again, his lips crushing against her. He held them there for a moment, and then, on a soft groan, he adjusted his grip and his mouth moved over hers, shaping and nuzzling her lips as though they were the sweetest fruit.

Lu opened her mouth to his, and he tasted her with his tongue. God, his tongue. It was slick and soft and warm and made her sex pulse each time he slid it over hers. She lost track of the kiss. It went deeper and deeper until her lips throbbed and her jaw ached, and still she did not want it to end. “I like kissing, Eamon,” she whispered. “We ought to have done it from the beginning.”