Shadowdance (Darkest London 4)

She cupped his face. Immediately he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, his whole body relaxing on a sigh. It spoke of trust. And she realized that he’d already given his to her. She had yet to do the same. Her fingers pressed into his skin. “Jack, I have something to tell you.” Because he should know all of her too.

His eyes opened, brilliant green and beautiful. “You can tell me anything, Merrily. You ought to know that by now.”

She was here. Jack could hardly believe it, but he wasn’t letting go. Fuck pride. Fuck staying away. He wasn’t going to leave her anymore. He’d stay by her side, or die trying.

“Talk to me, love.”

She licked her lips, a quick dart of her pink tongue. “You did not end my mortal life.”

He frowned. “As much as I hate to belabor the point, I’m afraid I did.”

“No. I…” Her hand slid from his cheek. “I ran in front of the wagon. I wanted to die.”

The very thought of her trying to kill herself—He cupped the back of her neck with both hands, holding her steady, holding himself steady. “What?”

“I ought to have told you. Only I was ashamed. I am ashamed. Do you understand? Adam doesn’t grant life to those who toss theirs away.” She paled. “But he didn’t know. I never offered the truth. I took that secret and burrowed it deep into the darkest pit of my soul. Until your confession.”

“Mary—”

“If a GIM were to find out what I’d done, I’d be banished. I wanted to tell you, but after the way you treated me, I was afraid to trust.” She searched his face. “The worst of it is that, had you known, all these years of miscommunication, of you feeling soulless, might never have been.”

Her eyes glowed like polished topaz and filled with tears. His hand shook so violently that when he wiped at the tear trickling down her cheek, he only succeeded in smearing it about with his thumb.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered. Anything but that. “Not over my feelings. I’m not worth it.”

She caught him by the wrist, staying his clumsy efforts. The simple feel of her fingers on his skin gave him the strength to move. Jack pressed his forehead against hers and just breathed, taking in the scent of her, that warm, sweet fragrance that felt of home and hope.

“I don’t want to live without you,” he said, cracking, pleading. He did not care. “That is my truth.”

Her slim fingers curled about his forearms. “You hurt me, Jack.” She was close enough that he heard her swallow. “For so long.”

“I’m sorry.” Pathetically small and useless words.

Soft breath caressed his face. “So I tried to hurt you in return. But it only made my pain deepen. I suspect it was the same for you.”

She did not know the half of it. But he shook his head slightly. Words burned as they worked their way out. “Your pain is mine.” His fingers tightened on her. “Infinitely.”

You deserve better than me. You deserve someone who can make you happy.

“That’s where you went terribly wrong,” Mary said softly. “You make me happy.”

He hadn’t known he’d spoken aloud. Jack stared at her, not knowing what to say. So he kissed her. Not hard. Not frantically. But in the way he’d always wanted to: as if she were his. Mary opened to him, her warm tongue sliding into his mouth.

Together they fell back onto the bed. He slid between her open legs, rocking his stiff c**k against the barrier of skirts and sheet, gritting his teeth when pleasure and want punched through him with the force of a freighter.

A little sigh escaped her, and her fingers drifted down his face, along his throat, raising the tiny hairs upon his skin as they went. She stilled as she reached the chain about his neck. Her finger hooked it and lifted. It had taken him a few moments to figure out that the key turned invisible to the eye when worn against the skin. Only by pulling it away could one see it.

A smile played about her lips. “My key.”

The chain was too short for him to see the key now, but he could almost feel it dangling just above his skin. “I wanted to keep it safe for you.”

Her legs twined farther around his as she gazed up at him. “That you did.” The color deepened upon her cheeks, and she licked her kiss-plumped lips. He watched, his c**k twitching, his pulse picking back up. Her voice grew almost shy, save for the huskiness underneath it all. “Will you put it back on me?”

Jack swallowed. Hard. Beyond the roaring of his ears and the tightness of his skin, he felt the chain around his neck loosen and slither free, and then she was holding her key. An offering.

Everything grew silent, save the sound of their breathing and the thundering of his heart. His focus narrowed to the rise and fall of her chest and the row of toggles fronting her regulator’s tunic. It was a simple linen one, the sort they wore when practicing combat. The natural shape of her beneath the cloth made it clear she was not constrained by a corset. Anticipation made his words thick. “Were you expecting a fight?”

A small smile tilted her lips. “Perhaps.” Her gaze grew dark. “Or perhaps I did not favor too many impediments during our discussion.”

His breath caught. “Practical girl.” It was said lightly, but the knowledge she’d given made him shake, every bit of him, save his fingers. They were steady and determined as he pulled each toggle tight, then released it with a tiny click. With each button set free, his blood grew hotter. Her eyes followed his progress, and her sweet lips parted, drawing in short gasps of air.

The tips of her fingers, so lightly holding his biceps as he worked, seared his skin. At last her tunic was spread open, revealing the tissue-thin ivory chemise beneath. Gently he touched the smooth skin just below her collarbones, and her breath hitched, that fine skin prickling with gooseflesh. His breathing grew labored, his mouth dry, as he worked the little pearl buttons free, and when he finished with the last one, he opened his prize.

He’d seen her before. But not like this. Not when she was arching her back ever so slightly, lifting her luscious br**sts up like an offering. Not when he could touch her.

So he did. Light and careful, as he ran a finger along the edge of the golden teeth guarding her heart. “Does it hurt?” he whispered. He needed to know that first.

“No.” A tiny tremor lit over her skin. “It feels… wonderful.”

He stroked the other edge, gently, smiling as he did it. He hadn’t expected to smile with her. Not this way. Happiness bloomed warm and tender beneath his ribs. His fingers drifted down, tracing under one breast. They were small br**sts, firm yet delicate like the rest of her. The honeyed caps of her ni**les pointed upward, just begging a man to suck.

Well then. Jack swooped down and drew a silken tip in deep. Mary cried out, her lithe body bowing into him. He smiled around her sweet nipple, then caught the hard hoop of her piercing with the tip of his tongue and worried it.

“Jack!” She grabbed his shoulders. Her nails biting into his flesh were a sharp pleasure.

Slowly he pulled back, holding on to his prize as he went, until the tip was freed, glistening in the light, and the little crystal hoop stood at attention. “I had to prepare it.” Unable to help himself, he gave the stiff nipple a flick with the end of his tongue before looking up at her flushed face. “Give me your key.”

Lightly panting and hand shaking, she handed him the key. His fingers were too large and clumsy for the task, fumbling with the effort to remain calm as he unhooked the hoop and slid the tiny key into place. By the time he finished, they were both trembling, a sheen of sweat covering their skins.

Resting a hand upon her stomach, Jack smiled down at his handiwork. “That has got to be the most erotic sight I’ve ever beheld.” Idly he touched the small key, moving it back and forth and loving the way she instantly writhed against his finger, as if seeking more.

“Sensitive, are you?” God, but she made him burn. Before she could answer, he leaned in and kissed her nipple. And again, because once was not enough. And she whimpered beneath him, her arms closing ranks around his neck, holding him there. Jack closed his eyes, shuddering as he gave in to the heady sensation of simply letting go with her. Heat washed over him as he suckled her. His teeth clicked against the key, and he bit down and gave it a tug.

“Sweet God, that feels so…” Mary groaned, her fingers grasping the short ends of his hair. He tugged it again, twisting a bit. And she jerked, a moan tearing from her. “Don’t stop, Jack.”

Palming her other breast, he gave her what they both wanted, tormenting her with his mouth as his fingers plucked at her other nipple. Lust drew him in circles, making him dizzy.

“I can’t stop touching you.” He kissed his way back up her body, finding that tender spot on her neck as his hands roamed over satin-smooth skin. “I don’t want to.”

She roamed too, finding sensitive patches and secret hollows of pleasure along his body. Kissing a line across his cheeks, along his jaw. Her h*ps lifted, pressing against his. An invitation. Jack pulled back, his chest working against hers.

“Let me see all of you, Mary. I want to. So badly.” Instinct shouted that he take, plunder. But enough had been taken from both of them. Her tremulous smile and small nod were his reward. He undid the ties of her skirts, fighting impatience, and then slid them down her slim hips. His mouth went dry. She was everything he’d ever wanted, and things he’d never even known he needed.

Gently curved, slender limbs rose up to meet a dark-gold triangle of curls and a small glimpse of sly pink. Her buttery skin prickled, a light shiver working over her. Uncertainty creased the corners of her wide eyes and tightened her mouth. Jack couldn’t bear that.

The first touch of his hand upon the soft skin of her thigh nearly undid him. Slowly he caressed her, and his skin tingled as if he were the one being caressed. “Ah, Merrily,” he whispered. “I’ve no words. Not the proper ones to do your loveliness justice.”

“Nor I for you, Jack Talent.” Her hand eased over his arm, a light, heady touch that drove him insane. Her lips curled. “I suppose we shall have to muddle through.”

But she deserved words. She deserved to know that she was cherished. His hand glided to the subtle swell of her hip. “Show yourself to me, love.” His voice was as rough as splintered wood.

Her pale thighs trembled as she spread them. Her sex, glistening coral pink, was plump with desire. For him. Mary Chase wanted him. She was waiting for him, her gaze not shy but hot and impatient.

He prolonged the moment, taking his time to reach out for her. And when he ran a finger down her slick center, she bucked, a little helpless gurgle filling her throat. But she opened her legs wider, canting her hips. For him.

He found himself panting, his body quaking with lust. “God, just to be able to touch you.” Slowly he circled her sex, watching her writhe. “Do you know what that does to me?” He pushed a finger into her tight quim, and her lips parted on a wordless cry. Jack eased out and plunged in again, his throat closing, making his words raw. “Have you any idea?”

Mary licked her lips, her sweet br**sts heaving as she struggled. “I’ve a good guess.”

She snuggled close, pressing her side against his, so much smaller than him, and yet the difference somehow made him feel fragile. Her fingers trailed over his chest, pausing at his nipple to circle it. He groaned but she drifted further down, to his aching cock, that somehow was still half hidden beneath the rumpled sheet, all but his head. That was peeking out, begging, really, for attention. Her lids lowered in somnolent perusal as her voice darkened. “Let me touch you, and we shall compare.”

The linen slithered over him, caressing before the cool air hit. It only inflamed his ardor.

“Glorious.” Her warm hand ran over his flesh, and he sighed.

Tentative and exploratory at first, her touch soon grew more assured. And then it turned almost reverent, as though she loved the feel of him as much as he loved the feel of her touch. Resting his forehead against hers, he simply breathed her in and caressed her sex, keeping time with her strokes. Their breath mingled and steamed.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you here?” he said against her open lips. “How many times I’ve pictured you in my bed?”

Her lashes fluttered down, her mouth soft and exploring, making his head spin. “I wanted it to be me. When you were pleasuring yourself. I wanted to be the one touching you.”

“I wanted it to be you too,” he rasped. “So much so it hurt.” God, had it hurt.

One slim hand held on to his shoulder, the other hand stroking, pulling. He was silent, his eyes closed, just feeling. Feeling her hand love his flesh, explore it with bolder touches. Stroking.

Hands stroking. Always so gentle at first. Coercing, teasing. Cold sliced through him, twisting his guts. No, not now. Not here. And still he shuddered sickly, his mouth watering with nausea. His hands left her, found the sheet, and gripped tight. No. Not with her.

She knew, had to have felt his panic, for she stopped, her hand sliding to his hip. Hell, he hated the relief that coursed through him when she let go.

“Jack?”

He took a shaking breath and faced her. Concern was there, and understanding. He could not stand seeing himself reflected in her gold gaze.

The steady warmth of her palm at his hip seeped into his bones as she spoke. “I don’t have to touch you.”

“I want you to touch me.” His voice broke, weak and pathetic thing that he was. He sucked in another breath. “I need you to touch me. It’s… I closed my eyes and—” Hell. He didn’t want to say it.