Addicted (43 page)

“Back there,” Wallingford indicated. “Behind the curtain.”

Summoning her strength, Anais walked to the back of Lindsay’s harem. With a hand that trembled like a leaf, she pulled back the cover and gasped, covering her mouth.

“He is only sleeping,” his valet reassured as he packed up a silver tray and the items surrounding it. “He should awaken in a few hours.”

“H-how long?” she asked, stepping into the room. Her gaze had not strayed from his body. His breaths were slow and shallow, she could barely tell he breathed at all.

“I do not know, my lady. I was not here when he arrived.”

It was dark outside—hours since she had left him that morning standing in front of St. Ann’s.

“He has been known to be gone for days, Lady Anais. Do not look so stricken. He will awaken.”

Days? Anais fell to her knees in a crinkle of taffeta beside Lindsay’s limp body. Good God, he looked to be in death’s sleep. When she reached for his hand and gripped it, holding it between her breasts, he didn’t move. Didn’t even flicker in acknowledgment.

“I…I had to see him,” she whispered, as she gazed upon him. “Somehow I knew that my place was here, between him and the opium.”

She looked up and saw Vallery watching her. Tears spilled from her cheeks, and she reached out and ran a shaking hand through Lindsay’s black curls, and the hair he had let grow long.

“He will not thank you for it, my lady. In fact, you’ll see another side of the man you thought you’ve always known.”

“He won’t hurt me,” she whispered, conviction in every word as she looked down upon the man she would never stop loving or wanting in her life. “He would never lay a hand on me in anger.”
Just in passion,
she silently added.

“The red smoke rules him now.”

“No,” she murmured, swiping at her tears. “It does not. He is more than this, sir. He is a man of intelligence, of sensitivity. He’s done so many wonderful things for others, including myself and my family. He has been the provider for his mother, his father. He has carried the burden of responsibilities from a young age, and shouldered them without complaint. No, sir,” she cried, squeezing Lindsay’s hand, “there is so much more to him than anyone knows. I know that. I’ve always known it. I just temporarily forced myself not to remember those attributes.”

This bond we have, it must never be broken. Promise me,
he’d asked
her that night in the stable.
Promise me that this chain that binds us will never come unlinked.

She had told him that she would always be bound to him. That her heart would forever belong to him.

That afternoon she had told herself she was done watching Lindsay kill himself with opium. She had tried to convince herself that she wanted to start anew. To break away from the past. To live without Lindsay.

It had worked, too. For a few hours. Until she began to think of her future, which naturally progressed to thoughts of Lindsay.

He was so much more than this, this opium-smoking ghost. He was flawed, yes, but beneath the mistakes was a man who would do anything for anyone. A man who would cherish her, protect her—love her—as she was. He was a beautiful man, inside and out. And it was with that realization that Anais knew she would never love another like she loved Lindsay.

He was worth the fight, the tears, the heartache. They had traveled so far, too far to turn their backs on each other.

“This chain that binds us will not come unlinked,” she vowed to him. “It will not, Lindsay. I swear it.”

She looked up at him through a lock of her hair and saw that he still slept. She clutched his hand to her breasts and held on to it with everything she had. “Together, we will conquer this demon. You must believe that. You must.”

27

Through the fog, he heard her rise from the divan, the rustle of silk cascading over velvet. Through the smoke, he heard the snapping of buttons being set free from their closures. His blood ran hot as he thought of the dress being shed from her body. The crinkling of silk once again drew his attention, rousing his desires.

Peering through the rising vapors of the pipe, he watched the silk gown skim down along her back and over her waist until it fell onto the floor. Her arms rose up over her head, so that he could see the side of her breast, full and soft, as she wound her hair up into a bun, securing it with pins. She turned then, gracefully walking through the curtain of opium to kneel before him. She still looked like an angel to him. She probably always would.

“I knew if I smoked enough you would return to me,” he murmured as he caught a loose lock of her hair on his finger. “Why do you weep, angel?” He brushed away the tear that had crept out of her eye. She didn’t say anything. She never did in his opium dreams. There was no talking. Only loving. What could be said with words, was spoken instead with their bodies.

“Your tears pain me. Let me take them all away and replace them with tears of pleasure.”

He touched her, felt her body jolt then soften beneath the gentle grazing of his fingertips. She wore only a thin chemise, plain, unadorned, nothing to distract from the enticing view of her breasts pressing against the soft cotton. With his palm, he felt her skin; warm, supple. Her heart beat steadily against his hand as he reached for the strap of her shift and pulled it down along her shoulder, baring her milk-white skin.

“How is it you grow more beautiful?” he asked as her breast filled his hand. “How is it possible to keep wanting you more than the time before?” She smiled, blooming under his appraisal, making his heart ache. How he wished this was really her he saw amidst the smoke. Yet, he smelled her, the scent of the French perfume she had worn that night he had made love to her for the first time. Even amongst the opium fumes he could decipher the delicate floral mix with her own unique scent.

He recalled through his fuzzy mind how he had envisioned the perfume gliding down between her breasts, the memory inspired him, and reaching for the hem of her chemise he raised it over her head and discarded it. She was naked, bared completely to him and he studied her like a slave at a bazaar. She did not complain. She never did, not in his dreams.

Guided by his hand, she lay down on her side, her spine facing him. He studied her skin, the way she glowed in the candlelight. He followed the flickering shadows, trailing his fingers along her back, down to her hip and the curve of her luscious buttock. The sounds of pleasure coming from her spurred him on, and he pressed her forward so that she was on her belly and
he was straddling her. Perfumed smoke came from his mouth and he watched as it curled over her neck and shoulder, bleeding onto her skin. The sight aroused him and his cock pulsed, finding home between the cleft of her bottom.

With his mouth, he trailed his lips along her skin as the smoke continued to cover her body like a swath of gray silk. The sight was so erotic, so hedonistic, that he picked up the pipe, inhaled deeply, then exhaled. The curling tendrils floated over her hips, caressing her bottom, escaping between the folds of her quim.

As she moaned and moved her hips in invitation, he stroked her with his hands and mouth, loving her through the smoke as he exhaled the very last of the opium from his lungs. He was ruled by twin cravings, oblivion and passion. Opium and Anais. But here, in his fantasies, the two became one.

His blood was thick, his body languid; he was high on opium, floating above the clouds. He was drunk on Anais and the pleasures waiting to be explored. He could last for hours like this, in this pleasurable plane of sensuality.

There was no need to rush. So he took his time, touching her, trailing his fingers down her legs and the inner facings of her thighs. He parted the globes of her bottom and stroked her sex, sliding his cock along the trail of wetness he had spread. She was begging him to join her as he trailed his tongue down her spine while his cock slid along her skin, mimicking the sex she longed for.

His name, said in a pleading, husky whisper, was an alluring enticement, but he resisted the urge to penetrate her. No, he needed to build her up, so that she was at least half as high as himself. He wanted Anais adrift in lust and longing.

Pulling the pins free, he undid the bun, letting her hair fall down over her shoulders. He picked up handfuls of the silken mass and touched it, then let it fall back over her shoulder. He wanted to feel all that hair draped over him, wanted to clutch it as he cried out in orgasm.

“How badly I want you, Anais,” he murmured as he turned her over onto her back. When he looked down into her beautiful face she was smiling up at him and holding out her arms to him. “I need to feel your heat, my body in yours.”

“Beautiful, Lindsay. Don’t you know that I would give you anything you desired?”

“Anything?”

She nodded, giving him free rein over her body. His own tightened in reaction as she ran her hands through his hair.

“You have such beautiful skin,” he murmured before his lips brushed the nape of her neck. “So soft, so responsive to my touch.” His lips captured her nipple, which was hard and pink. He suckled it, bringing it into his mouth, then tonguing the tip to make it even harder. “Your skin tastes like opium and woman—ambrosia,” he said as his hand skated down her belly to her parted thighs where she was wet. “You taste of desire here. You always do.” He pressed his fingers against her, brushing her clitoris. He watched her response through the smoke that escaped the abandoned pipe. “I love your sounds of pleasure,” he told her as he passed his thumb once more over her clitoris. “I want to hear you gasp that way when I am inside you.”

When she tilted up her face, he couldn’t stop himself from clutching her face in his hands and lowering his mouth to hers. His kiss was slow and provocative, his tongue mimicking what
his cock was straining to do. She moaned and he deepened it. When her hands trailed down his belly, he didn’t pull away. He needed her touch. Her mouth. In his dreams, she always knew what he needed, and this one was no different. She captured him in her hand, stroking him. He was hard, ready to be inside her, fucking her for hours.

Breaking the kiss, Anais moved her mouth lower, down his neck, his shoulder, his nipple, which she circled and laved with her tongue. Currents of electricity ran through his body as she flicked his nipples once more. Filling his hands with her breasts, he pleasured her until her mouth reached his belly. Without warning, she captured the swollen tip of him between her pouting lips. Sucking in a ragged breath, he reached for her hair, holding it back so he could watch her as he thrust his hips forward, filling her mouth over and over with his length. She looked so lovely, here in his opium den, on her knees taking him deeply.

“I want to come like this,” he said fiercely while watching her tongue flick up the length of him. His hand fisted tighter in her hair as his strokes became harder. Then suddenly he was pulling away and reaching for her. “Not yet, angel. We’ve got hours left before you’ll leave me.”

She looked confused, but he ignored it as he took her hand and helped her to lie on her side. “Simultaneous pleasure,” he explained as he parted her thighs and kissed her glistening sex. He parted her with one hand, stroking his tongue along her folds. Then she was there with him, in this decadent position, pleasuring his cock with her luscious mouth.

It was a heady, hedonistic visual, Anais lovely and naked,
sucking him as the opium vapors shimmered between them. How long they pleasured one another, he could not say, but he came like that, their bodies entwined, Anais loving his cock, and him her glistening quim.

He had no sooner spent himself, before he hardened again. It was always like this when he dreamed of her while under the effects of the opium. Pulling her up from where her face rested on his thighs, he lay back, his head cushioned on the pillows. He had dreamed of her like this once before, sitting on his chest while he tasted her. She had loved it then, she loved it now, he realized as he heard her moan and felt her shudders. She looked beautiful and wanton, her breasts heavy and inviting. He brought her to orgasm with his tongue, two, perhaps three times before he released her and allowed her to finally slide onto his cock. He was kneeling, rocking into her as he cupped her buttocks in his hands. His penetration was deep, slow, enough to make her gasp with each stroke. Their bodies were slick with sweat. Anais’s damp hair bound them together, clinging to his skin like her arms clung to his neck. Together they rocked, their bodies in perfect rhythm, their breaths evenly matched. The feel of her breasts, the scrape of her nipples against his chest completed the perfection of their union.

She was as high as he now, drunk on the passion, the pleasure he was giving her as she held on to him as if she would never let go.

Hours later, opium smoke continued to fill the room. His brain was clouded, fogged, his body on fire. Opening his eyes,
he saw that Anais was beneath him, lying on her belly as he ran his hand along her back, his hips pressing into her. He was slowly giving her his cock…in and out…in and out in a slow, lazy rhythm. His finger had found its way between her bottom, rubbing and circling the little puckered opening that beckoned him to explore what he had never dared to before.

He had been doing this for hours, taking her in every position, and still he could not get enough of her moans and cries, the look of her taking his cock, the feel of her cunt.

Rocking against her, he reached for her wrists, wrapped his hands around the delicate bones and held her so that her arms were above her head and his body was flush atop hers as his cock drove in and out of her.

“I can go longer, Anais,” he whispered against her neck. “I could take you like this all night.”

Her lashes fluttered and her mouth parted as he penetrated her deeply. “You have been.”

He was rocking hard now, taking her as the pressure of his hold on her wrists increased. “I don’t want to give you up…never want to give you up,” he said through gritted teeth as he pumped harder into her.

He didn’t spill inside, but instead pulled out and allowed his seed to splash onto her bottom. He watched his cock pulse against the cleft of her derriere and he rocked against her as he slid the head of his cock between the globes of her bottom, sliding up and down as he held himself above her, watching as he branded her. He was hardening again, he thought in wonder, but she was already asleep, their entwined hands clutched her chest.