Page 75 of Bargaining with the Devil

She came up on her knees beside him.

Lucy was up to something, but the look on her face was a decidedly odd one.

“I want . . .” She’d come up on her knees and scooted down till her mouth was inches from his cock.

Which bobbed on its own, anticipating. She’d never done it to him, and Jesus did he want it. Shyness had prevented her, possibly.

She was still halted, mouth close enough to him that her breath heated him, but she didn’t move.

“I want it too, a mhuirnín.” He worked on striking a balance between encouraging and the growl that wanted to come out, thinking about her mouth on him.

Still she hesitated.

And she’d started trembling.

’Twasn’t excitement there on her face. Not something as simple as uncertainty. ’Twas fear, not arousal.

“You don’t have to do this, a mhuirnín.” He set a hand atop her shoulder.

“I want to. Since we can’t . . .” She drew a shaky breath. “I want to do for you what you do for me. But I . . .”

But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. And he was beginning to have the idea that ’twas not even a little to do with shyness.

“You don’t do a fuckin’ thing to me or for me unless you want it. You hear me?” He worked to gentle his voice because his anger wasn’t for her. “’Tis no good for me unless ’tis good for you too, a ghrá. I don’t want it if you don’t. Come lay your head on me and just rest a minute.”

She nodded after a moment, like it had taken that long for his words to register, and she moved slowly as though nothing quite worked right.

He took her in his arms and guided her head onto his shoulder. His erection had mostly wilted; no danger of his cock intruding.

“You want to tell me about it?” he said after a time.

“It’s to do with Compton.” She laughed but it was bitter, not a single iota of humor in it.

He kept his mouth shut, just traced light patterns on her shoulder blade.

“Why does it still bother me so much? He didn’t betray me like Teddy. He didn’t keep me as mistress like Cuvelier. And he didn’t . . . coerce me. Violate me.”

Rape her, she meant. Small favor, that. As for coercion and violation, there were many shades of that. But ’twasn’t his place to call it that if she didn’t. “So he didn’t violate you. But he did something to you, a mhuirnín.” He tipped her chin up till she had to meet his eyes or else close hers.

She did close them at first and then took a shuddering breath and opened them again.

“I’ll never judge you, a ghrá. There’s not a fuckin’ thing in this world you can tell me that I’ll judge. Not a thing I’ll blame you for. Aye?”

She nodded her head, movements jerky. He gathered her in again, guiding her head against his shoulder.

A tear worked its way between her cheek and his skin. “I didn’t understand at first what he meant to do, not till he stood over me and started unbuttoning his pants.” Her breathing was rapid, shallow, an animal caught in a trap.

He’d been right. There was only hollow satisfaction in that after he breathed through the surge of fury. “I understand. You don’t need to say the rest if you don’t want.”

Voice muffled against his chest, she said, “No. I think I do need to say the rest. A little bit of it anyway.”

He kissed the top of her head. Smoothed a hand along her back. Tried to tell her with the strength of his embrace that no matter what she said, he wasn’t going to let go of her till she was good and ready to be done with his arms.

“He was . . . I don’t know if he was truly . . . I think maybe it wasn’t about gratification for him, having me do . . . that,” she managed to get out softly.

“With men like that, ’tis power.” ’Twas the power they got off on. Sexual gratification was a distant second to control.

He wished again that Compton wasn’t already dead. Small consolation that it was Lucy’s brother-in-law who’d done the job. Blackmore hadn’t quite intended it, had had his hand forced. Himself, he’d have done it had he known. And he’d not have done it quick.