Stephen certainly didn’t seem to mind. His organ pressed against her thigh, hard and insistent, and when Mina arched upward, the friction made him groan and thrust forward. She tilted back, glad to go, eager to have their bodies line up properly for once, and—
“Ouch!”
The edge of the step had caught her in the spine. The pain wasn’t very bad, but it was unexpected enough and in the right location to make her cry out.
Stephen pulled back instantly, though he kept his arms around her. “Are you all right?”
His touch was gentle now, with no urgency, and Mina could sense how much effort that took. “Yes,” she said, “but I think we should move up to the landing.”
She started to get up, but Stephen clasped her hands in his before she could rise. Despite the darkness, she felt his gaze on her face, searching and intense. “Mina,” he said. “Are you sure of this?”
“Yes.”
Mina spoke without thinking, but she knew that further thought would have led her to no different conclusion. She’d read George’s journal and Colin had confirmed what it had said: there was nothing for her to fear in the way of consequences. And even if they defeated Ward and she could go back to her life, she knew she’d never find anyone else like Stephen.
If they didn’t defeat Ward, he might well kill them both.
One way or another, this opportunity would never come again. Mina discovered that she didn’t want to die—whether at twenty-seven or seventy-two—without lying with this man.
“I’m very sure,” she said.
“Then I’m honored.” His lips brushed hers, gentle and brief. “Wait here a bit.”
“All right,” she said, half laughing, and waited with her hands in her lap, feeling the yearning in her body as a sure and pleasant thing. This was good; it would take her somewhere better yet. For the moment—there was the moment.
Then Stephen touched her on the shoulder. When she rose, he took her hand and led her up to the landing. “You could lie down,” he said, “if you’d like.”
When Mina lowered herself to the floor, she found that the surface beneath her was soft. Exploring with her hands, she made out the outlines of a coat and a shirt, laid out in some approximation of a bed, and a waistcoat folded for a pillow.
“Kind of you,” she said. “No trousers?”
Stephen’s laughter washed over her. “I’d like to have some control of myself,” he said and cupped her face to kiss her again.
The equilibrium she’d been holding steady spilled over again, and desire flooded through her in a second. Mina let Stephen guide her to the floor, and as he worked the buttons on her dress, she ran her hands over his bare skin. She trailed her fingers through the hair on his chest, then brushed a fingertip across his nipple and heard his quick and frustrated inhalation.
“You’re not making this task of mine easy,” he said, half growling.
Mina laughed. “Should I stop?”
“Nae. I’ve always liked a challenge,” he said. With that another button came open, and Stephen slid his hand inside her dress, where the hooks of her corset proved considerably easier.
Then he slid downward, and Mina protested at first at the change in angle and the fact that so much more of him was out of reach. That didn’t last long, though. Not when he took one of her nipples into his mouth and let his tongue play across it. She wasn’t complaining at all then—she couldn’t even remember words to complain with—and then one of his hands was beneath her skirts, sliding up her leg to her thigh, up her thigh to—
Ohhhh.
She wasn’t sure if she’d made the noise or simply thought it. Stephen’s hand was very light against her sex at first, but even that contact was devastating. She was melting at his touch, dissolving and yet still striving, aching, wanting more.
Slowly, very gently, he slid one finger inside her, then a second. Mina caught her breath. It was good; it was strange, though not wholly unfamiliar. Stephen’s fingers were much larger than her own, and the way he stroked her was much more skilled, much more certain than she’d managed during her brief moments of self-exploration, hindered as she’d been by shared bedrooms and unfamiliarity.
However he’d learned more, she blessed his education.
“Lovely girl,” he muttered against her breast, and his thumb found the spot at the top of her sex that made her cry out. He circled it slowly and then faster, and Mina’s hips moved to meet his hand. “That’s it—let me—”
And then desire, passion, sensation exploded within her, waves of pleasure that made the darkness glow. At the last moment, she remembered that she shouldn’t scream and bit down hard on her lip. If it hurt, she was miles away from noticing.
As she caught her breath, Stephen slid away from her for a moment. She heard rustling cloth in the darkness and realized what was happening. “I wish we could see each other,” she said.
“Aye.” He was breathless too, his voice husky. “Although it might be more than I could stand just now. If you want to stop—”
“Ask me again and I will,” she threatened.
“I’ll not risk that,” he said, and then he was lying on top of her again, his weight on his elbows. His bare chest pressed against her stiff nipples. His legs were warm between hers, and the head of his organ was hot and rigid at the opening to her sex. Instinctively, she pushed up against it.
As before, Stephen moaned and pressed forward—this time, pushing into her with his full length. There was a flash of pain—her collision with the steps had been worse—and an odd feeling of pressure and fullness, with pleasure waiting just behind it.
He went still. Waiting, Mina realized. Without asking, he was asking, or perhaps just offering. She wouldn’t have made him stop now, though, earlier threats aside. Mina wouldn’t have stopped for another hundred pounds.
As an answer, she wrapped her legs around him as much as her skirts would allow, which tilted the scale very emphatically back toward pleasure. So did the sensation when Stephen began to move. He went slowly at first, with that sensation of leashed power that still excited Mina. Then, when she started to get breathless again, to writhe under him and feel desire building again, his control slipped considerably.
That was fine with Mina. That was better than fine. She thrust up against Stephen, listening to his voice come broken and ragged in her ear: good girl and just like that and so hot, so tight, and felt the urgency driving him. She met it with her own, surprised to find herself back on the edge but not inclined to ask questions. At the end, she bit his shoulder to stifle her scream.
Stephen reared his head back and looked into her eyes. “Mina,” he said, in a voice that came from very deep in his chest. “God, Mina.”
Then he threw his head back and arched forward, pouring himself into her. For a moment, there was nothing in the world but them and the darkness—and the darkness was fine, even welcome, because they were both in it.
Thirty-eight
Given his own way, Stephen would have lain a long time with Mina in his arms, listening to her breathing and drifting in the languid and pleasant dizziness that followed climax, particularly this time. Out of almost two centuries’ experience, he could recall no interlude as intense as this one had been, nor as satisfying. He would have greatly preferred to stay where he was.
He would also have greatly preferred a light and a bed. Clearly the universe didn’t pay as much attention to him as he would have liked. Perhaps that was just as well—he wouldn’t have asked for a strange woman to come running through his house, and he certainly had no quarrel with the results.