Disclaimer: The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.

Allesworth, 2009

I showered and dressed quickly, in a hurry to pack and leave for Scotland. I was very excited to be going to another country, even if it wasn't that far away, and wrapping my head around all we might find made me more excited.

"One more time: why do we need to get our hands on Carlisle's letters and poems? If he wrote them, he remembers them, which means you remember them."

"There could be a clue there. The letters we found under the cellar stairs were the ones Carlisle originally stashed in Edinburgh. But he hid both his and Sophie's letters there, and only Sophie's letters turned up at Allesworth. If his are missing, it's possible they're still in Edinburgh and obvious hiding spots have equaled new information every time we've checked them out."

"How long will we be there?"

"Just three days."

He looked as if he had absolutely nothing to hide, which told me one thing. He was definitely keeping something from me. I wasn't yet sure what, but I would find out.

Carlisle and Esme were very sweet saying goodbye to us. Even more endearing than their genuine concern was their brevity. I just wanted to be somewhere, anywhere, alone with Edward.

I didn't realize exactly how much I wanted it until he closed my car door and walked around to the driver's side. I could almost literally taste freedom.

Edward stopped too often for my taste. It seemed he wanted me to see every sight in England and Scotland.

After our fifth stop on the side of the road to check out the scenery, I huffed audibly.

Edward looked at me, confused, as he shut his door and restarted the engine. "Are you in a hurry to get to Edinburgh, Bella?"

"Yes."

He double-checked, which made me smile. "You're not being sarcastic, are you?"

"Good grief, no. I'm tired of sharing you with half a dozen people who can sense our every move. I just want to be settled in for at least a few nights alone with you."

I felt the car accelerate. "I can certainly oblige, Miss Swan. We still have a ways to go, though."

To keep me entertained, he told me some of the interesting things he heard while underground at Allesworth. Most of them weren't something you had to be a mind-reader to get but the details were fun and kept me from dwelling on exactly how fast we were going.

Aro and Renata were sleeping together, though not with Mrs. Aro. Felix thought I looked like a member of his family he vaguely remembered from his human days, hence the mournful staring. Jane had an unrequited crush on a nomad and, between the heartache and the embarrassment she felt, the only thing that kept her from killing me was Aro's order not to. He wanted to recruit me but also hoped I might be a reason for one of the Cullens to do something punishable by death.

And Aro had been using his band of merry men to influence human governments for centuries. I couldn't wait to hear Jasper's thoughts on the matter.

Most of the kings of Europe from the seventeenth century on, in fact, had unknowingly harbored vampires in their courts. Many of them were long dead, executed by Felix when they learned too much. The trick was—and this hurt Carlisle even more than Edward thought it would—Aro had been trying to find a way to plant a few vampires in among the humans for decades until he met Carlisle.

All they had to do was avoid eating humans. It wasn't easy by any means, but it was possible.

And that was one more reason Carlisle's family made Aro so nervous. They fit in among humans so much more effectively than his monster militia.

He'd been pretty quiet, barely involving himself with humans recently, but had a big project on the horizon.

Edward was conspicuously silent on the subject of Demetri.

After noon, we passed a town named Carlisle and the sign on the outskirts of town indicated that we were close to Gretna Green, which made me think of Austenian eloping, which made me think of weddings, which made me think of wedding nights, which made me think of my own wedding night.

I continued to stare silently out the window long after Gretna Green faded in the distance.

What was it about eloping that was so romantic? It was kind of the Regency equivalent of running off to Vegas. But I loved the idea that it required no one but the necessary parties: a bride, a groom and someone legally able to do the ceremony. Did they even require witnesses anymore? I could make do with two strangers.

If Alice kept her mouth shut, no one would even have to know.

About five hours after we left Allesworth, we arrived at a house south of Edinburgh. I knew why we weren't staying in town and I didn't mind any inconvenience that left Edward's mind less full of interruptions.

More for me.

"While we're here, I'm going to change into something," he looked at my fleece yoga pants and French terry top apologetically, "more business-appropriate."

I racked my brain for an ensemble to wear.

"Alice slipped a few items into my garment bag for you."

"If there's something in there that would work, you could just grab it for me. I'm not going to be picky now."

His eyes lit up. Who knew making him happy could be so simple?

The cottage was perfect for our purposes…well, my purposes. It was small enough that I knew no one could stay with us. From the bedroom window, I couldn't see the next house, though I could see smoke rising from what I assumed was someone's chimney. We were alone at last.

I slipped into the skirt and blouse that Edward handed to me. A pencil skirt and sheer blouse weren't my usual style but they clearly worked for the man picking out my clothes. The heels were definitely out of my comfort zone but at least I'd recently practiced walking in them.

Edward was waiting for me in the hallway, my coat in hand. "We'll go into town and do some legwork before dinner, unless there's something you want to see before the sun sets."

"I want to know what the hell is going on way more than I want to sightsee."

He held out my jacket so that I could slip my arms in the sleeves. When I turned back around, he'd planted one arm on the wall over my shoulder and leaned his face to mine. I backed into the wall and pulled him with me by his belt loops.

He murmured into my ear. "I don't know if I can conscientiously take you into public looking like that."

"So you approve or have I done something atrocious like wear the skirt sideways?"

"I wouldn't care if it was on inside-out. I can't think straight if I look at you."

I loved the compliment but I knew I had a finite number of seconds left before he'd had enough and I wanted to make the most of them.

After a few moments, he pulled away as predicted. "I really want to stay here but we need to get to Edinburgh."

"I'm not in a huge hurry…."

"Well, you should be. You've missed hours of lectures today and we'll just make it in time to hear one last presentation about idiopathic hypertrophic subaortic stenosis as a cause of sudden cardiac death in adolescents."

I was puzzled for a moment, wondering why that cheeky grin wouldn't leave his face. We weren't even studying medicine or causes of death in school.

But lots of other students were. "Are we crashing a lecture?"

"We're not 'crashing.' I paid the late registration fee and we are attending as students. Which we both are."

"Yes. But not medical students."

"I have been a medical student."

"Well, I haven't. What if someone wants to talk shop with me?"

"I promise to keep you all to myself. We can hide in the library until most of them clear out."

I couldn't think straight once he mentioned keeping me to himself in the library. There was something about a giant room with dozens of dark nooks and crannies where you were supposed to be quiet and not disturb anyone that made me want to do just the opposite. Edward and I had spent so many hours being well-behaved in libraries. What I wouldn't give for just one hour of misbehaving….

I wanted to send Alice an engraved note of thanks for the librarian get-up.

Since hiking and heels would not be a healthy combination for me, Edward dropped me at the Queen Street entrance of the Royal College of Physicians. The façade was surprisingly low-key, as if it had been a residence once upon a time.

Some occasional, spotty sunshine forced Edward below ground and he promised to meet me inside in fifteen minutes. He didn't say where but, as soon as I saw the sign inside, I knew where he would have to find me.

I walked to the Cullen Suite, stifling a giggle.

The Royal College of Physicians had begun meeting in the late seventeenth century, according the tri-fold pamphlet I picked up. They moved into the late Greek Revival building in 1845, though the Cullen Suite was named after a William Cullen who became the president of the RCP in 1773. Even more exciting to me was the well-appointed library in-house.

I imagined pen-chewing flirtations and making out between the shelves to break up the monotony of studying. Why wasn't the University library in London so inviting?

"Interesting reading, Doctor?"

I turned to glare at him. "Actually it is, sir."

He pinned the nametag to my blouse carefully. "You know, you can call me 'doctor' if it makes you feel better."

I bit my lip to stifle a giggle and pulled him closer with the button placket of his shirt. "I think that my ideas about playing doctor and yours are very different."

"Maybe we can reconcile them later."

"Not now?"

"No. Definitely not now. We need to familiarize ourselves with this building. Maybe we could start with the library? It's empty now but I overheard someone talking about preparing it for an event later this evening."

"I like libraries." This was quite possibly the lamest sentence that had ever been ejected from my lips, even in the event of an emergency.

"You're so flushed that I'm afraid to ask why 'I like libraries' caused that kind of response."

"Have you seen the library here?" Mercifully, I was pretty sure he thought I was still referencing the impressive nature of the books it housed. Why couldn't I tell him that just the thought of doing something naughty in a library made me incoherent?

Whatever my sorry reason for keeping mum, not telling him was a step down a long road of hiding the things that might make him uncomfortable. It was a step I didn't want to take.

I whispered. "Librariesmakemehot."

His eyebrow twitched. "This is a new development?"

"No. Sort of. What I mean is, it has been developing but it is now well-developed. Like definitely out of a training bra." It took conscious effort on my part to not fidget.

"I can see the draw and we have spent more hours locked away in libraries than most couples. Maybe we can spend some time amongst the tomes here that isn't business-only."

My throat instantly felt parched. "I'd love that."

"Carlisle left a box hidden in a hallway off the library. Would you be interested in taking a stroll down there now?"

I grinned and took his hand. "Yes. Yes I would."

We'd been in the library for all of thirty seconds when Edward abandoned me.

"Looking for something specific…" a pair of dark eyes dropped to my nametag, "Dr. Cullen?"

I almost snorted when I realized someone was addressing me as Dr. Cullen. Caught up in all that library-fantasizing, I hadn't bothered to look at my identifier.

The gentleman who'd approached me seemed nice enough—sandy hair, rimless spectacles that he adjusted repeatedly, eyes fixed well north of the general vicinity of my falsified badge—but he might as well have been coming at me with a knife. I didn't even know what section of books I was currently browsing.

"No, thank you. I'm really just admiring the room at large." Vague, check. Polite, check.

"It is a lovely library."

"Do you work here?"

"No. I have been sent here for work. In fact, I was doing very much the same thing you were: taking in the scenery." Was I part of the scenery?

"Oh. You asked if I were looking for something as if you worked here."

He seemed to understand my confusion. "Of course. A book about the Dr. Cullen is just over your shoulder and I was about to have a look. But if you'd wanted to read it I could certainly wait."

"No. I didn't have my eye on anything in particular, so make yourself at home."

I waited for him to walk away. He didn't.

He cleared his throat and looked around nervously for a moment before it registered. The book he wanted was behind me. I blushed.

"I'm so sorry. Let me get out of the way." In my embarrassment, I tripped and fell into him. He smelled nice, at least.

"Are you alright, mademoiselle? I shouldn't have…." He righted me and pulled his hands away quickly.

"I'm perfectly fine. And there's no better place to injure myself than at a gathering of so many physicians."

"Yes. I'm sure one of these pediatric cardiologists would be able to wrap an ankle." He looked down at my ankles and his eyes widened. "Those heels are beautiful."

"Thank you. My fiancée picked them out."

"He has discerning taste…and I have no manners. My name is Sebastien." He extended a hand. After the embrace a few seconds ago, it felt stilted but polite.

"I'm Bella…Cullen." My nametag occurred to me at the last possible moment. I returned his handshake. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir." I never spoke so formally but something about this polite man who blushed as easily as I did made me want to observe all the conventions. They were a thin shield from the slings and arrows of a modern world but I felt protective of him now that he'd been kind to me.

"Are you enjoying Edinburgh?"

"I've only just arrived, but so far, yes. You?"

He smiled and ran a hand through his sandy hair self-consciously. "I am, though I haven't had the opportunity to do much in the way of sightseeing. Jet lag and work isn't a cocktail I'd recommend."

"Not even with a lemon twist?" What a lame joke.

He choked on his pity-laugh. "I think the twist of lemon might make it more palatable." His face would go up in flames soon, I feared. Were his glasses fogging?

I spied a volume of poetry about a foot above his head that I knew I couldn't reach. "Could I use your reach for a moment?"

"Certainly."

"I'd like that brown book that says 'Allesworth' on the spine."

He plucked it from the shelf with no problem. "Thank you."

I squeezed past him and we went our separate ways after a few more words. I settled into a seat to read. What had I just found?

I flipped through and quickly realized that my book was a bust.

It was a written history of the grounds, not the poems I'd hoped for, but I feared it was only useful to me as a novelty.

Edward reappeared as I closed the dusty volume. "We have them."

That was so much easier than I'd anticipated. I smiled, a night without responsibility stretching before me. "Let's go, then."

"I have booked us a table nearby for dinner."

I masked my disappointment with a tight-lipped grin. "Thank you. Where?"

He looked too amused not to know I was disappointed. "Here."

My grin blossomed into the genuine article. "Are we the reason that the library is booked this evening?"

"It has been 'booked' for over a century, I think."

His bad pun got a dry chuckle. "Reserved. Have you reserved this library for us tonight?"

"I have. Unless you'd rather we went elsewhere…."

There was nowhere I'd rather be. A movement across the room caught my eye and I looked up in time to see my new friend Sebastien walking towards the door.

He winked at me when our eyes met.

Edward chuckled and whispered, "He hopes your evening is finished with a lemon."

I could feel my features scrunch. "He really likes garnishes."

There was more quiet laughter as he walked to the doors to close and lock them.

Allesworth, 1690

The house glowed warmly. I hadn't expected it to. I'd imagined echoing emptiness would await me at Allesworth since it was what I'd left behind in the vacuum of Carlisle's conspicuous absence.

Hazy tendrils rising snakelike into the night from every chimney told me that the fireplaces were lit and recently stoked. All the windows framed tiny tongues of flame rising from candles.

While the scene surpassed my every expectation, I couldn't help but feel some trepidation. I was stepping into the unknown with Tristan when crossing the street to attend a Sunday sermon with him would scare me.

This was not wise. I should ask him to leave.

But I wouldn't; I knew I wouldn't.

This rendezvous was more than a year in the making—I'd almost capitulated dozens of times—and pretending to walk away now would only delay the inevitable.

How many more times could I bend under his command in a darkened corner just barely out of view before we were caught? I could reason with myself ad nauseum and never behave in the manner I consistently decided upon.

Something stronger than reason, stronger even than my hold over myself, commanded me in his presence. I would want him until he didn't want me to. The choice was not mine; it was his.

He was a libertine with no regard for me beyond making me a conquest. He was well-read, intelligent and a sharp conversationalist in public but this compulsion was not because of any of those things.

He didn't even care if I thought so. He cared only that I was under his spell.

It was close to midnight and I was freezing. Had I really knelt on the frigid ground outside? Had it really been two years since Carlisle left?

I could still feel the hard earth beneath me, see the clouds of my breath as I called to him. I wondered if he'd even heard me…if he ever thought of me. What would he think of this rendezvous?

I told myself over and over that this was not an attempt to return to what I'd had with Carlisle. I'd fought this with all my might.

But that was what it felt like—a chance to see what could have been.

My musings on Carlisle were cut short by a familiar rush of warmth and a tug in the pit of my belly. Tristan was indeed in my home.

Before I could speak his name, he was at my side.

"Your bags were left outside. I'll take them upstairs and unpack for you."

"No. I can do it myself."

He arched a brow and ran a cold finger over my cheekbone. "I'm not offering for your sake only. The fewer the minutes you spend doing menial tasks like that, the more of them you can spend at my service."

Unwilling to capitulate without any pretense of dignity, I pretended that something less than the earth opening up beneath my feet could remove me from his clutches. "Surely you know better than to waste such banter on me. That sounds like something Louis would whisper in a courtesan's ear."

He lowered the timbre of his voice and moved so close that I could feel his lips against the shell of my ear. "What would you prefer me to whisper in your ear, Sophia?"

"I am undecided." Wasn't I?

I hadn't known exactly what would happen if I gave in and went away with Tristan as he had offered so many times. No, that's not true. I'd understood why he would want to be alone, away from people who would recognize us.

The story was trite.

Pretending that I was a blushing innocent who didn't fully grasp why a man would want to be alone with a woman might be the only thing I could think of that could be more trite.

Even though I couldn't fill in the details—my own inexperience in this situation being the barrier—I knew the outline.

I mentioned in conversation that I wanted some time alone at Allesworth after the holidays. I knew he was close enough to hear. I asked for no details—how long he would stay, if he would come alone, if he wanted to go elsewhere.

"Are you certain you want to be here, Tristan?"

He laughed loudly.

"That was hardly a joke."

"Oh, but it was. Where else would I want to be?" He began slipping my heavy overcoat off my shoulders.

"There is nothing I know of that I want more than your company at this moment. Your intentions are the only question in my mind. I know you would rather it be someone else here with you.

"Are you certain you want to be here?"

No. "I am."

I lowered my face and busied myself with straightening my sleeves. He took my hands, they seemed to be in need of occupation, and grazed my fingers with his lips. I shuddered at the touch. Heavenly.

"Your journey was long and cold. Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

I nodded, my nerves still getting the better of me. Without letting my hand fall from his, he guided me to the dining room. At this point, it shouldn't have surprised me to see that the table was set. Wine had been decanted into crystal; candlesticks stood as sentries on silver pedestals.

Silently, he pulled a chair for me.

The lamb was made by the woman who usually cooked for Allesworth. I'd have known the taste anywhere, but sitting at home I placed it with no trouble.

Tristan poured a glass of wine for me.

"I wrote on your behalf to say you'd be stopping in with friends. You will call on her when you have need. I will make certain the house looks as if a party of six or seven have stayed here."

"Very kind of you."

His lips parted as he smiled, baring his perfect teeth. "Again, it's motivated by pure selfishness."

Feeling as if I were suddenly on the menu, I chewed on my lip. You have a meal prepared, Sophie. No need to chew on anything else.

I brought the glass to my lips and his gaze became suddenly serious. My mouth on the crystal seemed to interest him.

An eyebrow twitched.

His scorching scrutiny suddenly meant something new to me. As his spell over me had become more and more exquisitely torturous, it had escaped my notice that I was powerful too.

I had no doubt that he was influencing me with something uncanny but I had an arsenal at my disposal, if I could but learn to use it.

"You enjoy the wine?"

The most sought-after girls are seldom easily pleased. "It's a pleasant enough vintage. I prefer it to be sweeter."

"And the food?" His lips curled up in obvious distaste.

"As hard as it might be for you to believe, the food is delicious."

I tried to pretend that he wasn't watching me like a hawk but his perusal unnerved and inflamed me. "If it is so distasteful to you, you don't have to watch me eat. It will not offend me to have supper alone."

"I think I could be persuaded."

"I don't understand." I took long pull of my wine while he pondered my meal.

I lowered my glass to see Tristan lean across the table and take my lower lip between his. It must have looked like a kiss, though there was no audience to confirm my suspicion, but it was not. He slid my fleshy lower lip in his mouth lightly, as if it might melt like candy, his tongue roving over it.

He suckled and I mewed.

Drawing his face back a few inches, he allowed, "It doesn't taste so bad when presented properly."

I was no longer interested in the lamb.

Finishing my meal would have been the better idea, considering my day, but my appetites had a mind of their own. They had shifted noticeably.

My longing to put my hands on Tristan had waxed and waned in the many months since we'd been introduced. I knew that he was not a man I could pretend would want me forever. My hold over him would shoot across his consciousness like a meteor in the night sky. It would blaze hot and fast.

But was that so much worse than being bedded by a man who wanted me only for my womb and talents in making his house a home?

Tristan would never object to my projects. He would never interfere. And this feeling, this hunger for a food I'd yet to put to my lips, would always mark his presence.

I looked at my half-eaten lamb. It seemed I was very fond indeed of hunger.

When I stood and walked towards the staircase, he didn't ask why. He followed, carrying the wine and a glass.

The scene that met me in my own room was fascinating. A fire was lit, making dangerous shadows dance across the walls and furniture.

My bedroom looked like a queen's room. There were hothouse flowers everywhere—flowers from my orangerie. The tub had been pulled in and was filled with steaming water. It smelled like petals and herbs.

I breathed in the heady perfume.

"The water is still too hot for you but it will cool quickly in this cold."

"I don't particularly want a bath."

I felt chilled skin meet mine at the nape of my neck. His fingers slid down my arms and over my own digits, puckering the flesh as they passed over it.

I turned to face him.

I expected to be confronted with his usual almost-smirk of self-assurance. It was not there.

"What do you want, then, Sophia? You are more fragile than I am; this one night can happen at your pace."

"Not a soul calls me that."

"I am aware of that. It's what I call you. And you aren't answering my question."

"I am not certain what I want."

He looked disappointed but only for an instant. "And you are tired, no doubt. You have no maid. Can I do anything to help you before you go to sleep?"

I wasn't making myself understood. "Yes, I do want your help with undressing, but not because I have no maid. I know why I am here…with you…alone. I am inexperienced enough to be unable to put words to what I want. The steps to this dance are new to me; I will need some leading."

He gave me one more chance to demur. "Would you like some instruction tomorrow?"

"It's possible. But what I'd prefer is to start tonight and familiarize myself with the choreography."

"Your wish, my command."

He leaned down, his face closing in on mine, and I closed my eyes. He did not press his mouth to mine as I'd expected. He pressed his nose into my collarbone and slid his cheek outward towards my shoulder, sighing in the process.

Fear tempered my desire and I shivered.

His nimble fingers could have made quick work of my stays. Wondering why he did not infuriated me. Instead, he slid his fingers under each crossing of the laces and shimmied them loose, tormenting my rapidly heating flesh through my chemise.

He repeated the action until the garment was loose enough to lift away from me. Instead of removing my top, he used the room under the lacing to take my skirt off. With miraculous speed, he turned my skirts into a heaping pile.

I inhaled quickly in surprise as he lifted me out of them. I heard his soft, velvety laugh in my ear as he put me down.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this."

Already? I wasn't even out of my clothes.

He stood behind me and pulled my stomacher away from my body, ripping the thin chemise away in the process. I heard his sharp intake of breath followed by a longer inhale.

Curious, I turned to face him and his eyes were closed, his expression one of rapture. His gaze, when he opened his eyes, was black as pitch.

Instinctively, I crossed my arms over my chest.

He shook his head and put his hands on mine. The shock of his fingers grazing my exposed skin, even incidentally, made me dizzy. "I will make sure you never want to do that. You are exquisite, more beautiful than you know. Don't hide from me now."

I didn't have any words to answer him; I just knew that I couldn't bear to be unclothed only for the purpose of being an object upon which he could gaze.

I reached for his breeches. The undefined want that had teased and tugged at me, pulling my body in directions I did not want it to go since meeting Tristan, was growing ever more defined in my vision.

I realized that the desire hadn't been undefined. It always had an identity. It was a living, breathing thing that I'd kept too far away to make out. The closer the object of my want became, the more proximity I allowed it, the easier it was to discern the details.

There were some things that I could put words to now.

I wanted Tristan to wear that expression he'd worn earlier when he tore away my chemise—eyes closed, head thrown back—but I wanted to make him look that way myself.

Tristan's frock coat and vest unbuttoned easily but I took my time. Close to his body, I couldn't feel his eyes roaming my naked flesh; I felt safer. His hands made up for the wandering his eyes could not do. They traced over every bare inch that they could find, beginning with my hairline and working down my neck.

I pulled his shirt from his breeches before unlacing them. When my fingers made contact with the cold skin on his stomach, he hissed. His hands slid from my collarbone down the slope of my breast.

He loosened his cravat and stepped out of his shoes before sitting down on the edge of the bed. He pulled me to stand between his knees.

I felt exposed and reconsidered. I could not rid myself of the instinct to run.

He held me fast, obviously looking me in the eye and waiting for me to meet his gaze. I hesitated, a protest in word only, before I gave in.

The words he spoke didn't just light upon my ears for me to consider. They slid over my skin, under its surface even, willing me to grant him more than he asked. "You're not going anywhere, little lamb. Do you think I could be convinced now that you don't want me? I don't think you could convince yourself…."

He brushed his lips over my belly, just to one side of my navel, and I tried to think of a rebuttal. I didn't want to tie myself to a creature like Tristan, not with any permanence.

But I had wanted a creature like him. A creature just like him.

With that sudden confession, I tried to lean away from him but his grasp at my waist tightened.

He pulled, with more than his hands, and I couldn't go anywhere. His mouth was just inside my hipbone, making a faint, icy trail to the curve of my waist.

I wanted to walk away and tried desperately to let the memory of what I wanted motivate me to move.

It couldn't. Removing me was too arduous a task for such a faint recollection.

What I desired and what I knew I should desire were at odds and the former was winning. I had pushed the facts so far away that they were now the hazy outline on a horizon that I could barely discern.

Only what I wanted had a face now—a face whose beauty could stun me if it caught me off guard.

Somehow, my own free will had been taken from me. Or maybe it had been given to me, the gift of my deepest, darkest wants.

That I didn't know angered me. His manipulation of me was dark and delicious and wrong and set me off like gunpowder.

My hands reached for his loosened cravat, either end left carelessly at the opened neck of his shirt. I yanked hard, as if I were reining in an unruly horse. His mouth curled up in a smirk.

My stockings were gone in a flash, his hands on either of my hips and I was almost instantly bared from the waist down.

Of their own will—not that I had any control over them anymore—my fingers grasped at his dark hair. I could not pull him near enough. None of my tugging moved his face nearer to me.

His mouth lowered to my stomach and it felt divine, indirectly heating every bit of my flesh from my toes to my hairline. When his lips crested my hipbone, they began to descend to dark tangle at the apex of my thighs.

I felt cool air rush over my skin as he inhaled.

When he spoke, his mouth was pressed close enough to the flesh there that the vibrations from his voice sent chill bumps all over my skin.

"Have you ever been kissed like this?"

"Of course not. We both know you don't have to ask that."

"As you wish. I only ask because I want you to remember the answer. Has anyone ever done this to you?"

"No."

As he unbuttoned his cuffs to remove his shirt, he said, "Remember that, Sophia."

I pushed his open shirt over his shoulders.

I tried to move towards him, to push him back on the mattress so that I could slip his pants off, but he was having none of it. He stood and kissed my mouth, carefully holding his cool torso away from mine. His open hands kneaded and tickled, stroked and massaged until, eventually, I found my own hands doing the same thing.

If it made me throw my head back or groan, it must surely make him feel similarly. At first, I let him lead that way. But my body needed surprisingly little instruction, arching and growing warm under his hands.

His mouth teased my breasts and I felt an unfamiliar, though not unwelcome, sensation between my thighs.

There was no other word for it. I purred.

Tristan knelt before me, though his lips never pulled away from my skin as he descended. His thumb delved into the curls between my legs and pressed against the skin beneath. The white-hot feeling made me fear my legs would give way.

He smiled wickedly and spoke without lifting his mouth from me.

"You know you have not spoken my name in this room?"

"I…I—" Why would we converse now?

"Ssssssh. It's not a complaint. I think that this is the only way I will ever want to hear you speak my name."

I didn't understand but I couldn't be bothered with his nonsense. My fists knotted around his hair.

His thumb continued in a circuit and I wondered if I could stand much more torture. Something had to give way soon and I didn't know how.

He pulled his thumb away and I whimpered.

When his cold mouth took its place, I whimpered again. This time, my knees buckled.

Tristan put one of my legs on his shoulder and kept a hand beneath me for support. All the while, the ball of heat in the pit of my stomach kept growing. I felt as if I would combust soon.

My hips arched into Tristan and it happened, just like he said it would. I whispered his name, pleading, urging, insistent.

I felt his throat rumble in acknowledgement as a finger joined his mouth. I wanted to know what he was doing, how he was capable of making my flesh—the flesh I lived in every day—sing like this when I'd never known it to. Not that I would quibble over this mutiny.

The noises that escaped my mouth were distracting and made me self-conscious the first few times they boiled over. But as Tristan continued the excruciating pleasure, I forgot.

My heart could surely not run away like that for much longer.

I couldn't bear to make him stop. The need for him to continue eclipsed my mortal concerns and I leaned into him for more support as fingers of heat consumed me from the inside out.

The second time I said his name, it was no whisper. Just when I thought I could take no more, I grabbed at it like a lifeline and fell rapturously over the ledge.

It didn't save me from the delirious tumble nor would I have wanted it to.

Without time to recover, he lifted me up and wrapped my legs around his waist. His nose touched my nose; his forehead, my forehead. "There will be a sting, though not for long. But if you panic because it hurts we will have real pain to deal with."

He didn't give me long to ponder what would sting. Or why it might turn into something worse if I panicked. I felt him beneath me, though I still hadn't seen the hardness pressing its outline into my thigh.

He lifted me and settled me onto it gently, though not too slowly.

It did smart a bit, exactly what I'd come to expect from him. With nothing else to hold on to, I grabbed two fists full of his hair and held my breath. But the hurt subsided as he slid me up and down. I exhaled.

His gaze was murderous—eyes narrowed, pupils dilated.

He clenched his jaw, the muscles more prominent, and glared at something over my shoulder.

"Should I be doing something differently?" I wasn't sure how that was possible as I was at his mercy, held aloft by his strength alone, but I asked anyway.

He stopped moving. "No, mon ange. I need to be controlled and am thinking of that; you are paradise. You are still uncomfortable?"

Please don't stop.

"The rapture outweighs the sting. It is all but gone."

His wolfish grin conveyed his unmitigated approval.

"Doesn't it?" He took a step towards the bed and lay down with my knees on either side of his hips.

No lady straddles her mount.

Well, I was no lady, not anymore. I had no use for ladylike. In a most unladylike fashion, I moved my hips atop Tristan.

This was what I'd expected. Up and down. In and out. Friction and maybe some heat.

He was certainly not heated but the cold felt surprisingly delicious against my own warmth.

His mouth opened, inarticulate for a moment. Finally, he murmured, "Can you continue that? I promise I will be very still so that I don't hurt you."

I didn't want him to be still. I wanted incomprehensible rumblings and begging. I wanted my name to be what he gasped, his head thrown back, as I tortured him. I wanted to make him feel what I'd felt.

And I wanted to know what he'd do if I put my mouth on him. I was suddenly greedy.

He seemed overly concerned about hurting me but the pain he'd predicted had been fleeting. It was gone.

Nevertheless, I bobbed up and down as if I were astride a wooden horse. It was certainly not unpleasant, the cold tingling my skin as I moved against it. When my thighs began to burn a bit from the effort, I leaned forward and planted my hands on his chest.

I felt as if I'd gotten a second wind. Tristan moaned my name as I had his.

His hands were making indentions in the flesh at my hips and then my bottom, but I couldn't find it in me to care.

I would wear a bruise from this battle like a badge of honor.

He sat up and bent his knees up behind me. I slowed down.

"Don't stop. Please…don't…stop." He put his mouth to mine.

That was the voice I'd wanted to hear.

Finally, it felt as if all the muscles in his body tensed and released. I could almost make out my name on his lips.

He leaned back against the mattress in repose.

I must not have masked my disappointment well; I could feel my eyebrows pulling together.

He put a finger there and asked, "What is it?"

"I…was…we're not…."

He laughed.

"So greedy already. If you are not ready to dismiss me, we are certainly not through."

"When I was standing before…that feeling had started to build again. If you are tired, or…."

He pushed a piece of hair back from my forehead. "I don't sleep, cherie. And were I even inclined to do so, I would not begin such a habit tonight."

"This is not sleep. I wouldn't want to push you."

"While we are here, in your home, my flesh is yours to command."

I began to rock my hips against his again; I'd been given all the permission I needed.

With one hand bracing my back, he rubbed his outstretched hand from my stomach to right between my breasts, guiding me back until my upper body was flush against the mattress. My skin stretched taut over the arc of my spine.

No longer able to set the meter, I gave myself over to his control. His fingers circled and teased near where we were joined and the added sensation made me cry out.

Knowing what to expect—that I would neither forget to breathe nor would my heart explode as a result of the rapidly heating smolder inside me—meant that I was at liberty to luxuriate in the sensation.

"Tristan…."

He continued his rhythm after the last tremor raced through me and he had satisfied himself again.

"What do you say to a bath, my Sophia?"

"Mmmmhmm."

"And the rest of your supper? I can bring it up for you."

"Am I allowed more of a meal than you?"

No noise escaped him but I felt his chest jostle beneath mine in a chuckle.

As he lifted me to take me to the tub, he murmured into my wrecked coiffure. "You will never be left to slumber at this rate."

We sank into the water together, me harbored between his knees, steam twirling on the surface on the water. Bending my knees, I sank beneath and soaked my hair. Only after I'd come up for air did it occur to me to wonder if I could take care of my own hair. I had no idea if I had any soap in the room with us.

I turned to ask Tristan and smelled a familiar scent when I turned my head. "You brought soap. I am ashamed to admit that I doubted you had remembered it."

He was already working up a lather. "Sophia, I forget almost nothing where you are concerned." His fingers worked through my hair with no trouble, washing it as if he were a chambermaid.

"You seem so practiced."

"I've been witness to a bath or two."

"'Been witness' or 'been party' to them?"

"Some of both, in fact."

I knew better than to ask a question like that. What had I been thinking?

"That does not mean that I wouldn't have enjoyed either experience more with you involved."

"Tristan, I am under no illusion that you are as inexperienced as I. I should have thought before I asked such a question when the answer is self-evident. Perhaps we should strike a bargain: I will not ask you about dalliances outside these walls if you extend me the same courtesy." I spoke as if I were in need of much accommodation. I did not have to confirm that for him.

His fingers never slowed. "I appreciate your mercy in that regard. But, mon ange, I am not trying to deceive you. There is no other woman whose company I would prefer. You will see. I will make sure of it."

He poured pitchers of water on my hair until it was clean of the soap. Then he wound the heavy mass into a knot on top of my head and began very thoroughly washing me from head to toe.

Author's Note: This is my single-handed effort to combat the cold sweeping across the Northern Hemisphere. I will be knocking back Johnny Walker until someone tells me I was at least mildly successful.

I have to send out a monstrous round of thanks for the production of this chapter (it was a production).

Clem and Danni have looked at this chapter more times than any person should have to. They seemed to mind the hand-holding less than usual. There was a great deal of muttering though, sadly, not into anyone's ladybits.

I also received some technical help from Gothic Temptress (and a small army of comrades-in-arms who claim to be lemon experts).

Last but certainly not least, a huge thank-you to the gentleman in the library for pointing out the existence of this fair structure. It will see more, ah, action, in the near future.

Metaphysics has been nominated for an "Original Character Award." The nominees are phenomenal stories and authors. The link to the site is on my profile. Please go check them out.

Katiebird wrote a stunning review of Metaphysics for "Random Acts of Rob's" Sunday post. (Thank you so much, darling!)

As always, I'm dying to know what you think!