Absolute Surrender Read online

  “Amelia mine, I’m here. Feel me. I’m here. Open your eyes.”

  Amelia did, and Charles’s beautiful eyes were there like a stormy day bearing down on her. That incessant strength that oozed from his very pores attempted to saturate her very being. She heard the sob more than anything. It rent the air like a crack of thunder, and her skin answered in an electric jolt of response shuddering between them.

  Charles held her gaze, refused to let her look away, spoke softly as Hugh breathed against her neck, his hands warming her arms, willing her body to relax into him with his very presence. Hugh took her hands, willed them to relax into his, massaged the stiff tension from them, and removed them from Charles’s lapels.

  Their fingers entangled, Hugh pressed her hands up Charles’s chest, against his neck, then brought them to Charles’s face, cradling his chin.

  “Kiss him, Amelia,” Hugh said.

  Charles leaned toward her, his eyes dropping to her mouth. “Here,” he said, then touched his mouth to the edge of hers and ran his tongue the length of her lower lip as she gasped and watched his eyes sear her flesh, igniting her nerves, pulling her toward him like static.

  Then Hugh’s mouth was on her neck, wet, open kisses running up her nape.

  “Here,” Charles said again. “Stay here, Amelia. Stay with us.”

  Charles’s tongue touched the very center of her upper lip, drawing it out, before he kissed it back. “Here,” Charles said so quietly it might have been the breeze. Then he pressed his mouth to hers.

  Hugh’s fingers separated from hers, and she held on to Charles, though she felt the loss of that contact in every part of her through the shudder that racked her physically.

  “Hugh,” she cried.

  “Here,” Hugh replied. “I’m still here.” His words warmed her neck. Then his hands alighted on her hips. “I’m here,” Hugh said as he pulled her bottom against him, his hands heavy and demanding. “Here,” Hugh said, the heavy, thick evidence of his cock resting against her backside. “Here,” Hugh whispered gruffly as the wet fabric of her chemise rose against her leg, his hand gathering it from where it rested against her hips, the fingers moving so slowly. Then his hand smoothed around her thigh, his fingertips cupping her bottom, teasing the crease there, that sensitive flesh where her backside ended and her leg began.

  “Hugh,” she breathed and knew the word found its home between Charles’s lips.

  “Yes,” Charles breathed back. “Stay with us, Amelia. Stay here.”

  She looked at him again in a fascinated way. Charles had seen into her eyes while her mind had tried to hide. She’d said Hugh’s name into their kiss, and he was still here.

  “I’m here, Amelia. Look at me,” Charles said.

  She couldn’t take her eyes from his for anything. The pull of his gaze was a tangible thing, the strength in his eyes big enough for both of them, for all of them. “Charles,” she whispered against his lips, and she saw an answering spark when the black of his eyes widened, overtaking the chestnut. His eyes darkened, and they held her, mesmerized.

  Charles knew she saw it, knew by the way her mouth dropped open that she recognized the passion in him. The pure want. He pulled her tighter against him and was reminded of Ender by the feel of his hand on her hip, pushing against parts of Charles that were no longer soft. But it had been Charles’s own name on her lips. It had been Charles’s own name she’d last breathed against him as he looked into her eyes. She was here, and she was with him. She blinked, and the tenuous connection faltered.

  “Amelia, stay with me,” Charles said quietly, then Ender’s hand shifted, coming between him and Amelia, pushing against the very core of her womanhood, stroking Charles as Ender stroked her.

  Her eyes widened, and her breath caught.

  “Feel, Amelia, feel. Everything is right, this is right, this here—with us, this is right. Just stay with me, just feel.”

  Charles saw the slight nod. Her hands slid to his shoulders as she held on to him, and her mouth dropped open so he could see the sweet pink of her tongue, and Charles groaned. The sound resonated between the three of them. Ender’s hand delved between her thighs, his hold on her tightening as did his own.

  The puffs of her breath against Charles’s mouth sped, her hands clenching on his shoulders, digging into his muscles through the layers of fabric, and he desperately wished to be rid of his clothes, to give up the blood from his very body to her hands if that would help her find release from this tension. Then her tongue darted out between them, licking his upper lip. Charles tensed, bringing them all closer together.

  He slid the hand on her bottom, his knuckles grazing Ender’s cock through the fabric of his trousers until Charles’s finger traced the crease of her thigh, leading him to her center—and Charles had found home. The breath left him in a heady rush at the discovery of her warmth. And he rested there, his hand between her thighs, his fingertips teasing the softest of her lips until they met Hugh’s own fingertips, there in the middle, their fingers touching at the confluence of her very being.

  “Charles, I—”

  “Stay with me, Amelia.” Charles heard the roughness of his own voice, the want in it. Knew he needed to rein his passion. This was her moment, this was all for her. This was her awakening, and that he was here for it, that she was with him, truly with him, touched him soul deep.

  “Amelia,” Charles whispered against her mouth.

  Her eyelashes fluttered shut against her cheek as he took her mouth in a searing kiss, Charles’s tongue sliding against hers, sweeping, tasting, tickling, willing her to open to him in every way.

  Warmth suffused her core, and Charles knew Ender felt it as well, his movement against her picking up, the steady roll of his fingers sliding through her wet folds, teasing her core, certainly circling that nub of pleasure. That Charles could feel Ender stroking her in the answering strokes against his own erection, and against his own fingertips, only drove him further into his want of her.

  Her mouth fell open, her head fell back against Hugh’s shoulder and her breath turned to veritable pants as she held fast to the remaining binds.

  Charles moved toward her, his lips against her ear. “Let go, Amelia. You’re safe,” he said. His warm breath collected in the shell of her ear, and she cried, her tears joining his breath there. “Let go, Amelia, we have you.”

  Her hands clenched on his shoulders, and the whole of her tensed as his arms took all of her weight onto his frame, his hand sliding from her warm heat and pulling her leg up against him as she broke—and he merely held on.

  It was the most beautiful moment Charles had ever been witness to. He looked down, caught her gaze, saw her focus soften on him as she bit her lip, then dropped her jaw in a scream. He didn’t know whose name had been carried away on the wind, but he chose to hear his own.

  Beautiful. There was no other word for it. Simply beautiful.

  Amelia had shattered, her back against Hugh, her head leaning on his shoulder, her warm, wet quim in his hand. He and Charles had done something for her seemingly so simple. But, in reality, what they’d done was truly monumental.

  Hugh saw one of her hands relax on Charles’s shoulder then move, almost float across the great expanse between them to rest on his jaw. She was with them.

  Hugh closed his eyes, feeling the burn of tears in the strength of that reality. He hadn’t realized until that moment that his true fear was that this was not possible for her.

  “Ah, Amelia, I…Amelia.” Hugh found he had no words for the reality of the moment, so far from anything he had ever considered. So far from any reality he’d ever believed possible. This was so much more than anything he’d ever done or hoped to do with her—for her. This was something he’d never allowed himself to consider.

  Hugh opened his eyes and caught Charles’s gaze, and it was genuine. Charles knew as well as he did how much this meant to him, to all of them. There was no judgment, no censure, no annoyance or anything beyond the love for
Amelia in his eyes. Hugh could see it, could feel it, knew it to his bones that this was right, as Charles had said over and over again to her.

  Charles shifted, pulled her legs up, since she wasn’t truly using them, and handed her to Hugh. Though Charles’s hands never left her body in the movement, or the placement, the moment her full weight was in Hugh’s arms, it seemed to him he held the very world, and every second of his life had been so carefully scripted for this one singular moment.

  Hugh had not known.

  He glanced around the clearing.

  “We should go inside,” Charles said quietly.

  It wasn’t what Hugh had expected, and yet it was. At times he’d felt an intruder in this…that his attendance was merely at the behest of Charles, that he didn’t fully belong here. Yet in everything that had come before, there had been no verbal acknowledgment of what was to pass. What had just happened…had simply happened. It was truth.

  But those simple words, no assumptions, no corrections, no condemnations…Hugh nodded, then Charles yanked a dry linen sheet from the line and wrapped it around her as best he could. This was much easier than Hugh had imagined, being with her and Charles. She flowed easily between them as if choreographed, as though this was perfectly acceptable, normal, expected.

  “There are no sheets on the bed. If you wish to put me there, you must make the bed first.” Her voice was small, yet calm, almost sleepy.

  Her sudden speech made Hugh smile, and he kissed her nose. “Oh, we intend to put you there, we do.”

  Her hands escaped the linen and snaked up around his neck, the cool fingertips sending a spark down his spine that he would forever swear went straight to his cock—the hardest it had ever been.

  Hugh lost a bit of control then, his groan quite heavy in his chest. Charles turned and checked for the driest of the linens, pulling them from the lines and hauling the armload to the Cliff House as Hugh followed.

  How had it come to this? Amelia thought.

  Her best friend held her. The man she was supposed to marry led them. They were headed into the Cliff House with the intention of…well, she wasn’t entirely sure what their full intentions were, and she was oddly at peace with whatever they decided. She’d understood they meant to show her pleasure, to allay her fears, and that they’d accomplished. Beyond doubt.

  That crazy, loose, searching feeling she always felt with Charles wasn’t quite the same as when she lost herself, and she knew, now, that there would never have been any words that could have done what they’d done in showing her. For now she knew—she knew—beyond doubt that the path with Charles did not lead to certain ruin, it led to this…this jelly-like softness that overtook her limbs in a way she’d never, in her life, felt before.

  She wasn’t sure how far they intended to go now. Did they mean to lay waste her maidenhead?

  Maypole.

  Goodness. Her mind needed to still itself.

  Maypole.

  She tensed, and her mind began to swirl around the word, and she wondered how she’d held herself together for this long. The water had been soothing. Hugh washing her had been soothing. Charles holding her had been…surprisingly soothing. She looked up to the man who carried her over the threshold. Was that as monumental an action as it was meant to be?

  Her husband was meant to carry her across the threshold of her home, and this, the Cliff House, was the closest thing to home and comfort she’d ever known. Hugh held her when they crossed it. Not Charles. She tensed, latched on to him and tried her level best to still her mind as he stopped, knowing something was wrong.

  It means nothing.

  It meant everything.

  Hugh stood there, holding her in the doorway as Charles came back to them. She caught his gaze, seeing something of the same disappointment in his eyes that it wasn’t him to carry her at that moment. She reached out to him, and Charles moved closer, behind Hugh, and let her hand slip down his roughened chin. Charles moved closer still as she pulled him to her, and their lips met, the two of them wrapped around her best friend’s hard biceps, which flexed into her ribs as they kissed.

  They moved again, the light dimming as they ventured into the house, then she slid down the front of Hugh as he released her legs, setting her on her feet but not letting go. Hugh held her body, and Charles held her eyes, and she’d never felt more safe than in this moment. Charles skimmed a finger from her ear to the tip of her chin, then smiled, and looked around the room.

  After a moment, surely to familiarize himself with the layout, he moved toward the bed at the side of the room, for it was one simple room. Bed, table, chairs, fireplace. Only the necessities.

  She swayed dreamily in Hugh’s arms, reveled in the feel of his hands sweeping up and down her back, across her hips, up into the hair at her nape, but watched Charles as he billowed one sheet and tucked it tightly around the heavy featherbed. She watched the flex and release of Charles’s muscles, visible even through his jacket. Then as Charles turned and removed his jacket and waistcoat, the muscles of his abdomen became brilliant in relief with his wet shirt plastered to them.

  Charles was beautiful. So incredibly beautiful and so incredibly different from her. Different from Hugh. She looked back at Hugh.

  You can do anything you wish, touch anything you want, and we will help you.

  We will not judge you.

  There are no rules here.

  Amelia carefully reached out and traced a hand up Hugh’s abdomen as she turned and watched Charles work, feeling Hugh’s muscles bunch and shift under her hand as she watched Charles make the bed. She focused back on Hugh, counted the mounds and valleys she found against her hand, and those of Charles before her eyes, though Charles’s shirt moved and wrinkled, impeding her visual progress.

  Her hand met Hugh’s chest, and it tensed, so impossibly hard, then she waited to see the action in one of Charles’s movements. She felt then, at the very center of her palm, Hugh’s nipple harden and press into her. She gasped and pushed away from him, her eyes on his chest.

  Hugh was watching her curiously, but his eyes were dark, even more so than the room would cause, and she looked back to his chest, one hand holding the sheet around her body.

  Touch anything you want...

  She moved her other hand across his chest from the one nipple to the other, and that nipple peaked against her palm, and she giggled. She loved that her touch had such a visual effect on his body. She wanted to see that visual effect on Charles as well and looked to find him watching them, his head canted to the side.

  You can do anything you wish…

  She crooked a finger at him, and he moved closer while she pushed at Hugh’s rent clothes, and he pulled them from his shoulders. She looked up to him. “Sorry about that.”

  “Not to worry, Amelia, I have many shirts and waistcoats with which to replace them. They are of little consequence—”

  While his arms were trapped behind his back in the act of taking his clothes from his body, she pulled his head down and kissed him.

  Brave. She was so very brave. And where had that come from? she thought.

  Charles made himself known in the warmth against her side, and she released Hugh, fumbling for Charles. She met the hard wall of his chest, realizing that he’d removed his shirt at some point while he’d moved toward her. She skimmed the surface, measuring the muscles as she had with Hugh, until she met a nipple and gave it a gentle tweak.

  Charles groaned, and she felt accomplished, puffing her chest out, causing her breasts to collide with Hugh.

  When had the kissing stopped?

  Amelia opened her eyes and looked on them both, standing shirtless before her. Breathe, she thought. Where has my bravery gone off to?

  We will not judge you.

  She closed her eyes, considered that she needed both of her hands for what she wanted to do next, and steeled herself. Then with a deep breath she let go of the blanket, feeling it sweep a good-bye swiftly down her body to pool on the flo
or around her feet. One hand already on Charles’s chest, she lifted the other and blindly placed it on Hugh, and when she reopened her eyes, she left her vision to the distant wall, somewhere beyond the two of them, unfocused.

  Amelia caressed them until she had her hands in mirrored positions on their chests, then moved across them, in unison, as though to learn their differences, as though to know their similarities. When her elbows bent more, she knew they’d both taken another step toward her, and when the hot breath came on her shoulders, she knew they leaned in, allowing access to their sides, their backs... Her hands came to rest again on their stiff nipples, the feel of them pebbles in her palms.

  “There are more parts of us that will change with your sweet, blessed touch.”

  She concentrated to discern who had spoken but couldn’t by the sound alone, the voice so gruff it sounded nothing like those she’d become so familiar with.

  More parts of us. Amelia’s breath caught.

  The most striking assemblage of figure and colours in nature.

  It could not have been Charles. He would never be so coarse. And yet…he knew what to say to spark her curiosity. She looked at Charles, then a shiver ran her spine, settling at its base. Hugh moved close behind her as she gazed at Charles.

  The rending of her chemise was something she would remember for quite some time, the sound like the whisper of a tear, not loud enough to be satisfactory, but just enough that she knew it could never be worn again.

  She sank into Hugh, letting the warmth soothe her, allowing it to traverse her skin, loosen her nerves. She nodded slowly, then watched as Charles moved to the bed. He took up at the head of the bed, his back against the wall, his legs spread before him.

  “What are we…I thought that—”

  “We have more to show you,” Hugh said.

  “More?” She was jelly again, and Hugh lifted her from her feet, moving toward the bed. He laid her out like a banquet, first arranging her bottom between Charles’s legs. Charles took her head onto his chest, removing pins and spreading her loose hair across him, making sure none was caught.