A House Divided by Nicole Ciacchella (the giving tree read aloud txt) 📕

"More?" he asked her.

"More," she said, followed by an incoherent groan.

Sweeping her off her feet, he carried her to his bed, her vest discarded and forgotten on the floor. He sat her in the middle of the bed and knelt before her, studying her with tenderness. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted and awaiting his kisses, her gaze for him and him alone.

"You're beautiful," he told her, running the backs of his fingers over her jawline.

"So are you," she said. Her fingers mapped his face, then trailed down his neck and to his chest. She explored his chest through his shirt, and it was his turn to gasp as her fingers found his nipples. She slid her hands over his stomach, pausing as his muscles quivered.

"I want to see more of you," she said, gathering his shirt in her hands. Slowly, she pulled upward, coming up onto her knees as she tugged it over his head and cast it aside. Her eyes never left him as she explored his skin with her fingers. "Beautiful," she repeated, and then explored his skin with her mouth.

He was so flush with desire he felt he might combust. Sliding his hand up the back of her shirt and shift, he caressed her skin, drunk on the velvety texture of it. Unable to bear it any longer, he slipped her shirt and shift up over her head as well, his breath catching at his first glimpse of her.

"Oh, Cianne," was all he could manage to say as he devoured her with his eyes. He spent some time exploring her body with his fingers and mouth, making her gasp and moan. Grabbing his hips, she pulled him against her again, so that they were molded to one another, skin to skin.

She held him like that as he worked his fingers through her hair, finding the pins and pulling them out, releasing her hair section by section. It cascaded down around her, silken strands tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. The sight of that hair concealing and reveling the swell of her breasts, the firm muscles of her stomach, the curve of her shoulders, was enough to ignite every one of his fantasies. He wove his fingers through her loose hair, coaxing her face forward so that he could kiss her again, her swollen mouth warm and pliant under his.

They unlaced one another's breeches, and he was shaking as he slid hers over her hips. She was trembling too, and her eyes fell closed with a gasp as his seeking fingers caressed her gently. Her hands slipped down to his hips, easing his breeches down until she closed her fingers around him, caressing him in turn.

Falling back on the pillows, they lay side by side, her leg over his hip as they learned one another's bodies, moving unhurriedly, whispering to each other, guiding and encouraging. When she reached her peak, she gasped long and deep against his lips, her body shuddering, and he rolled on top of her, pausing to look down at her questioningly.

"Yes," she said, her hands on his hips, pulling him into her. She arched up against him and her hands moved up his back, kneading him, urging him on.

But he moved as slowly as he had that whole evening, reveling in the sensation of her encompassing him. He reached for one of her hands, easing it down onto the pillow beside her head, lacing his fingers with hers.

"I love you," he whispered.

"And I love you," she said, arching her hips against him once more. They found a rhythm together, their eyes locked until he shattered and his eyes fell closed of their own accord.

Collapsing next to her, he maintained his hold on her hand as she curled up beside him, molding her body against his. She tucked her head under his chin, her cheek against his chest.

"Are you certain you want to leave?" she asked in a soft voice, her breath fanning over his skin.

"I want to be wherever you are, and nowhere else, for as long as you'll have me," he responded, tracing circles over her skin. She was a marvel, a work of such beauty he could scarcely believe she was real.

"Will you come with me to find my mother?" she asked, her voice small, hesitant.

Slipping his free hand under her chin, he coaxed her out of her burrow, tilting her head so that he could see her face. "Of course. I will be with you every step of the way, I promise you that."

"Thank you," she said, tears wetting her lashes. She kissed him, a slow, sweet kiss.

"When do you want to leave?" he asked, stroking her hair and kissing her brow.

"The sooner the better," she said. She tried to make her voice sound strong, resolved, but he heard the waver in it.

"Tomorrow night? We've only a few hours until sunrise now."

"Tomorrow," she agreed.

They lay quietly for a while, kissing and caressing, then she rose up on one elbow with obvious reluctance.

"I must go. I want nothing more than to stay here with you, to wake up beside you, but if I am not at the manor in the morning someone will notice."

"I know," he said, sliding his fingers down a strand of her hair. His impulse was to cling to her, to refuse to let her out of his sight, but he knew what she was suggesting was the best course. They didn't want to rouse suspicion. "Be careful. Come here straight away if you think you're in any danger."

"I will," she promised.

He helped her dress, not bothering with his own clothing. His heart ached, and fear made his fingers icy, but he kept it to himself. She knew how to take care of herself, and she wouldn't take any unnecessary risks.

Still, that knowledge wasn't much consolation as she kissed him one final time and disappeared into what was left of the night.

Chapter 33

The enclave was quiet as Cianne slipped back within its walls. She knew it was her imagination, but the calm seemed unnatural, as if the enclave held its breath in preparation for the storm that was about to overtake it.

She could smell the scent of Kila's skin on her, reminding her of everything that was at stake. There were larger issues than the welfare of the man she loved, than the discovery that her mother was still alive, she knew that. She cared about what had happened to the royal family, cared that her House had been intimately involved. Vengeance may have played a part in the decisions she had made, but she knew vengeance alone wasn't reason enough. She wanted justice, not just for the royal family, but also for her mother, for Toran Stowley, and for everyone else who had placed themselves in peril to stand up for what was right. What Chief Flim and Vivie were doing was important, but protecting the people she loved was also important to Cianne. As pressing a matter as uncovering the conspiracy against the royal family was, seeing to the well-being of those about whom she cared was even more pressing to her.

Despite everything that had happened, despite all the treachery that had been uncovered, the dark secrets and unthinkable lies, she couldn't prevent herself from feeling a pang as her manor came into sight. It stood as stolid and stunning as it had ever been, but she saw it now as rotten within. No matter how pretty the enclave looked from the outside, its appearance belied the corruption and filth lurking behind its walls. To acknowledge this was to watch everything she had ever known crumble to dust, and it hurt her. She had thought that the indifference and condescension of the other House members was the worst pain she could experience, but that was before her father, Moiria, the Elders, and Lach had destroyed everything she thought she had ever known.

Cianne had no desire to see her father, to offer a private goodbye that she did not dare speak aloud. He was no more her father than a random stranger on the street. Everything she thought she had ever known about him was a lie, his ambition so much worse than she could have imagined. There had never been any question in her mind that she couldn't remain in the enclave. The thought of having to look at her father, to know what he had done, and to smile and pretend as though she were still ignorant was repulsive to her.

Yet as repulsive as it was, it was nothing to the unspeakable revulsion with which she thought of the elaborate act she would have to carry on with Lach if she stayed. She could never do it, never. She couldn't pretend allegiance to a House that was so thoroughly devoid of any sense of morality, and she certainly couldn't pretend to earn the approbation of the man who was nothing like the friend she had thought him. A very tiny part of her wanted to stay, to try to save him, but it was a part she could easily disregard. Lach might still be redeemable, but it wasn't up to her to redeem him. Even if he were to redeem himself she doubted it would matter much to her. He was lost to her, had been lost to her the moment he had chosen to place his allegiance with the House rather than with those the House had wronged.

Climbing through an upper story window, Cianne's heart leapt into her throat as she heard a servant coming up the corridor, and she nearly lost her footing and plummeted back out to the street below. She clung to the window frame while her pulse hammered against her collarbone. Levering herself inside, she fell, tucking her body into a ball, turning the tumble into a roll. She managed to throw herself into an empty guest room as the servant rounded the corner, and she had to remain hidden within for a full five precious minutes, until her pulse and breathing slowed enough for her to move again.

Fine night for a servant to be sneaking back in from a late-night assignation, she thought, irrationally furious with said servant.

But was it simply a matter of a servant out on the prowl? Was someone looking for her, checking to make sure she was safely shut inside the manor? Perhaps despite all the care she had taken someone had seen her sneaking out and had alerted her father.

Or perhaps the sneaking servant was involved in yet another of the House's schemes. Had her father entrusted any of them with delivering his clandestine messages? All this time, had he been conducting a secret network right under her nose? As much as she hated to admit it, the thought pricked at her pride.

What did any of it matter? It was no longer her concern. The only thing she needed to concern herself with was getting to her quarters so that she could pack. Soon she would be far away from all this, and whatever peril she might face at her mother's side was surely better than this. After years of skulking around, fearing the shadows, Cianne was quite certain she would prefer open danger to hidden menaces.

There's no more time to waste, she told herself. Breathing in, she cracked open the guest room door and peeked out into the corridor, listening. Silence.

She had no other run-ins on her way to her quarters, though she couldn't stop thinking about the servant sneaking around. Then again, how did she know it was a servant? She had assumed