Wuthering Heights: The Wild and Wanton Edition
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Print: January 14, 2011
eBook: December 31, 2012
Return to Yorkshire, to the moors, and join Heathcliff and Catherine for the wild and wanton version of a story of doomed love and revenge...
'I cannot live with my life! I cannot live without my soul! I cannot live without my...lover'!
Catherine and Heathcliff may have been doomed sweethearts from the start, but that's no reason to keep them from consummating their desperate desire for one another. In this smoldering, expanded edition of the brooding masterpiece, the star-crossed lovers seal their fiery fate with lovemaking as wild as the moors.
From the first time the rough-and-tumble Heathcliff takes the haughty young Catherine in his arms, he unleashes a sexual obsession that will never die. To their final lingering embrace beyond the grave, this is the self-same story of ruinous love that has always haunted readers.
Note: Cover is second edition release for ebook in December, 2012.
March 8, 1780
It happened tonight, as I have always known it would. Heathcliff has made me his own.
It commenced no differently from usual. I was trying to avoid Hindley, and had gone to the stable to find Heathcliff, hoping we might complain of Hindley’s treatment together. It was still early and the dust motes floated in the sunshine as it streamed through the slats in the barn.
I saw him, hard at work already, and when he turned to me, his eyes were dark as pitch and his breathing labored. He had removed his shirt, and I could see the sheen of perspiration on his chest. Unthinking, I reached out to brush it away, and that was enough to set him off. He pulled me into his arms, roughly, this time, and I knew what he wanted, and it made me dizzy.
He kissed me, hard and deep, not as sweet and questioning as some of our kisses have been, but still a little clumsy and uncertain for all of that. I knew he had never been with another woman the way he wanted to be with me, and that if we took this step, it would be the first time for both of us.
I think he wanted to do it because he believed it could change something, anything. But at the time he kissed me, I couldn’t think of what it would mean or what he meant by it, or what he would expect after it. When he kissed me like that, it sparked something deep inside me, a matching flame to his, a knowledge that had always been there.
I should have left but I didn’t. I kissed him back. That seemed to ignite a frenzy in him, and then his hands were all over me, and I could feel the hardness between his legs as he thrust his hips against me, blunt and masculine. I knew what he wanted, and I determined to give it to him. We were soul mates; we would consummate our connection; it was as simple and as logical as that.
I took him by the hand and walked to the back of the barn into the stall that held the hay. I placed a horse blanket over bales, then turned to Heathcliff. His gaze of adoration and love nearly broke my heart. My hands shook as I held out my arms to him. I will never forget the rightness of the moment when he came into my arms.
This time his kiss was less desperate. He knew he could take his time with me, and I would allow him all the liberties he desired. I stroked my hands across his bare back, marked with scars on top of muscle and sinew. This gypsy child had endured much. I pressed my face into his chest, tasting the salt of his sweat. With gentle hands, he set me a little away from him. He tugged at the bodice of my dress, and my breasts tingled with the touch of his hands.
“Cathy,” he said.
I turned around so that he could see the row of buttons that marched up the back of my dress. He was impatient of the petty task, and I warned him not to yank the buttons loose. I could feel his hands shake, and heard his muttered oath, as he undid my dress slowly and painstakingly. Then he had it done, and he shoved it from my shoulders, roughly spinning me around so he could take a look. A shock of embarrassment coursed through me. Did I really mean to allow him to look at me, naked?
“Uncross your arms, Cathy,” he pleaded. “I want to see you.”
I took my time stepping away from the dress, then, with more care than I usually showed for my belongings, folded it neatly aside, keeping my back turned to him.
“Cathy,” he said again. He had come up behind me, and he stroked my bare bottom, which made me jump, and then he laughed, and that made me mad, so I rounded on him, and he grabbed me up in his arms, crushing me to his chest. He buried his face in my neck, and said, “You feel so good against me.”
And with that every bit of anger and embarrassment fled. His chest was strong and warm against the bareness of my body, and his hands, wandering at will, felt capable and solid. When he bore me back against the blanket, I made no attempt to stop him.
His gaze raked over me, full of fear, wonder and desire. “Oh, Cathy,” he whispered, dipping his head to my bare neck and kissing me. His body was dark, a stark contrast to the lightness of mine. When he touched my breasts with his callused hands, cupping them tentatively, I clenched my fingers into the blanket. I could not help the moan that emanated from my throat.
I trembled with wanting him, but not knowing what to do, I had to trust my instincts to guide me. I shifted on the blanket, and let my thighs fall open to accommodate the breadth of his hips, my body soft and yielding beneath his lean and muscled strength.