Her gasp filled the room.
She straddled him, naked but for her silk stockings and garters, while he remained fully clothed; catching her breath in something close to desperation, she started to ride him. To rise up, then sink down, easing her scalding sheath about his rigid length, tightening, then releasing, then rolling her hips down and across his, experimenting, searching, it seemed, for the fastest way to drive him beyond all control.
At first, he indulged her, indulged his curiosity over what she might do, indulged his taste for her luscious breasts. Part of his mind kept track of their escalating hunger, their burgeoning need; when the time was right, he rose to his knees and tipped her back, caught and straightened her long legs, stripped off her stockings and garters, then wound her bare legs about his waist.
Instinctively, she locked her ankles in the small of his back, then realized. He caught a glimpse of dark fire beneath her lashes as the vulnerability—the helplessness—of her position struck home. Before she could react and shift, he caught her hips fully to his again, lifting her and working her over him, about him.
She tried to move with him, against him, to direct, to press, only to discover that without the leverage of her legs, she could do nothing but accept every stroke he pressed on her, every sliding penetration of his body deep into hers. Lids falling on a strangled gasp, she surrendered, letting her shoulders fall back on the bed, breasts heaving as she struggled to catch her breath, struggled to retain some degree of control, but he’d already stripped the reins away.
He moved her on him, and she writhed; he watched and drove her on. Ultimately, he lowered her hips to the bed, bracing over her to thrust deep into the scalding heat of her body, totally open to him, his to take.
To fill, to complete.
Clarice felt the wave of completion start from her toes, swelling as it rose through her, sweeping all she was, her mind, her wits, her senses up, ever upward into a shattering climax. He joined her bare seconds later; together they clung, burned as the glory raged and took them, then at the last, faded, leaving them slumped, exhausted, wrung out and boneless, tossed like rag dolls on the wide expanse of her bed.
Sometime later, she recovered enough to smile, to feel her lips curve at the now-familiar glow of aftermath washing through her. Delicious. So desirable.
Fingers riffling through his hair, she lay beneath him, mentally chuckling for no real reason as her naked body cooled be
neath the hard warmth of his. He was still clothed, which seemed rather ridiculous.
Apparently he agreed. With a grunt, he lifted from her, then sat up, and stripped off his clothes, apparently no more able to walk than she. Eventually naked, he rose, staggered the few steps to her dressing table, and doused the lamp. Returning to kneel beside her, he lifted her to the pillows, wrestled the covers from beneath them both, then drew them up, settling her against him in the billows of her bed.
He relaxed; she felt all tension leave his muscles, then his breathing deepened, and he slept.
Still boneless in the grip of sated languor, she smiled, feeling her lips curve against the skin of his upper chest.
She loved this, loved him, loved the way they shared, the way he allowed her to lead, then took the reins himself, passing them back and forth…
She heard her words in her head. She blinked, stopped.
Tried to tell herself she hadn’t actually meant that word in quite that way…knew in her heart, to her soul, that she was lying.
Carefully, without disturbing him, she eased back in the arm that even now held her close, and rolled onto her back. Staring up at the shadowed ceiling, she frowned. Tried to focus her mind, to work it out, to see where the path she’d so blithely followed until now truly led.
It seemed to have taken an unexpected turn…or was it simply that she’d gone a trifle further in her journey into this until-him-forbidden landscape than she’d anticipated? She’d certainly ventured into unforeseen terrain.
Unbidden, Claire’s words floated through her mind, Claire’s conviction that, contrary to her expectations, she hadn’t finalized the details of her life.
She’d thought she had, that accepting banishment to the country had defined her entire future, that there would be no more new possibilities, no different roads opening up before her feet.
But…
She glanced at the man lying sleeping beside her, felt his body hard against the length of hers.
Felt a tug deep in her heart, followed by a painful wrench at the thought that this—this unexpected comfort and peace—might not continue to be hers.
She might not yet be able to define where her life was headed, but one point was crystal clear.
Things had changed.
She had changed.
Chapter 16
Having again returned to the Bastion Club before dawn, Jack set out after breakfast, feeling in excellent health. Hailing a hackney, he hied himself to Brook Street, Benedict’s, and Boadicea.
He found her in her suite, entertaining her brothers over the breakfast cups. He smiled genially at them all. Alton eyed his transparent content with suspicion. Clarice poured him a cup of coffee and handed it to him with a warning glance.