A Passion for Pleasure(99)

She imagined then what it might have been like had they met under different circumstances. If she had somehow already come to terms with her father and been living at Wakefield House with Andrew. She could have come to Sebastian free of desperate, calculated motives, compelled only by her love for him.

“I never meant for it to come to this,” she said.

“You meant to have Andrew again. That’s what it came to.”

“Will you forgive me for the price we paid?”

“Yes.”

The word flowered beneath Clara’s heart, though its brightness did not diminish her unease. He would forgive her because he was a good man who tried not to think ill of others, but he would not forget the fact that she had gone against his wishes. He would not forget that she had revealed his secrets to his father.

Her chest hurt. She pressed her forehead to his neck and closed her eyes. Sebastian cupped her chin and urged her to lift her head, his fingers strong and warm. How she loved his hands. The strong, gentle hands that had captivated her from the first moment he touched her. Their lips met in a gentle kiss before he curved her legs around him and rose, holding her against him as he moved to the bed.

The mattress dipped as he lowered her onto it and stretched out beside her, skimming his palm across the expanse of her shift. She reached for his right hand and brought it to her lips, brushing her mouth across the bent angle of his little finger. His eyes burned in the flare of the candlelight, his dark hair sweeping across his forehead as he moved closer.

Clara turned to him, an ache of longing swelling through her, and lifted her arms to allow him to divest her of her dressing gown and pull the shift over her head. She fumbled to remove his trousers, welcoming the shock of arousal that conquered her ever-present fear, like water crashing endlessly over a jagged stone.

He lowered his head to kiss her. Hard, his tongue sweeping into her mouth in a hot caress that tore a moan from her throat. Her head fell back, her mouth opening and body yielding to him all over again. He nipped at her lower lip with his teeth, the slight twinge vibrating across her skin. His tongue tangled with hers, slid over the surface of her teeth, his lips demanding a response that she could give only to him.

Soon, too soon, he lifted his head. He stared at her, then placed his hand between her breasts. Her heartbeat thundered against his palm. His fingers trembled. He leaned in close again, his breath hot against her ear.

“Touch me,” he whispered.

Clara’s breath caught as she grasped his smooth, hard shaft. He pulsed against her hand, driving her arousal higher. His breath burned against her neck. He palmed her breasts, watched the peaks harden beneath his touch, then smoothed his warm hands over her belly to the apex of her thighs.

He moved lower, his body taut, coiled tight. Clara’s heart began to pound slow and hard, her lips parting on an indrawn breath as he pushed his hands between her legs and spread her open. She fisted the bed linens in her hands, pushing aside the instinctive urge to close herself. She had long passed the point of being able to hide. She would forever be stripped bare for him, only him.

Her hips twitched upward. He rose to his knees and pushed his trousers to the floor. Lust pitched and rolled through her, and she arched herself toward him in silent entreaty.

He positioned himself at the entrance to her body and thrust into her once, heavy and fast. She gasped, lifting her arms to wrap them around his shoulders, stroking one hand through his thick hair. He lowered himself on top of her, bracing his hands on either side of her head and locking their bodies together. Slowly, he increased the pace of his plunging, the slick glide filling her repeatedly, and Clara came apart like a bursting star, her hands gripping his back and her body undulating with trembles.

He grasped her right wrist, pinning her hand against the bed. He thrust again, and again, before spilling into her with a low groan that shuddered through her blood. For a moment, he was still.

Breathless, Clara opened her eyes. He was watching her, a sheen of sweat on his face and neck, the carnal satisfaction fading from his expression. She stroked a hand over his jaw, her gaze tracing the sharp planes of his cheekbones that sloped down to his beautiful mouth. His thick-lashed eyes, the color of burned honey in the firelight, gleamed with warmth.

I love him. She knew that to the depths of her being. A braid of fear and pleasure spiraled through her. She stroked his lower lip with her thumb.

Over the past weeks, she had overcome her fear and plunged forward with reckless and daring steps to ensure Andrew’s return to her. She had proposed marriage, conceived a calculated agreement, tried to bargain with her father, lied to her husband, plotted the abduction of her son. Yet it had taken every ounce of courage she possessed to tell Sebastian she loved him.