A Duke in the Night(69)
His heart might have stopped momentarily before it resumed, thundering in his ears with the same rhythm that was pulsing through the rest of him. The sound obliterated everything around him, his eyes riveted on her fingers, which were now trailing over the slope of her left breast, coming to circle her dark nipple, hard and pebbled under her touch. She was watching him watching her, and he had never been as aroused as he was then.
“Don’t stop there,” he rasped.
Clara’s eyes darkened, and her hand slid lower. Her fingers caressed the gentle swell of her abdomen before slipping through the dark curls at the juncture of her legs. He watched as she stroked a finger through the folds of her sex, her eyes fluttering closed and her head tipping back. Her hand circled low and hard, and a soft whimper escaped. She withdrew her hand, her finger wet with her desire, and it snapped whatever control he’d managed to maintain.
August didn’t remember moving, but he hauled her up and against him, and in two steps he had mounted the low dais and deposited her on the edge of the wide settee in the center. He came to kneel just in front of her, her legs falling open as she leaned back. He placed his hands on the backs of her calves, running them up and over her thighs, spreading his fingers to caress as much of that smooth, soft skin as he could. His thumbs skimmed the indentation of her hip bones while his fingers cupped the firm roundness of her ass.
“Don’t stop there,” she whispered, and he might have laughed if he hadn’t been so hot and so hard.
August bent his head and covered her sex with his mouth and felt her body tense even as she sighed. He caressed her with his tongue the way she had just done with her own fingers, the muscles in her thighs trembling under his touch. He found the bud at the apex of her folds and stroked it, her hips arching off the settee. He did it twice more, then stopped only to gaze at her, her head thrown back and her hands tangled in the emerald silk.
Her eyes opened, dismay clear. “Don’t stop,” she said, and he could hear the frustration and desire in each syllable. Her breasts were rising and falling with each rapid breath she took, and he couldn’t look away. He rose, coming to kneel over her, bending his head to take one of her nipples in his mouth. He sucked and nipped and let the noises she was making in the back of her throat guide him. He let one of his hands delve between them as he kissed her, finding her center and slipping a finger deep.
She arched off the settee again with a gasp as he withdrew before sliding deep again. She was so hot and so wet, and it was just as well that he had yet to remove his clothes because that was the only thing preventing him from thrusting mindlessly into that heat. He dipped his head, catching her lips this time, stroking the velvety softness of her mouth with the same tempo with which his fingers stroked her sex. Her hips rose to meet each stroke, each time with more urgency, and he slipped a second finger into her.
“August,” she breathed, a second before she cried out. He felt her body beneath him stiffen as her hips jerked, and she rode his hand as she convulsed and shuddered. It was a long moment before she collapsed back on the silk, breathing heavily, a look of utter rapture on her face.
Christ, but she was incredible. To the day he died, the image of Clara beneath him, offering herself, letting herself go, letting him take control, would be forever burned in his mind.
He pushed himself to his feet, yanking at his clothes. He needed to be deep inside her. He needed to possess her completely. So, so badly.
Clara raised herself up on her elbows, watching him, her skin flushed and her eyes heavy with desire. The pins had long ago fallen from her hair, and it streamed in a glorious mess behind her. She looked like a woman who had been loved and loved well. And was anticipating being so again.
She didn’t speak, made no move to touch him, just watched in much the same manner that he had. He finally stood before her in nothing but his trousers, letting anticipation build. She pushed herself the rest of the way up, coming to kneel on the settee before him.
“Come here,” she said, and he obeyed. For now.
She lifted her hands and ran them down his chest, tracing the edges of his pectoral muscles and the ridges of his abdomen as though she had all the time in the world. She slid her fingers through the hair at the center of his chest and circled his nipples with her fingers. August forced himself to remain still. Her hands slid over his upper arms, along the small of his back, traveling along the waistband of his trousers.
With no hesitation she went to work on the buttons at the fall and slipped her hands inside, pushing the last of his clothing down his legs and away. His erection surged free, thick and aching. She smiled up at him, her hands circling his waist to cup his ass, her head dipping to—
Jesus. A sound he didn’t recognize escaped from his throat, and he closed his eyes briefly as she took him in her mouth. His hands went to her head, his fingers buried in the wildness of her hair. His buttocks clenched, and he thrust up into her soft heat, unable to stop himself.
Clara made a soft noise of approval. Her hands were working their way over the curve of his ass to the backs of his thighs, and her tongue swept down his shaft and then back up, circling the crown. He felt his cock pulse, and lust pooled low and heavy.
“I’m too close, Clara,” he ground out.
She sucked hard in response, and he moaned. Her hair fell forward, and the urge to thrust into her mouth again was overwhelming. August pulled her head back, and his siren looked up at him, her eyes glazed with the same desire that was coursing through him, threatening to undo him where he stood. “Not this time,” he said.