A Duke in the Night(70)

He lifted her and laid her back on the settee, his hands sliding over the tops of her thighs and around to the backs, spreading her legs wide and lifting her hips toward him. His hand slid back up over the swell of her abdomen and along her rib cage, his thumb just brushing the underside of her breast.

Her hips flexed, a tiny, involuntary movement.

He smiled.

“August,” she whispered, though it sounded like more of a plea.

He ran his finger across her lips, over her chin, and down the column of her throat. He paused in the small hollow at the base before he slid his hand down the slope of her breast, palming its weight and brushing the tip of her nipple. He felt her shudder, and her hips moved again, this time more demanding.

“What are you doing?” she demanded hoarsely.

He brought his hand back to her hip, holding her steady. “Understanding what I possess.” He positioned himself at her entrance and thrust into her slick heat.

Clara made a muffled noise and wrapped her legs hard around his waist, drawing him even farther. He could feel her inner walls flex around him, and he ground against her, stars starting to dance along the edges of his vision. Need was pounding through him with more urgency than he would be able to control.

He withdrew and thrust, once, twice, and again, each time harder and faster, never taking his eyes off her face. White-hot pleasure was streaking through him with each stroke, moisture gathering at his brow. His breathing was labored, and he could feel her heels digging into the tops of his buttocks, urging him on. She reached up and ran a hand over her breasts, rubbing her nipples. With a low growl, August knocked her hand away with his and set his mouth where her fingers had been.

“Yes,” he heard her hiss, writhing beneath him.

She was so responsive, so goddamn perfect. He was never going to survive this.

He swirled his tongue around each nipple, sucking hard as he pumped into her. He lifted his head only enough to find her mouth. “I want you to come for me,” he said roughly against her lips. “I need you to come right now.”

Clara whimpered, a raw sound that sent another wave of pleasure slamming through him. He tilted her hips and thrust hard, grinding himself deliberately against the very apex of her sex, and just like that, she flew apart. She cried his name, a ragged, wild declaration of ecstasy as her orgasm crashed through her. She arched up and into him, her legs clamped around his waist as her inner muscles spasmed and pulsed around his cock. He drove into her, riding her climax, prolonging every wave of euphoria. His fingers dug into her hips as he caged them, his vision dimming as his own release bore down on him.

“Clara,” he groaned, pulling out just as his own orgasm ripped through him, but she was ready for him, her hand fisting him between their heat-slicked bodies. He gasped and shuddered, pumping himself into the friction of her palm. Pleasure of an intensity he hadn’t known rolled through him in unending, merciless waves, one after another without respite. His thrusts finally slowed, though it took them a long time to stop altogether, his body seemingly caught in the eddies of their lovemaking. It took him even longer to catch his breath and his wits, and when he did he rolled to the side, feeling a little out of control.

“We should have done that ten years ago,” Clara said into the silence.

He laughed, a sound that caught him by surprise. “Agreed.”

“Thank you.” He felt her shift, and he turned on his side so he was facing her.

“For what?”

She smiled crookedly. “For your…ministrations.”

“Twice,” he teased.

“Twice,” she agreed. The smile slipped. “And for your control and your responsibility.”

“Oh.” He was a little taken aback. No woman had ever thanked him for that.

“We should have spoken of it earlier.”

August gazed at her. “I suppose we’re speaking of it now.”

“True. And I appreciate your…unselfishness.”

He grinned. “You can make it up to me. I have some ideas.”

She grinned back. “Good. So do I.”

Desire surged through him and stole the breath he had just caught. He leaned forward and kissed her deeply, not wanting this to end. Not ever wanting to leave this studio and return to the real world. Not wanting to remember what sort of reality waited for them outside these walls. And the nagging guilt and discontent that came with it. He pulled back. “Are you happy?”

“Deliriously.” Her forehead creased in puzzlement. “What a strange question.”

He shook his head, wondering what he was doing. This was usually the part where he got up, set his clothing to rights, and left. Instead he found himself lounging naked on a settee in an art studio with a woman who had just shaken his world to its very foundations, and he was asking her about…happiness. Perhaps he was fishing for compliments.

“August?” she asked, sounding concerned. As she should. This whole episode was concerning.

“If you couldn’t teach at Haverhall, what would you do?”

Clara stared at him. “Teach somewhere else.”

He reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “Where?”

“I’d like to say Oxford. Maybe Cambridge if they’d have me.” She made a wry face.

“I’m being serious.”

She propped her head up on her hand. “Teaching is what gives me my purpose.” Her eyes had a troubled, faraway quality to them. “I don’t think I could ever stop, no matter what happened. Whatever circumstance might change, I’d always try to find a way.”