A Duke in the Night(78)
Clara pressed another kiss to the hollow behind his ear. “What’s bothering you?”
August closed his eyes, letting his head tip back. “I think Anne is in love with my man of business.” It was the coward’s way out of that question.
“I agree,” Clara murmured, pulling her hand from his and letting her fingers slide through his hair, smoothing it back from his temples in a hypnotic rhythm. “And he is very much in love with her. One doesn’t need to sit through three chess games to see that.” She paused. “Is he a good man?”
“The best,” August groaned, and Clara laughed softly.
Her fingers were at his cravat and were deftly loosening the knot. “So what is bothering you, then?”
I think I’m in love with you.
It was there, a truth threatening to be freed. But he didn’t want to be in love with Clara, because that made everything impossibly complicated and confusing and went against all the meticulous plans and preparations he’d so carefully put into place for his life.
“I don’t know why I’m here anymore,” he mumbled.
“Well, first, there was your pursuit of Strathmore Shipping. Unwanted, unsuccessful, but understandable, given what you do,” Clara replied. “And then there was the requisite crawling around on your hands and knees spying on your sister. Probably best no one gave her a pistol earlier,” she mused.
August chuckled, even as self-reproach stabbed at him. Because none of those reasons were the truth. Not really.
“Clara, there’s something—”
“But then,” Clara whispered, cutting him off, the knot of his cravat unraveling in her hands, “there was this.” She pulled the linen away from his neck and pressed her mouth to his heated skin, her lips sending bolts of electricity straight through him.
He was hard instantly, his body straining for something he was starting to need the way he needed air. Straining for her. He reached back and caught her hand, pulling her around the side of the chair. He didn’t care that he wasn’t gentle. “I want you,” he said thickly.
“Yes,” she whispered.
*
Clara felt it the moment he changed.
There had been a strange air of unsettled…something about him this night. Something unsure. Uncertain. Something that was not August Faulkner. But then he took her hand and all of that went away, his intention blindingly clear even in the darkness of the library. Which was good, because her intentions had also been clear from the moment she had left her rooms in search of him. Soon she would return to London. Soon whatever this was that existed between them would be over. But for now, she would not think on that.
August leaned forward, his hands finding her hips and tugging her toward him. He dragged her onto his lap, shoving her skirts up her legs so that she could straddle him on the wide chair. She lowered herself against him, feeling the hard ridge of his erection bulging through the fall of his trousers.
“Clara.” His hips flexed, his hands tightening on her waist.
She angled her own hips just slightly. Just enough to send scalding pulses of pleasure tearing through her. She rocked against him, unable to help herself.
His hands slipped up and caught her face, forcing her head down. He found her mouth with his, stroking with his tongue, his teeth scraping her lips.
Clara wrapped her arms around his neck, her breasts crushed against his chest. August dropped his mouth from hers, and his tongue played over the column of her neck, into the hollow beneath her jaw. “Undo my trousers,” he ordered, his breath hot against her skin, his teeth pulling at the soft flesh of her earlobe.
Clara shuddered. She unwound her arms and pushed herself a little higher on her knees, sliding her hands between them. She worked the buttons, taking her time, letting her fingers caress his cock.
“Witch,” he hissed.
Clara leaned forward and set her lips to the side of his neck. The tendons beneath his skin were corded and straining, and Clara traced them with her tongue.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” he groaned.
“I have an idea.” The last button slipped free, and she pushed the fabric aside, allowing his erection to surge free.
August hissed again as she took him in her palm, running her fingers over the head and down his shaft, cupping his balls. He groaned again, his breathing becoming ragged. Lust raced through her veins at the sound. God, this man aroused her like no other. He made her feel all-powerful and utterly vulnerable all at once. A devastating combination of emotion that left her feeling drunk and dizzy.
His hands left her face to slide over her shoulders, finding the edge of her bodice and yanking it down. Her breasts spilled into the cool night air, heavy and tight with need. He covered them almost instantly with his palms and fingers, and every one of his touches sent new spirals of pleasure swirling deep within her. Her inner muscles clenched, and dampness pooled hot and slick between her legs.
He took her nipple in his mouth, and Clara whimpered, her hand tightening on his shaft.
“Jesus, Clara.” His thighs were like rock beneath her. “I need to be inside you.”
“Soon.”
“Now.” His hands dropped to her waist, his fingers digging into the flesh at her hips as he urged her down.
She allowed herself to sink lower, her hand still stroking the length of him. Very slowly she guided the head of his cock to her entrance, letting it slide through her wetness. His hips bucked, and he made a rough, desperate sound. She closed her eyes and sank down on him, letting him fill and stretch her, spasms of pleasure already flickering through her at the friction.