Chapter 21
Olivia rolled onto her side and lifted the edge of Jake’s overcoat.
His gaze serious and, oh, so attractive, he asked, “Are you certain?”
“Quite.” These last few days, she only felt this certain when her body was near his and instinct was given free rein. Except it wasn’t simple instinct that drove her.
Something deeper. Something . . . right. Something . . . so wrong.
He slipped in beneath the coat, their bodies close, but not touching. The cool and crisp night air turned warm and soft in the space that lay between them, the world shrunk down to him and her.
“This doesn’t have to lead anywhere,” he said, his words a low rumble that shook every cell in her body.
She nodded, closed her eyes, and allowed her other senses to take over. Indeed, the warmth of his body did satisfy a certain skin-deep need. But it also sparked another want deep within her. Experience had taught her that this budding feeling of desire wouldn’t be placated by the constrained nearness of his clothed body. Such an obstacle only increased its appetite.
Two days ago, she’d allowed her desire to conflate reality and fantasy into an extension of her dream state. As if the self-deception absolved her of culpability in the matter. Tonight, separated from his body by a stretch of air at once insignificant and unbearably tremendous, she didn’t want absolution. Tonight, she would claim and own her actions.
On this particular night, beneath these particular stars, in this particular moment, this particular man would be hers. He would never be husband to her, but he would be her lover one last time.
Her eyes blinked open, unsurprised to find his serious gaze steadily, patiently, observing her. What an aphrodisiac his seriousness was. She’d never been the focal point of such reflective attention. It emboldened her. It made her want to act in a way outside herself. It made her want to seduce him beyond the limits of his self-control. She reached out to touch his face, her index finger trailing along the fine ridge of his cheekbone.
“Olivia—”
The tip of her finger continued its trail to his firm lips before pausing. “And if I want this to lead somewhere?”
Across the few inches separating their bodies, could he feel her pulsing with desire for him? It had begun with a simple, excited acceleration of her heart that with each successive beat spread a thrum through her body. She would vibrate off this reclining chair if she didn’t steady herself with the full length of his body hard against hers. The light touch of her index finger wasn’t nearly enough. Too few nerve endings made contact with his skin. She wanted more. But not yet.
Her finger continued its way across his chin, its golden stubble picking up flickers of moonlight, and down his neck before hooking his cravat and untying its knot in a few economical motions. Then her finger resumed its course, sliding along the seam of his shirt until it fell open to his waistcoat. She pushed it wide for a better view of his chest when she noticed the shadow of a bruise located directly over his heart.
On an impulse, she bent her head and pressed her lips to bruised skin. Her eyes lifted and found him quietly regarding her. The kiss might not solve anything, but sometimes an instant of grace was all one needed to get through to the next moment.
Ever lower, her finger trailed until it reached the top of his trousers. His hand darted out and covered hers, stilling it. “Not like this. Not again.”
She arched an eyebrow in silent query.
“Are you still cold?”
She shook her head. “I’m burning up.”
“Good.”
He swept away the overcoat and sat across from her. Drawn in by his action, she followed his lead, now facing him, each anticipating the other’s next move. He leaned in and reached around to flick open the three pearl buttons that held her bodice together. Her eyes fluttered shut and she inhaled as his open shirt brushed the silk of her bodice, completing her sensory overload with his scent and his heat.
Task complete, his hands fell away. Her eyes flew open. She was both needled and aroused by his action, by the idea of him withholding himself from her. The light of challenge within his eyes spiked her desire higher. The next move in their game was hers.
She unfolded her legs and came to her feet beside him, his mouth a breath’s distance from the hollow of her neck, this self-assured man in the supplicant position. Her position as woman on top felt good. Better than good.
A feeling stole across her body, inch by inch. The feeling of power. She went lightheaded with it. To have a man like this, the most desirable man in London, at her feet . . .
A single shrug of a shoulder, and her bodice fell to her waist. A bolt of triumph shot through her when his gaze could no longer hold hers. As if he would starve if he didn’t feast his eyes upon her flesh this very instant.
When his eyes traveled their unhurried way back to hers, they were near black, pupils dilated to the outer edge of the iris. Oh, how wicked and gratifying.
He shrugged out of both his waistcoat and his shirt in a single economical motion, leaving his own chest a bare feast of corded muscle. A man’s hardened body was new to her. Percy had been lean and thin in the way of a youth recently become a man. But Jake was lean and muscular. His body was just so indecently carnal.
Again, it was her turn. With a subtle undulation of her hips, her dress slid to the ground, leaving her clad in only silvery blue garters and white stockings with slippers to match. She’d never acted so brazenly, so without fear. Neither had she been so aroused. Her mons pubis must be dripping its arousal for his unblinking eye.
His move.
His hand snaked down to unlace his pants as he made to stand. On a sudden whim, she laid a staying hand on his chest and lowered to her knees before him. She wasn’t sure what had come over her, but she had an overwhelming desire to touch him with her tongue as he’d done to her.
Her fingers slid down the tensed muscles of his chest and lower belly to tease apart the opening of his pants, freeing his turgid member from the confining fabric. Straight and long and impossibly thick, his shaft was perfection. Reverent fingertips brushed across its velvety surface.
As she held his gaze, her tongue touched his thick base and slowly stroked the length of him all the way up its pulsing column to its very tip. A shudder ripped through him, and his head arced back. “Olivia,” he growled.
She repeated the motion, squeezing her thighs together as her own lust threatened to overwhelm her intention. Then she drew him into her mouth, inch by inch, her hand holding him at the base to guide him in. Tongue swirling around the tip, her mouth and hand moved in unison up and down his smooth length in a steady rhythm.
“Olivia,” he all but growled, “I might lose my mind.”
Sucking him in deeper, she increased the rhythm, carried along by a lust stoked hotter by the pleasure she gave. She moaned in a mixture of frustration and desire.
“Olivia,” she heard again as his hand cupped the side of her face. “I’ve reached the edge.”
She pulled away from him, inch by excruciating inch, giving him one last lick before sitting back on her heels. “Your move.”
He reached across the empty space between them and lifted her to a stand. Unexpected move. She’d thought he would ravish her on the ground, perhaps, even hoped it.
He slipped thumb and forefinger into his mouth before reaching out to take one of her nipples between them. Her breath caught in her chest. She might never breathe again. She grabbed his shoulder lest her legs give way. Pleasure cascaded through her in tiny waves that grew larger, bolder with each ensuing ripple, insistent, demanding more. He feathered his other hand down her stomach to the mound above her quim.
More was so close, so very, very close . . . A groan borne of lust and deep, unfiltered frustration tore through her.
His head snapped up. “Do that again.”
Again, she groaned, and his fingers slid along the wet folds of her sex. Her hand clutched tighter at his shoulder. More was almost . . . almost . . . there.
“Again,” he demanded.
Again, she complied. One finger slipped inside her as his thumb began strumming her outer sex. Her nails dug in, and another moan escaped her.
Another finger slipped inside, filling her, taking her higher than this rooftop, higher than the sky above. Oh, how the stars twinkled for her tonight.
“Jake,” she called out, unsure of how much more of this exquisite pleasure she could take before she shattered into a million sparks of light. She wanted him inside her, his skilled fingers suddenly a poor substitute for the real him. “I want you . . . all of you.”
The words had barely left her lips before the two of them were on the ground, him poised above her, his eyes locked onto hers. In a sure swift motion, he sank into her, and nothing else mattered.
“Yes,” her voice ground out.
~ ~ ~
That carnal, breathless, mad yes was all he needed to hear.
Never had a woman pushed him to the brink of losing all control before he was ready, not like Olivia. Only she had the power to reduce him to this primal state. As if his survival depended on fucking her into oblivion.
His hips gave a hard thrust, and her eyes drifted shut in involuntary abandon. Her swollen lips parted, a moan escaped, and he was lost.
He stilled his hips, and she opened her eyes, a protest in her depths. He pulled nearly all the way out and thrust hard again, and now she was lost.
Even as he drove her to the brink, he must be careful that she reached it first. Her hands held fast to the bunched muscles of his arse, spurring him to increase his rhythm, her hips bucking up to meet him at each downward thrust, her passion driving him into a near frenzied state. Just when he began to question his ability to keep up with this madly impassioned woman beneath him, she broke in release, shouting her climax to the stars above.
Her quim pulsing around him, he could no longer restrain himself and gave in to the animal need clamoring for its own release. He gathered her sweet, supple body into him, one hand at the nape of her neck, the other at her hips, driving into her, relentless thrusts one after the other, her moans and gasps tickling his ear, urging him to the precipice, toward his edge.
“Olivia,” he called out as release claimed him in one, two, three thrusts, promising for a wild moment never to let him go, to hold him suspended in the dark, delicious limbo of bliss, need, and satiety for all eternity, for as long as his body was joined with hers.
No more than a spent slab of flesh, he collapsed on top of her before rolling slightly to the side to relieve her of some of his weight.
Their bodies exhausted, the race of their hearts slowing, reality began to creep in at the edges of awareness. He’d spent his seed inside her. Careless.
The thought, however, lacked urgency. What was the worst possible outcome? That she would turn up with child? That he would have to marry her?
He could think of worse repercussions. Like not marrying her? came a thought. Like walking away from her tonight? came another.
No. It couldn’t be possible.
Tonight, he’d been set free from a past that had burdened him alone for too long. It was only when she’d spoken the words aloud that he’d been able to see it. He was years removed from the foolish young man he’d once been. She’d not only offered him grace, but a glimpse into the man he would be . . . for her.
He would never let this confounding, fascinating woman down. His heart knew it down to its core.
“Olivia,” he began, unsure where his words would lead him . . . them.
“Will you hand me your overcoat?” she cut in. “I find myself chilled of a sudden.”
He reached for the discarded garment, and a sharp knock sounded at the door. “Lord St. Alban?” came a voice muffled by dense oak. “My lord?”
A muted scraping of metal-on-metal sounded as the key began turning in the lock. Without hesitation, Jake’s voice boomed, “Payne, do not open that door if you value your position in my household. You will immediately step back and await further instruction.”
All went perfectly still.
A nude Olivia tugged at his attention. She sat with her slender legs crossed to the side of her upright body, golden tresses tumbling in loose waves about her shoulders, casting her in the light of a sated Aphrodite.
A new burst of lust coursed through him. He could take her again this very moment. But lust wasn’t the only emotion guiding his response, and she needed to know. “Olivia—”
“It seems we’ve been found,” she interrupted, her voice husky and unlike itself. She reached for her dress. “We shan’t starve after all.”
His eyes caught hers. “I might be starving already.”
~ ~ ~
Olivia slid her gaze away from his, avoiding the meaning of his words. With all the passion of an automaton, she concentrated on dressing herself, her movements mechanical and rote, and an ineffable sadness stole over her for what she was about to lose.
The fact of the matter was that she’d gotten too close to the too attractive viscount. And kept getting too close to him, which wouldn’t do. He needed the sort of wife who could protect and guide Mina through Society’s slings and arrows, who wouldn’t allow a single one to find its mark.
Besides, had she forgotten that she didn’t want to be a wife again? She’d hated being a wife.
No wife of mine will ever be subject to such a marriage.
She wouldn’t think about that.
The last few strands of her fine hair tucked into place, her feet began carrying her toward the door, toward freedom. Except she didn’t feel free at all.
The image of her once-comforting, steady, white marble column rose up in her mind. But its original meaning had evolved into something dark and unappealing. It now resembled nothing so much as a prison tower.
She wouldn’t think about that, either.
“Your man can be trusted?” her voice questioned.
“Yes.” Jake drew level with her on the short walk to the door. “But for insurance purposes, I shall see to it that he has a shiny new frock on the morrow.”
He’d made a joke, and it was funny, but all her lips could do was curve upward into what felt like the memory of a smile.
“We shall not be able to avoid each other, I’m afraid,” she said. “It seems our daughters have become the fastest of friends, but don’t worry. I shall do my best not to promote any concept of us.” She didn’t understand why she’d said that last bit. Wasn’t it what she wanted?
“Olivia—”
“Nothing has changed, Lord St. Alban.”
Her knuckles gave a single rap on the stubborn door. The next instant, Jake’s man pushed it open and stood aside, his eyes discreetly lowered. Her quiet, slippered feet carried her across the hall and down the coiled staircase, leaving behind a visibly bewildered Jake.
He needed a wife, and she didn’t need a husband. They were completely wrong for each other. She almost believed it, except when they were together, they felt so right.
No wife of mine will ever be subject to such a marriage.
She must do herself a favor and forget he’d ever uttered those dratted words. Only then would she be able to free herself from the unnamed emotion that had wrapped around her heart and refused to let go.