And how could she? How, when he’d set her afire once more, and only his touch and his embrace could extinguish the aching need between her legs?
Wanting to meld herself to him, Claire went up on tiptoe and pressed herself close to the broad wall of his chest. He caught her by the waist, and a little gasp, lost to his kiss, escaped her as he brought her legs up around his waist. She clenched tight, welcoming the feel of his hard stomach muscles against her womanhood.
Caleb drove her back against the wall, and his tongue teased hers, tangling in a tempting dance that sent her hips moving.
“Mmm,” she keened as he shifted his focus away from her mouth and down to her neck.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he rasped, his beard-stubbled cheek scraping her skin in a way that only sent her desire climbing.
“We shouldn’t stop,” she panted. “I shan’t forgive you if you do.”
“Can’t have you forever mad at me, then, sweetheart.” With that, he lowered the bodice of her dress and drew her breasts out, exposing them to the cool air, but his breath, a hot sough upon her skin, drove back the chill.
“God, you’re beautiful.”
Hearing that pronouncement in his deep, rough American tonality somehow made that endearment all the more raw and beautiful for it.
Then, lowering his head, he drew one of the pebbled peaks into the hot cavern of his mouth and sucked.
Claire’s eyes slid shut, and with a little moan, she brought trembling hands up and curled them into his hair, tangling her fingers into the thickest, most luxuriant strands no man had a right to. “Yes, Caleb. Like that.” Those little words of encouragement she gave should have scandalized her for their boldness, and yet, they only enlivened her.
Resting her head against the wall, she gave herself up to just feeling… and taking what he offered.
He continued to weave his magic over her, flicking that sensitive tip, alternately swirling his tongue around it, and then suckling once more. Caleb rocked the long, rigid wall of his enormous shaft against her.
He shifted his attentions to her previously neglected breast and worshipped that peak. Incoherent with need, Claire pumped her hips in a bid to get closer to him… and surrender. She wanted it so very badly.
“Yes. More of that,” she begged, her voice harsh and breathless and wicked, and that only drove her hunger soaring.
He released her, letting her body slide down his tall, muscular one. The moment her feet touched the floor, she sagged, her arms going limp at her sides, and she borrowed support from the wall as her spine and muscles had so failed her.
Tugging off his shirt, Caleb tossed it aside. The lawn article snagged upon an easel and hung there. Next, he shucked his boots and trousers, adding to that growing pile of garments until he stood naked before her.
“Oh,” she breathed, devouring him with her gaze, latching her stare first upon that part of him that so beckoned and stirred the seeds of greater want. His length, thick and tall, stood proud, jutting out amongst a sprig of dark curls.
She dampened her mouth, remembering the moments she’d tasted and touched him, wanting to know that pleasure again… and more. Using the moment to appreciate all of him in his naked form, as she’d been unable to do in the carriage, Claire moved her study higher, trailing her eyes along every contoured ridge of muscles, from his flat belly and oak-hard tree trunks of legs, to his powerful forearms and—
Her passion briefly faded, and pain sent her belly into spasming as she fixed on the thin white scars along his shoulders and biceps.
Oh, God.
A lash had been put to his flesh and left striped marks upon his olive-hued skin.
“Oh, Caleb,” she whispered, her voice faltering, and she leaned up and pressed her lips against those symbols of the pain he’d endured.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” he said hoarsely. “In fact, I don’t think I’ll ever look at them again and see anything but you and me and that kiss and this moment.”
She didn’t believe that. Claire knew they were always there, and with what he’d endured, the demons would not be fully vanquished. But if she could give him even some moments to take and even once drown out the darkest memories he carried, she wanted to give him that smallest of gifts.
Caleb clasped her lightly at the waist and drew her toward him, and she went, following him like he was some manner of magical piper.
Making quick work of the laces at the top of her dress and the fastenings at her waist, Caleb rid Claire of the rose-hued satin garment and the modest shift until she was naked before him, too, clad in nothing more than her silk stockings.
He trailed a rough fingertip along the curve of her breast, teasing a slow, seductive path around the areola, gliding his touch close to her nipple, and Claire bit her lower lip. He moved a passion-filled gaze over her body, a glint in those piercing eyes of a man who wanted to lay claim to her body, and they had finally found harmony in their thoughts, for the only yearning she had was to be claimed by him.
It was too much.
Capturing his hands, she brought them up, laying them upon her breasts.
Caleb’s breath caught sharply.
“There isn’t a woman like you, Claire,” he murmured, his harsh baritone rich with wonder and appreciation as each of his thumbs thrummed her nipples into tense peaks. “You make no apologies, and I love that about you.”
Her heartbeat kicked up its cadence.
But if she was unlike any other, how could he so easily send her away? How could he not want her as she wanted him… not in just this way, but in every way? Refusing to let what she yearned for, what he was unwilling to give, sour this moment, holding off on those regrets until later, Claire gripped him hard by the nape and angled his head down so she could reach him and take what she wanted.
This kiss, the rough collision of her mouth on his, was unlike any other kiss they’d shared before. As she lashed her tongue against his, he met those strokes in return, and there was a primality to it. Desire pooled between her legs, leaving her even wetter for him, making the ache even keener.
And then he slipped a hand down, finding her with his fingers.
Claire exhaled a hiss, her hips shooting up reflexively to avail herself to that touch.
“How wet you are,” he whispered against her mouth, the smile in his voice full of male smugness and pride.
She grunted, rocking her hips in a bid to get closer. To have him assuage this agonizing need, to find the fulfillment she craved.
Then he scooped her up, guiding her down onto the wool sheeting, and this time, he laid himself between her legs, pressing his length against the thatch of curls that concealed her womanhood. Her lashes heavy, Claire fought to keep her eyes open so she could remember him and every part of making love with this man.
His features were strained, the tense set of his angular jaw, the sweep of dark hair that had fallen across his forehead highlighting his strongly marked, horizontal brows.
Caleb slid the plum-tipped head of his shaft inside, and her core, sopping wet, slicked the way for him. Even so, the tight walls of her channel gripped him, creating an exquisite drag where every sensation was heightened.
As he moved within her, Caleb lowered his head to her breast and availed himself to a peak once more, laving and flicking that bud with those glorious little suckling sounds that were so very naughty and delicious.
“Mmm,” she pleaded, lifting her hips to urge him on, her thrusting bringing him even deeper inside.
But then he stopped, withholding the part of him she needed so very much.
“You are torturing me, Caleb,” she panted, curling her fingers sharply into his shoulder to show her disapproval and to get him to continue.
“Ah, but it’s the most delicious kind of torture, isn’t it, love?” he breathed, a husky, playful quality to his reply.
“N—ohhhhh.” Her response faded to a low, throaty groan as he resumed stroking
his length inside her. Claire’s eyes widened as he again gave her what she sought.
“No?” he teased, kissing her temple, and he abruptly stopped.
She cried out. “Damn it, Caleb Grayyyyy—” He slipped his hand between them and teased her with his fingers. “Ahhh,” she panted. “I don’t want to wait anymore. Please don’t make—”
At last, he plunged home, giving her precisely what she begged for and what her body needed.
There was a brief moment of pain as he filled her deeply, completely, throbbing inside her tight channel. Claire’s chest rose and fell in sporadic spurts as she tried to breathe, but the feel of him fully within her proved too delicious.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered against her temple.
Claire forced her heavy lashes open, and his gaze caught with hers, his eyes, the heat and intensity of them, piercing all the way through her. “I’m only sorry you stopped.”
His eyes darkened, and then with a low growl, he claimed her mouth. Nay, she gave it to him. Just as she wanted to give all of herself to him.
He began to move.
Slowly at first. A deliberate, slow glide and retreat as he filled her.
All pain receded, and Claire surrendered completely to this moment. Wrapping her arms about his back, she lifted her hips, coming up to meet him as he continued to drive himself within her.
Their breathing grew jerky and loud, their bodies slicked with sweat, and he increased his rhythm. Then, all gentleness was gone and forgotten as Caleb gripped her hard by the hips and leveraged himself forward, touching her to the quick, and Claire cried out with the bliss his strokes brought. Over and over again, he thrust and pulled back. Thrust and pulled back. Each of those harmonious movements brought her higher and higher to that place he’d drawn her to before. The cliff where she now knew what awaited on the other side. And Claire was desperate for it.
She thrashed her head back and forth, making a mess of the wool underneath her. “Pleeease,” she cried, lunging up to meet him. To better take him.
“That’s it, love,” he encouraged, his breath as labored as her own, his tone strident. “Take what you want.”
And then she did.
Claire stiffened, her entire body tensing, and she came.
Screaming his name, she came, over and over, pleasure rippling through her, so intense her body spasmed. She cursed. She keened. All the while, he continued to drive himself inside her, continuing to wring every last bit of pleasure from her until she gasped, her entire body going limp, replete.
His breath went ragged, and Caleb’s movements grew quicker, more frenzied, the grip he had upon her hips tightening.
He tensed, and with a low groan, he withdrew and spilled his seed in a clear, shimmering arc alongside them.
And then he collapsed over her, catching himself by his elbows, their chests still touching so that Claire was able to turn her cheek and lay it against the light mat of tufted curls.
Under her ear, his heart thundered, beating an erratic time with her own.
No words were passed. But then, what was there to say?
And yet, as passion receded and reality returned, she was left with but one realization: She’d lied to him.
When she left, this wasn’t going to be enough.
She wanted all of him.
Chapter 22
He always slept on the floor.
It was a habit born of his imprisonment.
The cold, harsh hardness of an unforgiving floor had become more natural than any bed.
But that morning, with light streaming through the windows as the new day shoved back the fog of sleep, there was something different.
The warmth. A blanket of heat proved maybe he’d not been at all right after all about the cold. Because surely he’d never felt more at peace and more rested than he did in this moment.
A snore slashed across the quiet.
And the snoring…
That was decidedly different, too.
Caleb forced his eyes open.
That was what had awakened him, the damned knocking.
Her snore broke into a noisy, shuddery bleat. He had exhausted her. Though, in fairness, they’d exhausted each other making love throughout the night.
He couldn’t get enough of her, or she of him.
He slid Claire off of his chest, and like a kitten seeking warmth, she immediately curled into the place Caleb had vacated, her lithe, naked frame a shadow upon the indentation he’d left on the canvas. Fetching his jacket, Caleb covered Claire, and gathering up his trousers, he proceeded to dress as he headed for the damned interruption. Bare-chested still, Caleb drew the panel open a fraction and found Wade.
“What the hell is—”
“Company.” Wade’s grave pronouncement cut off Caleb’s annoyed whisper.
His stomach lurched.
Company?
Caleb pulled the door nearly shut and peered through the crack at his friend.
“Lord Bolingbroke arrived a short while ago,” Wade confirmed.
Claire’s brother.
It should come as no surprise. After all, Caleb had been the one who’d sent a missive alerting the gentleman of his sister’s whereabouts. And yet, neither had he expected… what? That the nobleman wouldn’t rush like hell to come to the rescue of his unmarried sister?
“Caleb?”
And now, the brother was here, with Claire thoroughly rid of her virtue and—
“Caleb?” Wade repeated his name a second time, his tone growing more insistent.
He gave his head a shake. “Where did you put him?”
“He’s in your offices. I told him I’d fetch you.” The other man paused and nudged his chin at the oak panel. “You’re going to want to make yourself more presentable than that.”
As in, not half-naked. Yeah, the only thing his current state would ensure was a bullet from the older brother. And a deserved one at that.
“I brought these.”
Caleb opened the door a faction and accepted the change of garments from the other man.
“Tell him I’ll be there. I’m finishing up work.”
“Work,” Wade repeated. “I’ll let him know.”
Caleb stopped him before he could leave. “And see that a bath is prepared for Miss Poplar and a change of garments prepared by the maid.”
Touching his fingers to his forehead, his friend rushed off, leaving in his wake all the condemnation and judgment that Caleb was entirely deserving of.
Bringing the panel shut, he rested his forehead against it and then promptly began to bang his head silently against the wood.
He’d lost control of his senses and self these past days. He’d set aside honor for desire. And disregarded his work for a dangerous fascination with Claire Poplar.
Now, he needed to face Claire’s brother, and if Tristan’s outrage was strong, well, then it was doubtful Caleb would be leaving this island alive.
Of course, he knew what he needed to do. There was only one course for him and Claire.
Caleb turned—and found Claire awakened.
She was seated like Athena, her legs drawn at a sideways angle and her upper body twisted so that she faced him. Her dark curls hung loose about her shoulders, and the pebbled peaks of her full breasts poked through.
He knew in this moment with her presented as she was, that he’d never be uninspired in his art again. For he’d merely need to recall her as she was just then—
“Tristan arrived?” she called out, her low contralto made huskier by the remnants of sleep, and yet her question managed to kill his muse… and his desire.
With his change of garments tucked in one arm, Caleb put all his attention into collecting her clothing. “Yeah.”
Since his capture, he’d never been much for words. He had even fewer words now. His stomach churned at the upcoming meeting with her brother. At what he was about to do.
Caleb reached the makeshift bed they’d made out of paint-splatter
ed canvas, and handed her garments over. Wordlessly, she accepted her things.
Making his way over to a basin and untouched pitcher of water from yesterday’s art session, he rinsed his face. The chill of that water cleared the fog Claire always created in him. Caleb dunked a cloth, and wringing it out, he washed the stink of sweat… and sin… from his body.
“You summoned him,” she remarked, shades of hurt within that statement.
Caleb continued to wash himself.
“What?” Claire called over. “Nothing to say?”
“It didn’t sound like a question.” He didn’t pause in his efforts. After all, the brother awaited.
Don’t act like it’s about rushing off to meet Bolingbroke. It’s all about you wanting to turn tail and run from this particular exchange.
“It wasn’t.” She paused. “But I hope you’d have answered anyway, instead of giving me this silence, Caleb.”
Tossing the rag into the basin, he faced her.
At some point, she’d donned her wrinkled chemise and now clutched the rose-colored gown close to her chest.
“What did you think I’d do after finding you alone, Claire?” he gritted out. “That I’d just go on my way without sending word to your brother and Poppy?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Her lips pulled up in a wry grin. “I’d hope that you’d do precisely what you might had you come across a grown man making his own decisions.”
“Well, you’re not a grown man. You’re a woman who rushed off to meet a stranger.”
“You,” she said softly, her droll smile fading. “I was coming to meet you.”
“Unknowingly,” he pointed out. “You could have found yourself rushing off to meet a man who’d beat you.” Every muscle in his body seized as the very thought of that possibility haunted him. “Or sell you… or worse.” Shucking his wrinkled trousers, he swapped them for the perfectly laundered ones Wade had supplied. “Bad things happen to people all the time, Claire. Not just to women. To men, too.”
“Like what you endured on that British naval ship?”
It was the gentleness of her voice, compassionate and understanding, that proved a balm upon his battered soul. “Like what I endured on that British naval ship,” he said, more to himself. Drawing the neat white lawn shirt over his head, he stuffed the long tails into his pants. He dragged his fingers through his hair, combing the damp strands, making himself as presentable as possible before he faced her brother and… Caleb drew a slow breath in through his teeth. “You should bathe.”
A Groom of Her Own (Scandalous Affairs Book 1) Page 23