by Joanna Shupe
“Pump your hand, squeeze hard.”
She fisted her hand and dragged it along his length until she reached the head. A pearly drop of moisture emerged from the slit. “Again,” he told her.
This time, when she pumped her hand, he did the same, dragging his fingers almost all of the way out of her channel, then sliding them back. She closed her eyes as streaks of white heat shot through her limbs. They did it again, working in tandem, each using a hand to pleasure the other. His breathing was as erratic as hers, their skin coated in a fine sheen as the inferno between them raged.
“Lie back,” he rasped. Not taking his fingers out of her, he used his other hand to support her shoulders as she maneuvered down on the sofa. Then he came up on his knees between her thighs, his hooded gaze traveling down the length of her body underneath him. “You are gorgeous. Just fucking gorgeous.”
She could say the same of him, with his wide shoulders, narrow hips and flat stomach. The long shaft that jutted proudly from a nest of dark hair, the twin weights of his testicles hanging below. He was a fascinating contrast of lean, hard muscle that rippled as he moved, and her fingertips itched with the desire to explore every inch.
Curling over her, he kissed her breasts, teased her nipples, still pumping his fingers in and out of her, until she writhed, a mindless creature of unfulfilled need. It was too much to bear. “Please, Kit.” She clutched at his head and pulled him up to see his face. “Please.”
He rose up and slowly drew his fingers out of her core, watching the entire time. Then he used that hand along his shaft, smearing her wetness over his skin. “I always use a rubber shield, if it eases your mind.”
“What?” She was distracted by the mesmerizing sight of his fist sliding along his erection and his words didn’t make sense.
“A condom. They’re at home, though. But do not worry, I won’t spend inside you.”
She appreciated his concern, as she hadn’t once considered consequences. “Right.”
He must have heard something in her voice because he frowned. “I apologize. I tend to be too practical about these things. Have I put you off? We need not do this.”
“Kit.” She came up on an elbow, desperate to get closer. Trailing her fingers down his chest, she kept going until she brushed the tops of the fingers still gripping his shaft. “I want to do this. I want you to show me.”
Groaning, he released himself. “Then put me inside you.”
She took him in hand, not nearly as nervous as she expected. He’s making sure I know what is happening, that I learn how we fit together. Tugging, she guided him to her entrance, both of them watching as the reddish crown bumped against her flesh. He shifted forward, pressing, until the tip of his shaft disappeared in her channel. She fell back on the sofa and watched his face, which was tight with agony.
A few seconds later, he seemed in better control of himself. Lids opening, he stroked her thigh. “All right?”
She nodded. “Are you all right?”
He hissed through his teeth. “You are so tight and hot I think I’ve died and gone to Hell.”
“You mean Heaven?”
“No, this pleasure is pure torture, sent from the Devil himself.”
She couldn’t help it. A tiny giggle escaped. Kit smiled, though it was labored. “I am glad you are amused. At least that means I’m not hurting you.”
“Is there more, then?”
A strangled laugh that sounded more like a groan emerged from his throat. He dragged a hand down his face, then glanced at where they were joined. “Yes, Alice. I’d say there’s quite a bit more. Ready?”
“I am ready.”
Holding the base of his erection, he began to advance and the pressure increased, her body slowly giving way to allow him inside. As he gained new ground, he withdrew slightly, then came back, rocking his hips gently while his thumb brushed over her clitoris. She felt lovingly conquered, as if he was taking the utmost care while bringing her pleasure, instead of overwhelming her.
Suddenly, it pinched, no longer a sweet invasion but a tight squeeze. Her eyes flew to his face and found him watching her closely. “Breathe,” he told her. “You are tensing up. Just relax.”
Angling down, he rested on an elbow, their bodies now flush. The weight of him was marvelous, like he surrounded her, protected her . . . adored her. He dipped his face toward hers and sealed their mouths together, kissing her sweetly, telling her without words that this was perfect, that she was perfect. Gradually, her muscles loosened and he gave a small thrust of his hips and he was fully seated. No pain, just fullness.
“There we go,” he whispered against her cheek. “My God, Alice. I never dreamed you would feel this good.”
She was curious about what he was experiencing, if it was as glorious for him, too. “What does it feel like for you?”
“Like you’re squeezing the very life from me.” He kissed her. “Like I could happily die here.” Another kiss. “Like I am the most fortunate man on the entire planet.”
She kissed him back, feeling quite fortunate herself. Her hips tilted of their own volition, bringing him deeper, and they both moaned. Goodness, the pleasure rippled from her middle out through every part of her. He moved then, his pelvis rocking, his thick shaft sliding along her inner walls. With each drag inside her, the sensation built, multiplied, until it wasn’t enough. She was hovering in delirium, suspended in lust, as he pumped above her, propped up on his elbows, his body working to maximize their pleasure. Sakes alive, how much more could she take?
As if sensing her frustration, he pressed up on his arms, still inside her. “Rub yourself,” he panted. “Like you do when you’re alone.”
Her eyes widened. Do that, in front of him?
“Please, Alice. I want you to find your peak before I do.” He thrust once, hard. He threw his head back and gasped. “And I won’t last much longer.”
Her hand drifted between their bodies and he came onto his knees, his hands spreading her thighs wide. When she touched her clitoris, he sawed in and out of her body, wild dark eyes locked on her fingers. She circled the tight bud and blissful streaks of electricity raced through her, like a switch had been flipped. They both began moving faster, Kit offering praise as she continued to work herself, telling her how beautiful, how arousing, he found her, until the world exploded, her orgasm rushing up from her toes to lift her up and scatter her to the heavens. She pulsed and panted, her head thrown back and eyes closed as it went on and on.
Kit jerked out of her, his body pulling away, and he fisted his shaft, faster this time, his shoulders hunched in apparent pain . . . and then his fingers tightened on her thigh as pulses of white heat erupted from the tip of his penis. The spend landed on her stomach, his face twisted in gratified agony, yet still beautiful. He shouted at the ceiling, a deep rumble of satisfaction that she’d never forget.
When he finished, he slumped and gave her the most adorably contented smile. He looked young and happy, without the cynicism that sometimes haunted his expression. I love this man.
She knew it deep in her bones. There would never be another like him in her life, not even her future husband. Kit was everything she wanted and needed . . . except the willingness to meet her at the altar. Sadness swamped her chest, a thousand pinpricks of everything she’d never have again. Her friends had tried to warn her, but she hadn’t listened and she would pay the price until she drew her last breath.
And yet.
She would not beg. He had made his position clear, and her life marched onward. For years she had shoved down her own happiness, her own desires, and she could easily do so again. It would not break her.
Know your worth.
Indeed, she did—partially thanks to this man, ironically. He’d helped her to discover her strength, her resiliency, and she would use both to walk away from him for the last time tonight. A strand of thorns wrapped around her heart, penetrating and poking, slashing her insides, but she needed to marry a man who wante
d her. Who loved her. Or had the potential for love, anyway.
Pining for Kit was not an option. No matter how badly it hurt.
His brows lowered as he examined her, as if he was trying to see inside her mind. “Alice?”
A tear slipped out of the side of her eye and she brushed it away quickly. “That was perfect,” she said, looking away as she struggled to sit up.
“Wait.” He reached for his undergarment and used it to clean off her stomach. “Are you sore? Shall I fetch a warm cloth from the washroom?”
“No.” She swung her legs toward the floor and sat up, wincing slightly at the tenderness between her legs. “I’ll take a hot bath back at the hotel.”
“Are you certain?” His hands flopped at his sides, gaze darting around the room. He appeared adorably flustered. “Why were you crying just now?”
“Kit.” She reached to stroke his jaw. “I’m fine.”
They dressed in silence, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Considering she was hardly eager to share her own thoughts, she didn’t dare ask him. She needed the walls between them, a tiny bit of distance to keep the disappointment at bay. Otherwise, she might start bawling for real.
It took much longer to put her clothes on than it had to take them off. He helped her with a competency that depressed her further. There had been many women before her in Kit’s life and there would be many women after, as well. He would never suffer for “companionship,” as he’d once called it. She would become a distant memory, one of the faceless women he’d bedded.
He deserved more than meaningless affairs. He deserved to be loved and cherished, as she did. Perhaps someday he would seek it out and allow a woman to reach his heart. Alice would have moved on long before then, however.
Taking her hand in his, he led her out of the office and through the club. The room was eerily quiet, the jocularity of earlier like a fever dream. Yet it had happened. She and Mrs. Henry and Mrs. Henry’s children had prepared Franconi’s food and dazzled this room full of New York’s crème de la crème. Pride filled her, and she would not allow her sadness over losing Kit to rob her of such joy.
He peeked out the door, then closed it. “John is waiting for you out front. I . . .” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he grimaced, not meeting her eyes. “Alice, I don’t know how to thank you for tonight. For dinner and for . . .”
Afterward.
“Don’t thank me. It was my pleasure.” A lump formed in her throat and she forced it down. “Both were my pleasure, actually.”
The edges of his lips twitched. “Good. I’m glad.”
They stood there, awkwardly, until she couldn’t take it any longer. Knowing this was the last time was like a dagger in her heart, and prolonging it was only making it worse. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Stepping in, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. He froze, not responding in the least, and that made her heart break a little bit more.
She edged away. “Be happy, Christopher Ward. You are so much more than you give yourself credit for. Don’t let anyone ever convince you otherwise.”
When he didn’t react or speak, she deflated. Why wasn’t he trying to make this easier? Reassure her with false smiles and his infamous charm? She hardly knew this cold and withdrawn man.
If this was what men acted like after intercourse, then Alice was in no rush to repeat it.
Lifting her chin, she reached for the knob and went out the door. Ready to leave the past and present behind.
The future awaited.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Light flooded her room, jarring Alice from a deep sleep. Hadn’t she just closed her eyes? “What’s happened?”
Mary, her maid, was there, looking worried. “Miss, your mother’s returned. Said I must wake you up right quick. I don’t know what’s happened but I hope she hasn’t found out that I left you unattended.”
“No, no.” Alice pushed up to a seated position—and gasped. She was sore everywhere. Swallowing against the pain, she said, “That is our secret. The only way she’d find out is if one of us told her.”
“I’ll never tell, miss. You have my word. She’d fire me straightaway, if she knew.”
She’d also commit Alice to a convent. Or an asylum.
“I’ll never allow that to happen,” Alice promised. “Where is she?”
“In her room. Said to send you over when you were dressed.”
“What time is it?”
“Just after ten, miss.”
Goodness, that late? She’d arrived home around one o’clock and hadn’t fallen asleep until after three. The excitement over the night—overseeing her first kitchen, the thrill of watching the guests enjoy her food, making love with Kit afterward—had taken a long time to wear off. “Just pick out a dress while I am in the washroom. Best not to keep her waiting.”
Alice gave herself no opportunity to think about Kit while she cleaned her teeth and used the facilities. She had no regrets and, like Nellie said, she intended to live as if each day was her last. No more putting off her responsibilities and wishing for things that could never happen.
When she was dressed and presentable, she knocked on her mother’s door. Mama’s maid answered and let Alice in, where she found her mother poring over the society talk in the newspaper. “Hello, Mama. How was your trip?”
“Sit down, Alice.”
Nerves jumping, Alice lowered herself into a plush armchair. She pressed her lips together, silent. Had Mama discovered Alice’s sneaking out this week? Worse, had Mama learned about Kit?
Impossible. Stop worrying. No one will ever know.
“I hear you left the hotel while I was away.”
Alice’s stomach plummeted to her toes. Her mouth dried out, like a meringue that had been left in the oven too long. “I . . .”
“Tell me how this happened. I hadn’t realized you were so friendly with His Grace.”
His Grace?
Oh. Her drive with Lockwood.
She relaxed, slumping in the chair as the relief nearly made her giddy. “Well, I—”
“Sit up straight. The duke will never want you if you slouch.”
Wasn’t her mother getting a bit ahead of herself? “Mama, it was one drive. We went around the park and he brought me right back. We were in public the entire time.”
“I am aware. I saw His Grace this morning and he informed me of that fact. Obviously I am unhappy you went anywhere unchaperoned. However, if you must allow yourself to be ruined, best to be ruined by a duke. Now, His Grace has asked us to dine with him this evening, so let’s discuss what you are going to wear.”
Wait, what? “Tonight?”
Mama sighed, eyes closing as if dealing with Alice was more than she could bear. “Listen to me for once, you stupid child. Dinner, this evening. With the Duke of Lockwood. Please, do not jeopardize this, Alice. You must know what is riding on your impressing him at every turn.”
“Of course, Mama.”
“Yes, here it is!” Her mother pointed to a section of newsprint. “Indeed, it’s right for everyone in the city to see.”
Alice peered at the newspaper. “What is it?”
“A mention of your outing with Lockwood. I didn’t see it in Boston, but everyone in New York will have learned of it by now.” Mama’s mouth twisted with dark amusement. “They all thought that Webster girl would snag him, but it turns out your dowry has lured him in.”
Of course it couldn’t have been Alice herself. “It’s hardly settled, Mother.”
“The duke won’t be able to refuse such a large sum, believe me. In fact, I’ll write to your father and ask him to sweeten the pot a little. Surely there is a piece of property or two that the duke has his eye on.”
No, this was exactly what Alice didn’t want to happen. She did not want Daddy to buy her a fiancé. “Shouldn’t we wait to gauge the duke’s interest before we start offering him a treasure chest full of gold and jewels?”
“Alice, this is how these matte
rs are handled. It is a business transaction, and we must entice His Grace into taking you off our hands. As you know, you are hardly a great beauty.”
Alice wilted . . . until she thought of Kit and the adoration on his face last night.
You are gorgeous. Just fucking gorgeous.
She was not a charity case. Lockwood could choose almost any unmarried woman in New York, like the Vanderbilt daughter whose dowry put Alice’s to shame. Furthermore, Maddie hadn’t offered up as large a dowry and Lockwood had wanted to marry her.
No, if Lockwood was interested in Alice, then it must be real . . . regardless of her mother’s harsh words.
Mama was still talking. “Now, I think the cream Worth dress with the pale pink flowers for you tonight. You haven’t worn it yet since it arrived from Paris. The other girls will be positively green with envy.”
The other mothers, too? Alice didn’t dare ask it, however. The comment would only anger her mother, and Mama was worse when she was angry. “Of course,” she murmured as she stood. “I’ll let Mary know and she can begin steaming it.”
“Good. For once, you’ve done something right. Let’s not give the duke any reason to reconsider.”
The bed was rocking. And not in the good way.
Kit groaned but didn’t open his eyes. The spinning would stop eventually. He hoped.
“Damn it, Kit. Wake up.”
The deep voice penetrated his brain. He swallowed and forced moisture into his dry mouth. “Who?”
“Kit. I need you.” A rough hand on his shoulder shook him. “Now. Wake up.”
He took a deep breath, his stomach roiling as he turned over. Why had he drunk so much last night? Or rather, a few hours ago. Dash it, what time was it?
Peeling his lids open, he found Preston standing by his bed. It was pitch-black out. “What are you doing here?” He closed his eyes again, but Preston pushed on his shoulder.
“Do not go back to sleep, goddamn it. I—”
It was the anguish in Preston’s voice that startled Kit. Blinking, he lifted his head. “What is it?”
Preston crossed his arms over his chest and studied the wall. His throat worked, as if he couldn’t speak, and it was then that Kit noted how terrible his friend looked. Hair scattered atop his head, whiskers coating his jaw. Dark circles under his eyes. Concern had Kit raising up on his elbows.