by Joanna Shupe
Except, he didn’t wish to finish this way.
He levered up and reached for her. In one smooth motion he lifted her on top of him so that her knees straddled his hips. “There’s plenty of time later for that. Right now I want inside you.”
Moving her skirts out of the way, he found the part in her drawers. She was drenched and hot, ready for him. He inserted a finger into her channel to stretch her. “Show me your breasts,” he rasped.
She unfastened the tight, ruffled bodice. When it fell away, she was left in a corset and her shift. He pushed in another finger and she gasped, her hands coming up to cover the mounds of her breasts.
“Keep going, Florence.”
She popped open the corset to reveal more skin to his hungry gaze. I need her now. He licked the thumb on his free hand and worked it under her skirts until he found her clitoris. The bud was swollen and ripe, and he stroked and circled until she rocked on his fingers, seeking.
“Lift up.” He shoved fabric out of the way, positioned her over his cock. Tossing the corset to the ground, she gathered her skirts in her fists and began lowering herself down. He couldn’t look away from the sight of her body swallowing the head of his shaft. Gripping him. Squeezing him.
It was torture, the pace at which she took him. He gritted his teeth and dug deep for patience. Her sheath was every bit as snug as he remembered, those slippery walls clamping down on him like a vise. When their hips met, they both moaned, their chests heaving. He couldn’t ever remember feeling this vulnerable and powerful with a woman at the same time.
“Oh, God,” she wheezed. “It’s too much.”
He froze. “Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head. “No, I think I’m on the verge of . . .”
Coming? Sweet Mother of God, he was close, as well. Grasping her hips, he showed her how to move to rub that spot high inside her. Her lids fell and she braced her hands on his stomach, rolling her pelvis over his. The friction made him dizzy, her walls surrounding him, massaging him. When she started moving faster, he rubbed her clitoris again, desperate for her to climax first.
Her rhythm soon faltered, so he began thrusting upward, keeping up the pressure, until she quivered around his shaft. Nails dug into his stomach and her body trembled. He watched her face through it all, this flawless creature who humbled him with her adventurous spirit and bold nature. He needed to make her come a thousand more times just to see if her expression changed for each orgasm.
The pressure on his cock overwhelmed him. He was coming then, too, the world exploding in colors all around him, a sky of warmth and light that bathed him in contentment. A respite from his bleak and gloomy thoughts.
She dropped onto his chest and burrowed closer. He was still inside her, his body clinging to the tiny aftershocks of serenity. Real life would intrude soon enough. For now, he had her in his bed and that was all that mattered.
“Happy birthday, my dearest granddaughter.”
Florence hugged her grandmother. This evening the entire Greene family was gathering for Easter dinner. They had spent the morning at church then joined nearly all of society in a promenade along Fifth Avenue. It was an excuse for ladies to show off their new hats and Easter dresses, the men their top hats and tails. The tradition was Mama’s favorite, one her three daughters were not allowed to miss. “Granny, my birthday is in two days.”
“True, but it’s never too early to shower my favorite grandchild with love.”
“You shouldn’t say that. Mamie and Justine may overhear you.”
Granny pulled back and patted Florence’s cheek. “I would hate to hurt their feelings, though I don’t think either of them would be surprised should they learn of my preference.”
Probably not. Linking her arm with her grandmother’s, Florence started down the corridor. The rest of the family had already settled in the grand salon used for more formal occasions. Florence liked to enjoy a quiet moment with just her grandmother.
The past week had been a flurry of lessons with Clay, sleeping with Clay, lying to her parents and thinking about Clay. In other words, quite busy. “When you first met Grandfather, did you believe your marriage would turn out happily?”
“Heavens, no. The betrothal was arranged by my father and I cried for two days. I fancied myself in love with someone else.”
Florence gasped. “I’ve never heard this story. Who was this young swell thrown aside for Grandfather?”
Granny paused by an oil painting of an English garden. Some renowned artist had painted it but Florence couldn’t recall who. “A passing fancy,” Granny said. “We would have been miserable together. I never brought it up because I wouldn’t like for you girls to fear your own matches. Why do you ask? Has your father set up—?”
“Goodness, no,” Florence rushed out. “You know I won’t marry any man Daddy finds. If I ever decide to marry I shall find my own husband.”
“Yes, so you’ve said. But there comes an age where the opportunity for marriage passes you by. You shouldn’t wait that long. Not to mention your father’s patience won’t last forever.”
A fact she was painfully aware of. To realize her dream, however, she needed Granny’s help. Taking a deep breath, she said, “What if I didn’t want to get married? What if I wanted to do something else instead?”
Granny’s brows dipped as her lips pursed. It was the same perplexed stare she gave to debutantes who didn’t know the dance steps. Florence didn’t wither or fidget, though. Those were qualities both she and Granny despised. Instead, she waited, her expression patient and calm.
“Like what?”
The time wasn’t right. Not here in the corridor with their family milling about. She needed to tell Granny when they were alone and had time to discuss the idea. “I promise I’ll come by and tell you one day soon.”
“You’d better, seeing as my curiosity is piqued.”
Florence leaned over and kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “Thank you.”
“Now, let’s hurry or they’ll be worried we got lost.”
Smiling, Florence followed her grandmother into the grand salon. Aunts, uncles and cousins relaxed on various pieces of French furniture, while the servants served champagne on silver trays. She hurried to snatch a glass of bubbly before it disappeared.
“There you are,” Daddy’s voice boomed. “Mother, have a seat. While we have the whole family here tonight, I thought I’d best give everyone some news.”
Florence dropped onto the sofa next to Mamie. Her older sister cast her a worried glance just as their grandmother said, “What is this regarding, Duncan?”
“The houses on this block.” When the room quieted down he said, “As you’ve all likely seen tonight, many of the neighboring houses have been purchased and demolished.”
“Hard to miss,” Uncle Thomas muttered. “Why is this important?”
“I am curious myself, as I’ve told them I won’t sell,” Granny said. “What have you learned?”
“A developer has bought up the entire block. Plans have been filed for a club to be built here.”
“A club?” Mama asked. “Where, on the corner?”
“No,” Duncan said. “They plan to use the entire block.”
“That’s impossible. I’ve refused to sell.”
“They are planning to build around this house.”
Florence’s jaw fell open and she heard Mamie suck in a breath. Build around this house? What did that mean?
Everyone began shouting questions and observations, but Florence sat perfectly still, wondering how they planned to accomplish such a feat. This house had been her oasis away from the pressure and conformity of her own family home. And someday it would belong to her.
With a club surrounding it?
Duncan held up his hand. “Quiet down. Thomas, to answer your question, I have a contact at City Hall who told me of the plans.”
“Are they able to do that?” Mama asked. “Doesn’t your mother or the city have some way to
prevent it?”
“Unlikely. There is nothing in the zoning laws to prevent it. In addition, the homeowners on this block have already sold and many have left, so there’s no way to pool our resources. This house is the only one remaining.”
“This is ridiculous.” Granny placed her glass on the side table with a thump, her bracelets clinking together. “They cannot mean to wrap another building around this house like a fur stole. The idea is ludicrous.”
“Ludicrous or not,” their father said, “the developer is bound and determined to build here. It makes no sense but it’s clearly a land grab for someone.”
“Who is this developer?” Uncle Thomas asked. “Perhaps we should speak to him.”
“I am in the process of discovering the name or names of the people behind the project. You’d best believe I will be paying everyone involved a visit.”
“Daddy, your lawyer, Mr. Tripp,” Mamie said. “He might be able to come up with a way out of this.”
Florence snorted softly. “You could not be more obvious,” she muttered. Her sister was in love with Frank Tripp but trying to keep it hidden from the family.
“Shut up,” Mamie said out of the side of her mouth.
“I plan to consult him, Marion,” her father replied. “We should prepare ourselves for the worst, however.”
“Meaning I either live surrounded by some club, with hooligans coming and going at all hours, or lose my home?” Granny practically screeched. “Is that what you are saying?”
“Mother, I’ll do everything in my power to prevent it,” Duncan said.
Considering her father’s indomitable will, Florence thought it likely he would succeed. No one went against Duncan Greene and came out unscathed.
She wondered for the hundredth time this week why Clay hated her father. What had possibly happened between them? Clay didn’t even know Duncan Greene. Her father had been raised uptown, in this house, in wealth and privilege. Clay had grown up on Delancey Street, which was far downtown. Under no circumstances would their paths have crossed at any point, especially considering her father didn’t gamble.
Granny pushed to her feet, the lines in her face deep and tired. “I would like to go up and lie down. You all carry on dinner without me.”
“Are you certain, Mother?” Uncle Thomas came forward and took Granny’s arm. “Why don’t I help you upstairs?”
“I am not infirm, Tom. You may stay here. I’ll see myself upstairs.” Lifting her skirts, she glided across the floor and over the threshold, where she disappeared into the corridor.
Florence’s heart ached for her grandmother. For her family. Not to mention for herself, as this was the loss of a piece of her future. She’d been so quick to dismiss marriage because this house would give her a home, husband or not. If her father couldn’t prevent the construction, her plans were even riskier.
“Duncan, what are we going to do?” Mama asked. “Your mother loves this home.”
“Our father built this home for her,” Thomas said. “We were all raised here. We cannot let anyone take it away from her.”
Duncan held up his hand in that way of his that Florence knew meant stop talking. “I am aware. I will handle it.”
“I almost feel sorry for whoever is behind this development plan,” Mamie said under her breath.
Florence couldn’t agree more. “Indeed. Whoever he is, he has no idea of the hell he’s just unleashed.”
Chapter Seventeen
Much later that night Florence lounged against Clay in the bath. Clay’s apartments in the Bronze House were humble, clearly a functional space in which he spent little time. His bathroom, however, was decadent in comparison. Designed with white-and-blue tile, the space had gold accents and Italian marble. The rain shower was in a corner of the room, while a huge marble bathtub filled out the center. Florence couldn’t imagine the amount of water it took to fill a tub this size, but who was she to complain? It was like floating in a heated clear lake, with a large naked man at her back.
In other words, heaven.
He’d summoned champagne and two glasses from downstairs, as well as some food from the kitchen. At some point she would return home, but at the moment she had everything she needed.
“What were you like as a boy?” she asked. He was such a fascinating man, yet she had no idea about his upbringing. “Other than working in your uncle’s saloon.”
“There’s not much to know. I wasn’t that interesting.”
“I beg to differ. I bet you were fascinating.” She stroked his calf with her bare toes. “For example, do you have siblings? Parents still alive? There’s so much about you I don’t know.”
Muscles shifted as he took a drink of champagne. “No living siblings. My younger brother died of cholera when I was twelve.”
“Oh, Clay. I’m sorry.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Me, too.”
“You said you moved to Delancey Street?”
“Yes, when I was almost eleven. Before then we lived on East Seventh Street.”
“You and your parents?”
“Yes.”
“And are they both alive?”
“Presumably.”
She angled back to see his face. “Are you deliberately being vague?”
“I don’t like discussing my past. It was a far cry from yours, that’s for certain.”
“Because my father is wealthy.”
“To start with, yes.” He dragged a fingertip over the slope of her breast, dipping below the surface to circle her areola. She gave a slight shiver at the gentle touch, her nipple puckering.
“And?”
“And you’re from one of the most prestigious families. Servants, cooks, drivers. You’re welcomed in the best homes at the most exclusive parties.”
While that was all true, there were expectations and pressures to accompany those circumstances. “You make it sound so easy and grand. In reality, it’s stifling and boring.”
He snorted, his chest pushing her forward. “Nearly everyone in this city would kill to be so bored.”
“Not me. I am dying to get out.”
“From all of it? I assumed you’d open your ladies’ casino but remain behind the scenes. Run it anonymously.”
She had considered that option, of course. Owning any business, let alone a casino, would not endear her to the smart set in the city. Even if older society ladies patronized said casino, they would look down on her for operating it.
Running the casino anonymously, however, felt wrong. Like she was embarrassed about the endeavor, which she most decidedly was not. And the constant worry of being exposed as the owner would wear her down over time.
She’d still be pretending, trying to fit in.
“I won’t hide it,” she said. “If people snub me as a result then that is a risk I am willing to take.”
“Probably for the best. Keeping the secret would be setting yourself up for a blackmail scheme.”
Hmm, she hadn’t thought of that. “Spoken like a man who thinks like a criminal.”
“Darling, I am a criminal.”
“Not in the traditional sense of the word. Besides, gambling should be legal. If people are willing to risk their hard-earned money on games of chance, why are you the one in the wrong?”
“But it is illegal, which means I could go to prison.”
“Have you ever been arrested?”
“Plenty of times.”
Good God. She leaned out to see his face. “You have?”
“Sure. I’ve been doing this a long time. If the coppers didn’t find you on the streets, the other boys turned you in just to get your racket.”
“How did you amass all this, then?” She gestured to the lavish washroom.
“I learned to run fast.”
She chuckled and nestled her back into his chest once more. “You make it sound easy.”
“Far from it. Nothing about my life has been easy.”
She thought about the
differences in their backgrounds as she moved her hand in the water and stared at the ripples on the surface. Tiny movements that grew bigger, amplified, every wave connected to the one ahead of it and the one behind it. It reminded her of the choices one makes along their journey that then affect everything else. “Money doesn’t automatically provide an easy life.”
“Spoken like a woman who has always had it.”
“You almost sound resentful.”
He exhaled, his breath teasing the back of her neck. “Not of you. Your circumstances are not of your own making. But money does provide comforts and choices. For example, I worked and hustled nearly twenty years of my life to build the Bronze House. You plan to study for a few weeks, perhaps months, and then open your own similar casino. A luxury you can afford, thanks to your father.”
“Do you honestly believe my father would back my casino?”
“I assumed you had a trust fund.”
“I gain access to the trust fund only when I turn thirty or when I marry.”
“Oh.” He cupped water in his palm and dribbled it over her shoulders. Tingles followed the path of the droplets on her skin. “How will you afford it, then?” he asked.
“I plan to ask my grandmother for the money. I have to wait, however. Now is not exactly an ideal time to ask.”
“Why? Is she ill?”
“No.” She hesitated, not wishing to unload her problems on him. But she trusted him. They’d grown close since the night she’d danced on Jack Mulligan’s stage. Whatever was happening between them was big and terrifying, but he’d promised not to hurt her and she had to believe that. “There’s a chance she may have to sell her home.”
“I imagine she has others.” The tone of his voice was bored, yet there was something underneath. An unexpected hardness. Was it resentment over her family’s wealth?