Been Loving You Too Long (DuChamps Dynasty)

by Donavan, Seraphina

  “Didn’t I tell you she was good?” she demanded.

  “I have to get to the hotel and check on things. I’ve played hookie for long enough.”

  Her happy expression fell away. “You’re not going to tell me what she said?”

  “I’m going to be very successful, I’ll meet a beautiful woman who will only want me for my money, and I should avoid black cats, ladders and the number 13,” he joked.

  “Fine. Don’t tell me. I’m going to catch the street car and head over to check on Thomas.”

  “You do get days off,” he chided. Part of him was glad that she was there for Thomas, that he had someone with him other than nurses during the day. But she needed time for herself whether she acknowledged it or not.

  “I do. But I don’t want them right now. I hate leaving him. I love Thomas, and I want to be with him as much as I can.” She walked away, a sad smile touching her lips.

  He sighed, hearing the underlying message in that. Everyone knew that Thomas’ time was limited. “Just get home before dark, will you? I didn’t realize how bad your neighborhood was till last night...and we’ll discuss how we’re going to fix that later.”

  She waved at him dismissively as she kept walking. Watching her go, Vincent couldn’t stop the psychic’s words from replaying in his head—the thing he wanted most.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ophelia walked through the house one last time. It was empty. All the mourners had gone. Along with the sycophants and social climbers who’d come to Thomas' funeral because it was a place to see and be seen. Most hadn’t any affection for the man himself.

  However, it wasn’t just that. The house was empty because Thomas’ presence could no longer be felt in it. Even sick and weak, he’d filled the space somehow. Perhaps, it wasn’t the house that was empty, she thought. Maybe it was her.

  She’d loved Thomas. He’d been like a doting grandfather to her during her childhood, and taking care of him as she had over the past few years, she’d bonded with him even more. She felt useless at that moment. What would she do with herself? A job was the first order of business, but it wouldn’t be the same.

  Of course, nothing had been the same since that night in the kitchen. Eight days had passed since then, a scant week since she and Vincent had called their truce, so to speak, with that walk through the quarter.

  In that time, as Thomas had become more and more ill, Vincent had stayed at the house with him. Seeing him day in and day out, recalling the way he’d touched her, the taste of him, it had been nothing but torture.

  It was only made worse by the fact that she could see it in his eyes, as well. When he looked at her, she knew that he was remembering it too, in spite of their mutual agreement that it would be horrible mistake.

  The more she’d thought about it, the less convinced she was that it was the right choice. She was no longer sure whether it’d been a bigger mistake to send him away than it would’ve been to simply give in to the temptation. Perhaps Brenna was right, and it was time to stop playing things so safe.

  As soon as it crossed her mind, Ophelia scoffed at the thought. Temptation was one thing, but having the courage to simply brazen it out and go after what she wanted was another.

  She made one last walk through of the kitchen. Everything had been put away, perfectly in place. Her heels echoed on the hardwood floor as she exited toward the library.

  Kaitlyn was just vanishing out the front door, obviously dressed to go out.

  Ophelia frowned at that. The two of them had been friends, or at least playmates as children. It was only as they’d gotten older and the difference in their social stations had been pointed out by so many of Kaitlyn’s other friends that it’d changed.

  Ophelia didn’t mind that so much. She’d never been comfortable with the wild parties and the insatiable need for attention that so many of them seemed to possess. Still, it worried her for Kaitlyn. Hurting as she was, what sort of trouble would she get into?

  It also worried her for Vincent.

  Justin had left earlier. Always the quiet one, he’d simply walked out while most of the mourners had still been gathered and hadn’t bothered to return. He was probably looking at the world somewhere through a camera lens.

  With both of them gone and Vincent left alone, she couldn’t help but worry. Alone was the last thing he needed to be.

  At the service, he’d been stoic. Afterwards, with the guests gathered, he’d been polite, if somewhat aloof. But she’d seen something in him, and it frightened her for him. She was more attuned to him than she needed to be. Certainly more so than was good for her. Her own grief was overwhelming enough, but every time she looked at him, she ached for him and the pain he was going through. Heading for the study, she knocked softly on the door.

  “Yes,” he called out.

  Sliding open the pocket doors, she stepped into the room.

  He stood at the window with his back to her, staring out into the small garden. He’d discarded his jacket and tie, and the sleeves of his white dress shirt had been turned back. In his hand, he held a glass of bourbon.

  “I saw Kaitlyn leaving. I wanted to be sure that you were all right before I left,” she explained.

  Vincent looked angry. Unsure how to proceed, or even what she should say to him, Ophelia stood there for the longest moment, feeling completely out of her depth.

  ~~****~~

  The rage inside him was a surprise and the swirl of confusion left him wanting to lash out at anyone and everyone. He didn’t really understand where it was coming from. He’d known that Thomas was dying. There’d been no denying it for months.

  But lashing out at Ophelia, letting the darkness inside him strike at her was unacceptable. Not that it mattered. His rational mind wasn’t really in charge. Her quiet concern and softly spoken words were like striking a match to gasoline. “Are you going to console me if I’m not?” he asked sharply.

  At his remark, she drew herself up, her shoulders pulling back and her chin notching upward. He’d definitely struck a nerve. “This has been a difficult day, Vincent. I’m sorry for that. I’ll come by tomorrow to collect anything that I’ve left behind.”

  “Coward,” he said softly, and sipped from his glass, but his gaze stayed locked with hers. Equal parts challenging and beckoning.

  He wanted to forget, to think of anything but the emptiness that was burrowing inside him. He glanced at the glass in his hand and knew the bourbon wasn’t cutting it. The burn of liquor was a poor anesthetic, but the heat and passion which flared between them only a short week earlier, would burn up in anything its path, he thought. He could lose himself in her, just for a while.

  “Fine, yes. I’m a coward,” she conceded.

  “What if I asked you to stay? Told you how much I needed you?” The questions were pointed and sarcastic, but they held enough truth to make them both uncomfortable.

  Ophelia’s sigh was heavy and weary, filling the room. “He wasn’t my family, but I loved him too. I miss him already. We’re both hurting, Vincent.”

  He moved towards her, stopping an arm’s length away, giving her an opportunity to retreat if she chose. “Stay with me.”

  “And what happens tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

  ~~****~~

  Ophelia felt herself slipping. Whether it was his pain or her own pushing at her, she couldn’t be sure. She only knew that in that moment, she didn’t want to be alone and she didn’t want to live her life regretting something she didn’t do.

  With two steps, she closed the distance between them. His breath fanned across her lips, just before his mouth touched hers.

  This kiss was different from that first heated exchange. There was a vulnerability in them both that hadn’t been there before. Each touch, each press of his lips against hers, each sweep of his tongue as it glided sensually against hers was somehow more. “Vincent,” she whispered, as his lips left hers.

  He kissed her jawl
ine, then down her neck, finding each sensitive spot along the way and paying it extra attention. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you like this,” he confessed.

  By the time he reached the hollow of her throat, she was gasping. “I couldn’t stop thinking of you either.”

  There were no words after that. With every touch, every kiss she felt herself falling into the abyss. There would be no coming back from this point. Everything she felt for him, all the emotions that she’d held at bay, locked up inside herself were bursting forth.

  She had no illusions that he was offering her anything other than a moment, but it didn’t seem to matter. Even as he reached for the zipper at the back of her dress, her fingers were fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. The need to feel him against her, skin to skin was insistent—consuming.

  When her dress gaped, the straps falling down her arms, she shed it quickly. She saw how his eyes narrowed, the pupils dilating as he took in what she’d worn beneath it. Lingerie was her weakness, and the black satin and ivory lace bra and panties with the matching garter belt and stockings were her favorites. She’d donned them that morning because they worked with the dress.

  If she’d thought about it, she would’ve taken a moment to be grateful she’d worn something so suitable to seduction. Although, it was a tossup at this point as to which one of them was the seducer. She now returned to the task of removing his shirt.

  “If I’d known this was what you were hiding under those prim dresses, I’d have gotten you out of one a long time ago,” he purred, his voice a hot whisper against her neck.

  Ophelia shivered in response. “We all have secrets. This is my one vice.”

  “And I’m thankful for it,” he responded, shrugging out of the shirt that she’d finally managed to loosen. Her hands skimmed over his chest, her nails scraping lightly against his skin. “Christ, you’re killing me.”

  “But we’re just getting started.”

  She gasped when Vincent grasped her hair, just at the base of her skull and tilted her head back. It wasn’t painful, but commanding. The position arched her neck and thrust her breasts forward until they strained against the satin and lace cups that covered her.

  With just the tip of one finger, he traced a line from the hollow of her neck to her cleavage. The contrast of that subtle, gentle touch against his forceful hold was both exciting and frightening. He had her head spinning so much, Ophelia wasn’t even aware that he’d somehow backed her up to the desk until the backs of her thighs bumped the edge of it.

  He kissed her again, and it was more demanding than before, more consuming. He lifted her without breaking the kiss until she was perched on the edge of the desk.

  She parted her thighs and sighed with relief when he moved between them, pressing against the part of her that ached for him.

  Whatever had flared between them seemed to have a life of its own.

  With his shirt gone, her hands stroked over his hot skin, mapping the curves and lines of each muscle.

  Then, his hands were on her thighs, skimming up to the black satin underwear that covered her. “We should be in a bed,” he murmured, his breath a hot caress against her neck. “Slow, easy, taking our time.”

  “We’ll do that later. Right now, I can’t wait.” She’d no sooner said the words than she felt the fabric of her underwear tighten and then give entirely as he ripped them from her.

  His fingers moved over her, testing the slickness.

  Wordlessly, she parted her thighs further, lifting her hips toward him. It was the clearest invitation she could give.

  When his fingers slid between the damp folds, coasting over the sensitive bud of her clit, she cried out, clutching at his shoulders. “Vincent, I need you—now.” Her hands moved to his belt. She loosened it, in spite of fumbling fingers, and then unzipped his pants. A whimper of need escaped her when she closed her hand around the thick, hard length. Her fingers would barely meet. Thinking of how it would feel when he was moving inside her was more than she could stand.

  Vincent tugged her hips forward, until his cock nestled against the damp folds of her sex. He didn’t have to guide his cock into her.

  She took the initiative, easing him inside the slick walls of her welcoming sheath. The clenching heat of her body was the sweetest torment.

  ~~****~~

  Nudging the head of his cock deeper, Vincent lifted her legs higher on his hips, opening her more fully to him. The sounds she made, the soft whimpers and moans while she arched against him, had him gritting his teeth and fighting for control. Circling his hips, he nudged deeper still, sinking into her heat one blissful inch at a time.

  He wanted to plunge into her, to drive into her again and again, but he found the strength to hold back. Leaning forward, he nipped her earlobe gently with his teeth. “You feel so good, Ophelia—so hot and wet, so fucking tight. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamt of this, of what it would feel like to sink my cock into your softness, your heat.”

  “Vincent, please!” she pleaded, her nails scoring his back as she clung to him.

  “Tell me what you need, Ophelia.”

  “I need you.”

  He moved his hips, circling against hers.

  She quivered against him.

  “Is that what you want?”

  “More!”

  “Tell me,” he urged.

  “Harder and faster—please!”

  Vincent grabbed her hips, holding them firmly as he withdrew, only to plunge into her again. He gave her what she asked for, driving into her slick sheath again and again, harder and faster with each thrust.

  She clung to him, meeting each thrust, the walls of her sex clenching around him.

  Reaching between their bodies, he found the hardened nub of her clit and pressed his finger tips against it, bracketing it between them, so that with every thrust, the pressure crested and ebbed. He could feel the quivering of her belly, the tremble in her thighs as she tightened them around him.

  There was a hitch to her breathing and the soft sounds she made became louder, more insistent.

  God, he wanted to feel her come. He wanted to feel her coming apart beneath him, around him. “Come for me,” he commanded. “Let me see you.”

  She tensed against him then, her whole body quivering as a harsh moan escaped her parted lips. Then the inner muscles clenching around him began to flutter and spasm rhythmically.

  Each sensual wave pushed him closer to that intoxicating precipice. When she raised her legs and locked her ankles behind him, tugging him even deeper, he was lost. His balls tightened and that familiar tension crept through him. She clenched around him again, milking him, and the pleasure just took him.

  He pumped into her, spilling himself inside her, each hot spurt easing his passage even more. Closing his arms around her, he pressed his face against her neck and waited for the shudders to recede.

  When they could both breathe again, he eased back and looked at her. With her flushed cheeks and kissed swollen lips, she created a wanton picture, one that he’d envisioned so many times. “Regrets can wait until morning,” he said.

  ~~****~~

  Ophelia smiled. They would come. Of that, she was certain, but she planned to hold them off as long as possible and enjoy the moment. “That sounds like a breakfast conversation,” she replied.

  Vincent kissed her then. “Let’s go find a bed and do this right.”

  Ophelia slid off the desk and stood on legs that wobbled more than she cared to admit. She gathered her dress in one hand, and slipped her other hand into his as he led her toward the stairs.

  Watching the play of muscle as he moved was awe inspiring. She’d seen him almost naked before. He’d been wearing nothing more than a pair of swim trunks as he’d done laps in the pool. In that swimsuit, he’d given Daniel Craig a run for his money.

  The thought of having him naked in bed, touching his bronzed skin, running her fingers through the crisp dark hair that bisected his ridg
ed abs and framed the thick length of his cock was the stuff of fantasies.

  The room he led her to was the one he’d used since moving back into the house. It was a masculine room, the deep blues of the bedding and the dark woods suited him.

  He released her hand and turned on the bedside lamp, before flipping a switch that left the room largely in shadow.

  In that moment, taking in the perfection of his body, Ophelia felt doubt. It didn’t matter that he’d just taken her on a desk minutes earlier. She fought the urge to cringe and hide herself.

  He must have recognized her hesitance because he paused before unfastening his pants. “If you want to leave, just say it. I don’t want you to go, but if—?”

  “I don’t want to go. I’m just having one of those moments where I am cataloging every flaw in my body, both real and imagined,” she responded, more than a little shocked by her own honesty.

  Normally, she was fine with her body. She wasn’t a size two and she never would be. Her size eighteen had always been just fine with her. She liked her curves, liked that she looked like a woman and not a stick figure. But this was Vincent, who routinely dated models and actresses, or worse, socialites, who had not an ounce of extra flesh anywhere on his body. A few doubts were only natural.

  Ophelia tensed when he moved toward her, but her eyes were glued to him.

  Muscles rippled with each step, like watching a big cat stalking its prey. When he was only inches from her, she could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes and the slight glint of silver at his temples. They were flaws, but they only made him more beautiful to her.

  “You’re perfect. Everything about you is perfect, Ophelia, and I’ll prove it.”

  With an offer like that, she could hardly refuse. Reaching back, she freed the clasp of her bra and slid it down until it joined the dress she’d just discarded. She was totally naked in front of him but for a pair of stockings and a garter belt. She could feel his eyes traveling over her, the weight of his gaze as heavy as a touch.