“Jasper,” she murmured against his mouth. Only ceasing to utter the words that would give him permission to continue. “I want you.” She was realising, as his tongue slipped past her lips, the touch and taste of him were enthralling. It was not merely want, or desire, or lust she was experiencing. No, this sensation, these feelings he inspired in her, transcended such fleeting emotions. It was beginning to dawn on Clara that unbeknownst to her, despite all her intentions and wishes, that this was love. That she had fallen in love with her enemy. She doubted she had the courage to admit as much to him.
Still kissing her, Woolwich bent and scooped her up in his arms, holding her tightly against him. With purposeful steps, he carried her through the conservatory and over to the stretch of carpeted floor designed for interior picnics. He sank onto the material, lowering Clara gently down onto it, gazing at her as he loosened the silk at his throat.
“Tell me to stop,” he said.
“You know I’m not going to,” she reached for him, needing the weight of his body pressing down on top of her. Keen to know the exhilaration of his muscled chest, warm and eager against her. Desperate for yet more kisses and whatever might follow. When it was love, it was worth the risk, she decided. Surely after the last time, the next time he touched her in such a manner, it would be even greater—now she knew what to expect.
With impatience, she pulled at his jacket, and it was discarded to the side of them. He continued to stroke and caress his way over her curves despite her formal evening dress. Jasper leant down next to her, his eyes drifting over her body with such a hunger on his face that Clara was sure, if she weren’t already lying down, she would have had to sit. With care, his large hand encircled her breast, the touch light at first through the silk, before it grew stronger, then slipped beneath the folds to free her nipple from the cloth.
Blushing, Clara angled her face away, but she still caught the admiring gasp from Woolwich. He bent his face and whispered in her ear, “You are perfect.”
And she felt it. Truly and completely perfect. She believed him entirely, and the ease and admiration caused her to arch her back off the carpet, to press her breast more fully into his cupping hand as he thoroughly ravished her mouth.
The kiss was all-consuming, making Clara hope it would never end, and believe that when it did, she would never be able to think clearly again. He would have stolen her wits and wisdom. That very idea brought moisture to her eyes, and Woolwich must have sensed it because he broke away, his fingertips brushing the small tear at the corner of her eye.
“It is my fault?”
“Entirely. Both the good and the bad,” she told him. When he frowned as if he did not follow her train of thought, Clara pulled him close to her again so that he was leaning over her, their faces only an inch apart, “I did not mean for you to stop, I don’t wish you to ever stop, but I feel more with you than I ever thought possible.”
He grinned at this. It was not the smug or arrogant smile of a man complimented, but one that spoke of actual happiness. “In this realm, in this arena, we will never argue. Here we are attuned.” With utmost tenderness, he kissed her again, and it felt like a form of worship.
With his body pressed against hers, his legs resting between hers, the shape of his manhood warm through several layers of clothes, but nonetheless noticeable. Clara was far too good at listening in on the wives of the Oxford Set talk about matrimonial relations, not to know the fundamentals of what occurred between a couple. What their overheard scandalous chatter had little prepared her for was the feelings such a joining currently inspired in her, and secondly, even though it was masked by fabric, how large Woolwich seemed. Well, she figured, it seemed he was big in all regards.
Unable to resist any longer, she wriggled against the press of his body, causing him to gasp out a curse.
“Damn it, Clara, you would—”
“Please,” she cut him off, pressing and lifting, eager for him, her hips finding a slight relief when fully flush against his. She needed them to go further, to be bound physically to this man, as she always would be tied to him emotionally. Beyond this connection, this growing love, there was nothing else that mattered. A familiar tightening was happening within her core, heat which sang through her body and blood, the sensation he had sparked last time his hand had delved with skilful fingers inside her. “Jasper,” she said as her hand slipped between them, reaching out to undo the buttons of his breeches.
A recognisable frown marred his features for a moment as if he doubted her certainty. It vanished entirely when her fingers slipped in between the folds and touched his penis, encircling it with curiosity. He closed his eyes and leant his forehead against hers. “You can see I want you too.” Jasper’s voice was thick and not his own. “You undo me.”
She wondered if he simply meant literally, but having a technical debate did not seem fitting for the position they found themselves in. And when his hand pushed up her skirts, and he started to stroke against the folds of her drawers, all thoughts of continuing to talk fled from Clara. The pressure of his touch increased its tempo when he slipped his hand against her curls again, the movement far more sensual and seductive than the increasingly desperate Clara needed. She raised her hips, keen for more fulfilment.
Jasper chuckled in appreciation at her keenness. He was still wearing his shirt, and she was still wearing her gown, but their mutual hunger would brook no more waiting. The pressure within her body was crying out for him, and distantly Clara knew the outside world would not give them forever. All too soon, someone would come looking for them.
Shifting, Jasper pressed his manhood against her cleft. There was such warmth and heat emitting from him that it made Clara’s innards clench in anticipation, and she knew once they were locked together, it would be more than she could currently imagine. Jasper was pressing against her, ready to fill her, and all Clara wanted was to know what it would be like to have him inside her at last.
His eyes glanced back at her face, questioning whether she was ready for this. In answer, Clara reached up, placing her hand on the exposed gap of skin between his shirt and his breeches, eager to feel him inside her. She would have liked to have whispered that she loved him, but she hoped the demonstration of her willingness for him said what words could not be voiced.
He sank deep into her, inching down into her wet, willing core, until Clara cried out at being so possessed. Until she could not understand how they would ever be parted, having been so tied together. There was a momentary pressure, a grip of pain that shot through her body as he filled her, a curious sensation. One which stretched and made Clara’s breath catch as she shifted under him. Immediately Jasper stilled, his expression caught between fear and worry. Touchingly concerned he might have caused her any pain.
“Are you well?” His two arms bracketed either side of her head, and using his left hand, he stroked down the side of her face. “Clara, darling, please answer me?”
She nodded, her body still as she looked up into his dear face. “I might be misinformed, but I thought we were supposed to move?”
CHAPTER19
Her question jarred him, and unable to think of another response, Woolwich laughed. An affection, deep abiding warmth bubbled through him, all for her. He had felt attraction, care, what he had believed to be love once before, but amusement, that soft-hearted protectiveness was something else entirely. He realised it was that very emotion that had sealed them together. To want Clara above all, and to tell the consequences to go damn themselves.
Her lush curves cushioned and held him, still mostly hidden beneath her evening gown with only the occasional delightful aspect visible. Woolwich reminded himself that he was concentrating not simply on satisfying his own lusty thoughts, but he wanted her to enjoy the experience completely too. It took all his concentration, and his body was shaking with the effort, but he was determined.
His forehead was still pressed against hers, and despite his humour, he was, in fact, doing his best not to move, to give Clara time to adjust to the feel and shape of him.
“Yes, movement does happen.” His lips kissed over her face with all the adoration she deserved.
“I see.” Clara shifted her hips, a frown creasing her face as she stared up at him.
“God,” he muttered. The feel of her movement, the tightening shift as she better angled herself, her clenching caused a ragged breath to escape his lips.
