She stood and slid her gown away. Then she toed off her slippers, but she left her lacy stockings on as she got on her hands and knees and crawled over to him. She straddled his lap and he caught the back of her head, pulling her down for a kiss that devoured her entirely. She melted into it, into him, cupping his cheeks, surrendering her body and soul to him in that charged, heavy moment.
As they kissed, his hands slid down her sides. He found her hips and she felt his fingers pressing hard into her flesh as he positioned her over him. She needed no further direction. She aligned her wet body to his hard one and he slid inside without any resistance.
She threw her head back with pleasure, for his cock fit so very well inside her sheath. He hit all those spots, those amazing and unexpected spots, and she ground down to take him the rest of the way home. He stared up at her in wonder, watching as she placed her hands flat against his chest and began to ride him.
She forgot propriety or worry or questions in her head. She forgot everything but the connection of their bodies and the way he lit her on fire. She ground down, hard and fast, seeking her pleasure with greedy fervor, watching his face as it twisted and changed with his own pleasure. She rolled her hips, circling him, and gripped her inner muscles to keep him seated inside her.
He lifted beneath her at last, his lips parting and his breath coming short. Pleasure built in her, steady and unrelenting. She found herself moaning like a wanton as she reached for it, pushing harder and faster until the world blurred and she tilted her head back as her body spasmed out of control.
He lifted through it all, pumping against her, watching her face as she rolled and rocked and twitched through the crisis. She collapsed over him when she had nothing left to give, pressing kisses to his neck and his cheeks, finding his lips and claiming them.
He hadn’t come yet and seemed content to let her kiss him as she came down from her high. She pulled back, staring into his eyes, and a thought popped into her head. A terrible thought. A cruel thought, even. And yet…
She pushed her hands into his, tangling their fingers as she held him steady against the carpet and went back to riding him. She thrust her body with purpose, drawing him back, helping him get lost in the rhythm of the sex.
She felt him losing his grip on the control he always kept so well. She felt his thrusts grow more erratic and he met her eyes, curved his hips. She understood the message he was sending. He was going to come. He wanted her to move so he wouldn’t do so inside of her.
She didn’t. She turned her gaze slightly and kept pulsing, drawing his pleasure, knowing it was wrong to do it with such a purpose.
He grunted deep in his throat and pushed upward again, sending her the message a second time that he was losing his grip and needed her to release him.
And yet again she ignored the cues, pretending not to understand as she shut her eyes.
He grunted again, this one more desperate, and then his more powerful physical strength won out. He rolled her onto her back and his cock slid free of her just as he pumped his release. His seed splashed across her skin and he stared at her, gaze filled with terrible understanding. It was accusatory, disbelieving, and it cut her to the core with guilt and pain.
Ewan supposed he’d known Charlotte was desperate. He’d known from the moment she touched him in the parlor the day she arrived. He’d felt it in every touch and heard the lilt of it in every conversation since.
He’d tried to pretend he could ignore that desperation. That he could surrender to this wicked, undeniable connection between them during the time they were alone and then detangle himself without hurting her.
But now he lay on his side, half-under his pianoforte, knowing her intentions when they made love. Knowing full well that she had been trying to force him to come inside her body, create the threat of a child…and make him do the honorable thing by marrying her.
His hands trembled at the betrayal of that. “Why?” he signed, his hands jerking so hard he feared she wouldn’t understand his meaning.
She hadn’t moved from the place on her back where he’d left her, and she turned her face. “I’m sorry.”
He cupped her chin and forced her to look at him again, so she couldn’t evade his words. “Why did you do that, Charlotte?” he signed, making each word clear and steady when he felt anything but.
She hesitated a moment and tears flooded her eyes. “I love you.”
He flinched and found himself scooting away, as if he could escape those words. She’d tried to tell him that once before. He’d stopped her then. Now he hadn’t and the confession hung between them, a bullet that had been fired and now could never be taken back.
“Don’t,” he signed.
She rolled out from under the pianoforte and got to her feet. Tears streamed down her face, even as her eyes snapped with anger. “Why? So I said it. You’ve always known it. So have I. Why does saying it make it so much worse?”
“Because Ican’t!” he signed, following her to his feet.
She spun away and grabbed for her gown. As she struggled to detangle her chemise from her dress, she choked out, “You say that, youthinkthat, but it isn’t true. You could if you wanted to. If you dared.”
He caught her arm and spun her back. “So you would force me?”
She jerked away and stared at him. “I know it was wrong,” she said softly, guilt was clear on her face as her head bent. “I knew it the moment the notion occurred to me. I knew and I did it anyway. And I’m so sorry.”
His anger toward her softened. Her words of love still rang in his ears. He looked at her and saw her pain and her devastation, but he also saw her hope. So much hope for him, and for a future together. Almost enough that if he reached for it, plucked it like a flower, it would allow him that golden life she had pictured in her mind.
“Do you know what I imagine when I dare to think of the future you describe?” he signed.
She swallowed and her gaze lifted in surprise. “You picture it?”
