His hands gripped her ass, pulling her onto him as he thrust harder, faster, the table creaking beneath them. “Christ, Allegra—” His inhales grew ragged as he bottomed out again and again. Not jarring.Perfect. A deep, all-consuming fullness.
Thethwack-thwackof skin on skin echoed through the library, each a punch of pleasure, driving the air from her lungs.There was something primal in the way Nate moved, his hands gripping her like he was afraid she might disappear. As if he could somehow fuse them together at a cellular level. But then, as if the sheer intensity of it all became too much even for him, his rhythm faltered, and he pulled back.
“Flip,” he barked, and in one fluid motion, spun her, pressing her chest against the table. The cool wood shocked her heated skin—and he was inside her again, filling her in one deep, toe-curling thrust.
The table screeched beneath them as Nate seized her sides and drove into her from behind, each lunge sending the heavy oak skidding across the carpet. Allegra clasped the edge, knuckles white, as she was dragged along for the ride. “Oh my God, we’re redecorating now?” she panted, but the words fizzled into a squeak.
The table’s legs screeched against the carpet, inching closer to the bookshelf opposite with every powerful thrust. “Nate, we’re about to—
The table slammed into the shelf, sending an enormous copy ofEight Centuries of the von Wildern Family Treespilling down. It landed with awhumpright next to her head.
Allegra blinked at it. Then over her shoulder at Nate. Then back at the book.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she laughed, breathless. She pushed him back and flipped herself around, settling back on the table’s edge. “Let me see you.”
He grinned and pushed inside, Allegra’s body arching into his, matching his rhythm. There were no words—just grunts and whimpers, all begging the same thing:More. Her hands flew to his face, yanking him into a kiss that was all teeth and desperation, her exhales swallowed by his mouth. The taste of him, the way he filled her, it ignited another rush of heat between her thighs.
Nate broke the kiss, lips trailing down her chest, mouth sealing over one taut nipple. Allegra shivered as he sucked hard, then his hand slid between her legs, thumb grinding against her pulsing clit. “Aiee—” She jerked, a bolt lancing through her, sharp and electric.
“That’s it,” he rasped, thumb swirling her nub as he lunged with deep, unrelenting strokes. “Let go. Come for me.”
And she could feel it—the tension building, muscles clenching around him. Every swipe of his thumb, every brutal crack of his hips wound her tighter until she was trembling, wrung so tight it bordered on agony.
Then—snap.
Her back bowed as the orgasm crashed over her. “Fu-uu-uck—!” The word tore from her throat as her walls pulsed, thighs shaking. Wave after wave ripped through her, nails scoring his skin. Nate didn’t stop. His thumb kept working her clit, cock pounding into her as she rode out her climax, body shuddering.
“Gawh!” A heartbeat later, Nate’s hips snapped forward one final time, his body locking up as he came undone. His head jerked back, jaw clenched, cords in his neck popping as he released with a guttural groan, pulsing inside her, condom flooding in thick, scorching spurts.
They crumpled together, sliding off the table into a sticky heap—panting, damp, entirely undignified.
Allegra lay half sprawled over Nate’s chest, listening to his heartbeat slow from a gallop to human. “Well,” she said. “That happened.”
“Mmm,” Nate replied, one arm heavy across her back. “You started it.”
She didn’t bother arguing. She was too busy noticing something.
Really, the absence of something.
She lifted her head.
The corridor beyond the closed door was silent.
No violins. No cello. No ambitious rendition of Vivaldi swelling through the hall.
“Nate.”
“Yeah?”
“The quartet.”
He pushed up onto his elbows. “Shit. You think they heard?”
“I think Aunt Margaret the Fourth heard,” Allegra said darkly. “And she’s been dead since eighteen twenty-three.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nate’s shirt was ruined. Two buttons missing entirely, a third hanging on by a heroic thread. His dinner jacket was gone.
