She smiled, shaky but pleased, and the sound that slipped out of her—half laugh, half exhale—loosened something that had been cinched tight in my chest.
“Good,” she murmured. “Then this should help.”
She dragged her hand down the center of her chest, over the curve of one breast, thumb brushing across already-tight skin. Her nipples peaked in response.
My mouth went dry. My hands curled into fists to keep from closing the distance between us.
“Slower,” I said, surprised by the rough command in my own voice. “You’re rushing it.”
Her gaze snapped to mine, pupils blown wide. “Yes, sir,” she whispered, and my cock jerked so hard I had to shift my weight.
She followed my words like a script.
“On the bed,” I commanded.
Clara stepped backward until her legs hit the bed. She lowered herself and leaned back on her arms, toes facing me.
“Knees apart.” I licked my lips. “Show me that pretty pussy, Duchess.”
Her breathing changed first.
It went from steady to uneven, chest rising faster, then catching. A faint tremor ran down her arms. Her hips shifted, just a little, chasing her own touch. Her cheeks flushed deeper, a pink that spread down her neck, across her chest as her knees dropped open.
“Eyes on me,” I said without thinking.
They snapped back up immediately.
God help me, I love that look.
“You’re okay?” I asked, because if I didn’t keep some kind of check on myself, I was going to cross the room and wreck every rule we’d just set.
“I’m ...” Her voice broke on a small sound, half gasp, half sigh. “I’m definitely okay.”
“Drag your fingers lower,” I told her, breath catching. “Not too fast. Take your time and stay right there.” When she reached her clit, I smiled. “Less,” I said, my voice rough. “Ease up and just ... make slow circles.” My cock throbbed as I watched Clara tease her swollen clit. “Yeah. Like that.”
Clara moaned as she touched herself. Her thighs tightened around her hand, and her free hand gripped the bed.
My heart pounded in my throat. I’d done a lot of things with a lot of confidence in my life, but nothing had ever felt quite like this—standing there, fully clothed, while the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen undid herself one breath at a time because I told her to.
My palm itched to touch her. My fingers twitched at my sides.
“Wes,” she whispered, my name frayed at the edges. “Please.”
She didn’t say for what. Didn’t have to. “One finger. Then two.” I watched as Clara’s fingers disappeared inside her. I knew for a fact mine would feel better. My thick fingers would stretch her open in a way she wouldn’t forget.
“Please,” she breathed.
Her begging was my undoing.
My mind flickered through every filthy thing I wanted instead of this distance: my hand replacing hers, my mouth between her thighs, her knees bracketing my hips as she moved over me, testing what my leg could handle while I held her exactly where I wanted her and sank deep.
The line between what I was seeing and what I was imagining blurred so hard I felt dizzy.
Her body tensed, caught between movements, heartbeat visible in the hollow of her throat. Her lips parted on another quiet, choked little sound that went straight through me.
Something in me snapped.
Heat ripped through my body, fast and brutal. My muscles locked, breath stuttering as everything I’d been holding back punched free all at once. My vision went white around the edges.
