She gasped, her nails digging into his back as he stretched her, filled her, consumed her completely.
His control was razor-thin, but he wanted to make this last. He set a slow, deliberate rhythm, rolling his hips to feel every bit of her, to make her feel every inch of him. Her body arched to meet him, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper, holding him in place as if she never wanted to let him go.
“Ash,” she gasped, her voice breaking on his name.
He groaned against her skin, his lips trailing from her neck to her collarbone before finding her breast. He took a nipple into his mouth, teasing with his tongue, and the sound she made nearly undid him.
She was close. He could feel it in the way her body clenched around him, the way her breathing grew more erratic. But she wanted more.
With a sudden shift, she pushed against his chest, flipping them so she was on top, straddling him.
His breath caught. He never let women take control. Not ever.
But Clare—Clare was different.
She was fire and recklessness and temptation wrapped in golden skin, and as she sank down onto him, slow and deliberate, he thought he might go mad.
His hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements as she rocked against him, setting a pace that was both torturous and perfect.
Then she smiled.
That did it.
With a growl, his fingers found the delicate bundle of nerves at her core. The moment he touched her, she gasped, her rhythm faltering.
“Oh,” she breathed, her head tilting back, pleasure washing over her features.
His smirk was pure sin. “You like that?”
“Yes,” she panted. “Please.”
“Please what?” His voice was dark, teasing.
“Please make me come.”
That was all it took. His fingers moved in slow, devastating circles, pushing her higher, closer—until, with a sharp cry, she shattered.
The sight of her unraveling, her body clenching around him, was his undoing. He flipped her onto her back, driving into her with deep, urgent strokes. She was still trembling from her release, her body pulsing around him, and as she gasped his name, he followed her over the edge, groaning his pleasure against her lips.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Clare lay tangled beneath him, her golden hair spread across the pillows, her skin warm, her body still humming with pleasure.
Ash exhaled slowly, his forehead resting against hers.
He had never felt so utterly spent. Never been so completely satisfied.
And he had never been more terrified.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The room was dark, the only light coming from the low embers in the fireplace. The remnants of their meal sat forgotten on the side table, the tray empty except for a few scattered crumbs and half-drunk glasses of wine.
But Clare barely noticed any of it.
She lay tangled in Ash’s arms, their bodies still damp from the heat of their lovemaking. Her limbs were languid, her muscles pliant, her skin still singing with pleasure. She should have felt satisfied. She was satisfied. And yet…something restless coiled inside her, something she refused to name.
Ash had been the one to fetch the meal, making sure the barmaid who delivered it never caught a glimpse of Clare’s face. She had appreciated the gesture more than she could say. It was thoughtful, considerate—which only made this entire situation more dangerous.
