Kissed at Midnight (18 page)

He took the time to nibble
lightly on her nipples and down each peak, gauging her reactions. They were all
favourable. She didn’t hide her reactions, didn’t try to act prim and proper.
His Ivy was so open.

Then he used his free hand
to slip between her legs. She was still wet and so ready. Her eyes grew wide
when he touched her sensitive flesh and she gripped his arms. He waited for
it—the no, the shake of the head, the flutter of panic across her face, but it
didn’t come. Instead she lifted her hips and begged him with her eyes to press
into her.

First one finger, then two.
He drew in a sharp breath through his teeth and used his mouth on her to tease
and kiss her until she shuddered. It was hard to believe she was letting him do
this, hard to believe he was the first. Though she was so tight and warm. He
couldn’t wait to be inside her.

Ivy brushed her hands over
his shoulders. His muscles seemed to rise to meet her touch, undulating with
each sweep. August had no control over his response and his cock throbbed
impatiently.

“Touch me,” she begged,
voice thin and wanting.

“I am.”

“More.”

More. Again more. How like
Ivy to demand everything from life. There would be no second best for her and
he was determined to make this a moment to remember. He worked his fingers
deeper, moving with long strokes. Her hands wriggled downwards, grazing the top
of his rear. God, to feel those nails digging into him. Just the image was
enough to have him having to draw in a breath to control himself.

He continued to press into
her, deeper and faster until something caught him off guard. Fingertips. Then a
hand. Dear God, she had grasped his erection. His tempo faltered and he even
let his fingers slip from her, selfish cad that he was, to wrap his hand over
her and show her how to pleasure him.

“Ivy,” he ground out as it
all became too much. He was too hot and hard for the light touch of her fingers.
Too likely to shame himself. Where was his control when he needed it?

She unfurled her fingers
from around him and her hands came back to his shoulders to urge him on. She
widened her legs.

An invitation. And, by God,
he was going to take it. He would make Ivy Davis his. Right now, she was nothing
but a flesh and blood woman and he a man with burning desire running through
his veins. There were no distinctions in rank, employment or upbringing.

He settled between her legs
and pressed an errant curl from her face. “Tell me if it hurts.”

She nodded.

Propped on his hands, he
eased his hips forwards until he felt the touch of her warmth. His arms
juddered with restraint and he felt himself scowl. She must have seen it too as
she touched a finger to his brow.

“Take me, August.”

She wanted this as badly as
he did. It was enough to have him pressing into her, not even an inch at a
time. Hot, tight and unbearably welcoming. He moved another fraction deeper and
Ivy gasped but her hands slipped down and gripped his buttocks. He met her gaze
and saw it as he slid home—the look he’d been fearing and wanting all at the
same time.

This was not desire. Not
sex. This was more. More.

Perhaps he’d always known. Perhaps
that was what had kept him fighting her. For him, he was always going to fall
for Ivy Davis. He’d want to make her his and keep her forever. It couldn’t
happen and that was why he had fought.

August held his position for
several breaths and felt the tension leave her body. When he slid forwards, she
cried out but he knew the sound to be pleasure. It was the same for him. The
friction was unbearable in some respects but he wanted it to go on forever. He
could lose himself to Ivy so easily.

They moved together, finding
an easy rhythm. He couldn’t help but watch her expression as he drove her
closer and closer. Putting his weight on one elbow, he slipped a hand between
them and rubbed a thumb over her folds. Ivy’s nails dug into his skin and he
buried his head in her hair, drawing in the violet scent of her. Here, buried
amongst the softness of her locks and in her sweet body, he would happily
remain if she’d let him.

She unravelled quickly. It
started with shaking limbs and small cries and ended with his name on her lips
and her body stiffening then giving way. He no longer held back and thrust into
her with relish until the pleasure burned through his body. Eyes clenched shut,
he thrust one last time and withdrew to spill upon her thigh. He groaned and
milked himself while she swept her hands up and down his back.

When his breathing had
steadied and the world was coming back to him in small parts, he pulled open
his eyes to find her beaming at him. His heart did a spasm. Hell, even his
stomach did a jolt. Bedding Ivy Davis had likely been a mistake but it was the best
mistake of his life.

Easing open the door to the study, Ivy paused in the
doorway, hand to the wooden frame. August sat in repose, a whisky in hand, his
necktie and waistcoat undone. Two lamps were lit—one on the table and one on
the bureau behind him, casting him in a flickering light that highlighted the
slight bump in his nose and made his skin so beautifully touchable looking. He
made her mouth dry and her heart thunder.

That was until she noted the
lines in his brow were etched deeper today. He stared at the amber liquid,
occasionally tilting the glass so the drink coated the inside of it before
tilting it back again. She wasn’t sure he’d even heard her enter.

“What’s the matter?” she
asked softly, wary of startling him and feeling a little like she was creeping
up on a sleeping lion.

He lifted his gaze to hers.
She observed the heavy rise and fall of his shoulders as he took a deep breath.
Those large, capable fingers stretched out and pressed a newspaper over the
desk towards her. She peered at it for a few moments before stepping forwards
and scanning the text. She stole a peek at August once more and understood his
dire mood.

The article was
disparaging—about him and his work. Indignant anger rose up inside her and she
curled her fingers inwards until her nails bit into her hands. How dare they
suggest his work was folly? How dare they think he didn’t care for his workers?
If anyone cared about those men, it was August. She had seen his grief after
the tunnel collapse. Whoever had written this article—she glanced at the
name—had been looking to create a stir rather than print the truth. She was
sorely tempted to hunt down this Mr Knightsbridge and give him a piece of her
mind.

Instead she tamped down her
anger and came to stand in front of August. Taking the whisky from his limp
fingers, she pushed aside some letters to place it on the desk. Then she
wrapped her hands around his head, burrowing her fingers through his thick hair
in an attempt to soothe away the turmoil she knew would be plaguing him. If she
had learned anything about this man, it was his tendency to brood. Perhaps he wouldn’t
tell her everything he was thinking, but she knew him well enough to understand.
August’s work meant everything to him and for someone to have torn apart his
life’s work would eat deep inside him.

He expelled a heavy breath
and one hand came to her hip. Then the other followed suit. He leaned forwards
and pressed his head to her stomach. For many moments they remained like that,
Ivy stroking his hair in a way similar to how she sometimes soothed Elsie.

“We are days from finishing
and still the newspapers are not satisfied.”

Unable to think of
comforting words, she simply held him to her. She drew in the scent of him that
mingled with the slight must of books and wood. It was like an aphrodisiac to
her. Her breasts grew heavy and aching, her body longed for his touch. She
almost felt herself unfurl towards him as if every part of her was trying to
reach him, like a flower stretching towards the sun.

But she brushed aside her
needs. For now, it was about August. She might have come into this job for her
own needs—to ensure she had a place to sleep and coin in her pocket—but it had
become so much more. August and Elsie had become so much more. If she let
herself, a heavy weight might threaten to send her heart plummeting to her toes
when she thought of leaving them, but those were selfish thoughts and she
wouldn’t let them overtake her. They needed her for the moment and she would
take those few moments happily. And when her career took off, she would
remember them fondly.

She would remember them
always.

With his forehead pressed
against her, she continued to plough her fingers through his hair, creating
little furrows in the curls. She did it over and over until his shoulders
softened and his head grew heavy against her.

When he lifted his head and
his shocking blue eyes met hers, her stomach threatened to flip over and never
right itself. Each part of her body reacted with utter excitement. Nerve
endings tingled, skin prickled, blood heated. Would she always feel this way
about him? She suspected yes. Never had a man stirred so much feeling within
her with just one look.

And the haunted cast to
those eyes made her want to stay forever and ensure that he never felt this way
again. But for the moment all she could do was remove it temporarily.

“Where is Elsie?” he asked.

“Asleep. It’s nine o’clock.”

Both his brows rose in
surprise.

“You missed dinner.”

“My apologies,” he said
quietly.

She shook her head and
smiled away the apology. Silly man, thinking she would care about one missed
dinner. All she cared about now was him. He shouldn’t have been brooding away,
keeping all his woes on those great shoulders of his. As great as they were,
they were never intended to take all of the problems of the world upon them.
Ivy wanted to help bear that burden.

Fingers still in his hair,
she tilted his head enough so that she could press a gentle kiss to his lips.
His grip on her hips tightened and he drew her close enough so that her knees
touched his.

“God, I need you, Ivy,” he
groaned, the words gritty and urgent.

I need you too
,
she meant to reply but the words were trapped in a tight throat. To be so
wanted, so desired... Regret sat deep in her stomach that she would one day
have to say goodbye to it. For once in her life, words didn’t spill from her so
instead she tried to show him with actions.

Ivy straddled him, her
chemise riding up her bare thighs. August’s hands came down to touch her legs
and he smoothed his hands up and down them, his head tilted back as he released
a groan. She eyed the cords of his neck flexing and the way his Adam’s apple
bobbed. The desert that counted for her mouth now watered and she leaned into
him to press kisses to his neck. Bristle teased her lips and she relished it,
sweeping her lips back and forth over the roughness.

As she settled on his lap,
his arousal pressed against her and he snuck his hands up under the cotton of
her nightgown to grip her bottom. A satisfied rumble came from him at the feel
of her bare skin while he let her continue to kiss his neck. Remembering how he
had once done the same to her, she nipped at his earlobe and breathed into the
shell of his ear. A shudder wracked his large body.

Then his hands were on her
back and her skin pricked from head to toe. The rough warmth made her want to
lean back into his hands and let him take care of her, but she was meant to be
taking care of him. So she slid farther forwards until her sex was notched
against the hardness she felt there.

While he skimmed his hands
up and down her back, she set to work on the buttons of his shirt until there
was enough space for her to press her palms into the fabric to feel the taut
muscles and crisp hair.

“Ivy, I need you now.”

He locked gazes with her,
his expression so intense that all the air seemed to vanish from the room.
Nothing existed but August and the desire that swirled around them like a
tempest. It surprised her that the books and papers did not lift from the
shelves and surround them in their own personal storm, such was the strength of
emotion and need between them.

Swallowing the heavy knot in
her throat, she nodded and shifted enough to be able to undo his trousers and
free him from his undergarments. He was hot and heavy in her hand and as much
as she would have liked to have enjoyed him, she couldn’t wait and neither
could he if his tight grip and the sharp inhale were anything to go by.

His hands came back to her
hips and helped her ease him into her. Ivy gasped at the first invasion and her
blood seemed to have been lit by a fuse. Fire flared all along her until she
could wait no longer and she sank down in one smooth motion.

Their collective intake of
breath resounded through the small study. Ivy placed her hands to his shoulders
and did as her body begged her—she rose and fell against him, creating the most
beautiful friction.

August’s lips were on her
collarbone, gently at first and then he was nipping at her neck and the rise of
her breasts. Her nipples ached and she rubbed them across his chest in a bid to
defeat the frustration. However, one of his hands came away from her hip to tug
down her chemise and before long his hot mouth was upon the peaks, teasing and
drawing them into his mouth. She moved faster, harder.

Her legs were tiring, her
calves burning, and August must have sensed it as he slipped his hands
underneath her thighs and positioned her so that her legs hung over his arms.
Her weight was supported with his hands locked around her and she clung to his
neck. It brought him impossibly deep and she was at his mercy. He pounded into
her with such desperation, it had her making nonsensical noises as pleasure of
the most extreme kind rolled through her over and over. The dam of ecstasy
broke in one bone-shattering moment and all she could do was hold onto him and
let it overtake her.

At some point, she ended up
laid out on the oriental rug near the desk. All she could see was walnut table
legs and then August looming over her, glorious in his nakedness. Every part of
him was hard with scattered dark hair. She longed to run her hands up his
rough, muscled legs and taste him from head to toe but her mind still whirled
from her orgasm. He settled between her legs and joined them once more.

This time he was slow,
tender. He secured his gaze on hers and pressed unsteady kisses to her lips.
His muscles bunched under her palms and with a groan, he spilled onto her
stomach.

“Yes,” she murmured. “Oh,
August.”

He lifted his head from the
crook her neck and propped himself up on both arms to view her. “I like it when
you say my name like that, my sweets.”

Ivy released a satisfied
smile. She knew it was a satisfied one as she felt it slide across her lips a bit
like after she’d just consumed several chocolates. Except August was so much
better than chocolate.

She reached up to stroke his
cheek. “Do you feel better now?”

He chuckled and she noted
the lines in his face had softened. “I do. How do you do that? You’re a miracle
worker, Ivy. What would I do without you?”

Her heart turned to stone at
his words. A great heavy lump of nothing but hurt. Soon, he would be doing
without her. And no doubt he would move on and find a beautiful wife to look
after himself and Elsie. He wanted her gone, surely? Or else he would not press
her to continue singing. But while she longed so badly to sing, the vision of
her future was muddied. Because she could not tell where her passion truly lay
anymore. With singing or with August?