“I need you.” His voice was dark. His fingers found and traced her most intimate places. “Here. Now.”
“Yes.”
He thrust a hand between them, working open the closures of his trousers.
She wrapped a leg over his hips, drawing him close. She moved her pelvis, grinding against him in ways that made them both moan.
“I . . .” He cursed. “I’m not certain I can be gentle.”
“Then don’t be gentle. Just be you.”
Still, he hesitated.
“You won’t hurt me,” she lied.
Her intimate places were stretched and sore from last night, and she wasn’t fool enough to think a hard tupping on the desk would make it better.
She wanted this anyway.
Yes, this. The sweet burn of him sliding into her. The exquisite weight of his strong, muscled body anchoring hers. The desire and possessive need in his eyes.
She wanted all of this.
He leaned her all the way back onto the desk, then hooked his arms under her legs, spreading her wide. Viewing the contrast between her pale, stockinged legs and his broad, tanned shoulders excited her.
He thrust deep. “Tell me when it’s too much.”
“It won’t ever be too much.” She gripped his arms.
“I love you.” He nudged deeper. “I love you. Take that.”
Her heart swelled.
With every movement, he pushed her spine against the unyielding mahogany. The firmness of the desk gave her nowhere to hide. She was at his mercy, and she couldn’t get enough.
When her climax broke, she cried out. In pain, in pleasure. She dug her fingernails into his neck. He growled in response, holding her still as he spent inside her.
Afterward, he held her so tenderly. Right against his pounding heart.
“I was so stupid this morning,” he whispered. “If you want me to shuffle papers, I’ll shuffle papers. If you wanted me to give up fighting, I’d do that. I’d do anything to keep you, Clio. I love you. I wish I had better ways to show it. All I have is this brash, reckless heart. But it’s yours.”
She looked up at him. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Good. I hope your love for me will survive this.”
She opened the top drawer of the desk, located the dissolution papers Rafe had signed—and cast them in the fire.
“Clio, no.”
He lunged to save them, but he was too late. The papers flared and burned in the grate.
He speared his fingers through his hair. “Why did you do that?”
“Because I’m not going to let you be the villain today. I was stupid this morning, too. And when Piers came home, I realized this is happening so fast. We need a little time, each of us. You need to fight your battles. I need to fight my own. And we owe it to Piers to do this right.
“You are still brothers, despite everything. He needs someone to welcome him home, and it’s not going to be me. If we married right away, you’d never be able to mend things with him. But if I break the news and we bide our time . . . Piers will overcome any disappointment he might feel. With any luck, he’ll choose another bride.”
“He’s a man of fortune, rank, and privilege. He can take care of himself. I want to take care of you.”
She touched his shoulders. “I know. But how could I claim to love you, then ask you to choose between me and your only brother? You needn’t choose at all, if we wait.”
“I can’t ask you to wait. I know how you detest that word. You’ve waited eight years.”
“I can last a few months more.” She stroked his cheek. “It will be different now. This time, I know I’m worth waiting for.”
He weaved his hands in her hair and held her close. “You’re worth anything. You know that, don’t you? I’d swallow nails. I’d walk through fire.”
“Oh, that would be too easy. I’m asking you to do something far worse. Go spend time with your brother.”
Chapter Twenty-six