He kept going. After toeing off his leather shoes, he flicked open his trousers and pushed the cloth over his hips. He stepped out of the legs and kicked the garment aside along with his socks. That left him in a thin cotton undergarment, which hid absolutely nothing. Quite the opposite, actually. The fabric cupped his cock and balls indecently.
She looked him up and down. He didn’t wait for a reaction, however. In another few seconds he had the undergarment off and stood naked in front of her. Her chest rose and fell quickly, her breasts pushed high into the neckline of her emerald-colored evening dress as she took in the sight of his bare body.
This is who I am, he wanted to tell her. Scarred, big and imperfect. He was not one of those pampered swells with soft hands and an aversion to work. Clay was rough and unforgiving. He’d done little to be proud of in this life thus far. She’d be wise to leave and never come back.
“Change your mind yet?” He held perfectly still and awaited her answer. He hadn’t felt this vulnerable since he got pinched at the age of sixteen for running an illegal dice game in the Bowery.
“Absolutely not.” She lifted her hands to her hair and pulled on the combs securing her chignon. Silky blond tresses fell around her shoulders, a halo around her stunning face. “You’re glorious, Clay.”
The compliment was a lance through his chest, destroying the thin thread he’d had on his self-control. He couldn’t wait a second longer to touch and taste her. He gripped her face and captured her mouth in a deep, powerful kiss. Her palms slid over his shoulders and down his chest, her touch light but unafraid, and so arousing he worried for his stamina. Their tongues battled and his cock throbbed between their bodies. Idiot. Why didn’t I undress her first?
He reached for the ties of her skirt. She broke off from the kiss and moved his hand away. “It’ll go faster if I do it.”
Nodding, he kissed her temple, then her cheek. He moved his lips over the curve of her jaw until he reached the smooth skin of her throat. She was soft and delicate, so different than her bold and daring personality. Her fingers brushed his stomach as she unfastened her bodice. When the fabric parted, he drove his hand inside to cup her breast, the mounds tantalizingly displayed by the corset. Florence twisted to shove the heavy material off her arms so he bent his head and kissed the tops of her breasts. He nibbled and sucked, drawing her flesh into his mouth as she worked on her skirts.
“You’re not making this easy,” she panted.
“You picked the wrong man for easy,” he said and focused on the tiny buttons of her corset cover. When that was removed, his fingers popped open the clasps on her corset, one by one. Soon, it joined the other pieces on the floor, along with her skirts and bustle, until she was left in her shift, drawers and stockings.
Grasping the backs of her thighs, he lifted her. “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he growled into her throat.
She did, her arms and legs clinging to him, and his mouth found hers once more. Spinning, he carried her to the bed and laid her down, his body following atop hers, weight supported by his elbows. His hips landed in the cradle of her thighs, his shaft lined up directly atop her pubic bone. Unable to help himself, he rolled his pelvis. She threw her head back, eyes closed in surrender, and they both groaned.
God, that sight. Fuck. He’d never be able to forget the image of her here, her blond hair spread out on his bedclothes, her pale skin flushed with arousal. He hoped the smell of her lingered here for years to come.
She tilted her hips and the heat of her core met the skin of his cock. Oh, God, she was so wet and hot. If she kept that up he wouldn’t last ten minutes. If he was a religious man he would’ve started praying to stave off his climax.
“Please, Clay,” she whispered and moved against him once more.
He cursed. In all the times he’d imagined being with her—and there had been plenty—it had progressed as a slow seduction. Where he’d remained firmly in control. That was not happening here. She wasn’t allowing him to go at his own pace, more demanding than his fantasy.
Not that his body seemed to mind. Every sigh, every touch, drove him wilder. But he had to slow down. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be ready for him.
“Wait, I should—”
Another roll of her pelvis and the tip of his cock met her entrance. He paused, his muscles clenched in agony as he remained perfectly still. Oh, Christ. Oh, God. Oh, shit. Each cell in his body screamed for him to thrust, to drive, to stroke. No, he couldn’t. She’s experienced but not that experienced. Don’t hurt her.
“Now, please.” She breathed the words into his throat just as her nails clawed into his buttocks. The sting was like a shock to his system, causing his hips to flex and his cock to slam into her sheath.
She gasped—and not in a pleasurable way. He could hear the pain in the sound. Glancing down, he saw her eyes screwed shut, her face pale. Goddamn it.
He pushed off her and withdrew, coming up on his knees. Her lids flew open. “What are you doing? Don’t stop now.”
“Florence, it was causing you pain.”
The confusion in her expression only deepened. “And?”
He frowned. “And that’s bad.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m usually better at hiding the hurt until it goes away.”
Hiding the hurt? Jesus. Hadn’t her other lovers bothered to prepare her? Did she assume sex to be painful?
You didn’t prepare her, either, you selfish bastard.
He stared at this magnificent woman, a lusty and audacious creature, and cursed any man who hadn’t properly pleasured her, including himself. Clay meant to rectify that right now.
He slid his hands along her calves and drew down her stockings. Then he untied her drawers and slid them off. When he pushed her shift up her torso, she lifted off the mattress to help. At last, she was bare, spread out before him like a feast. Small, perfectly round breasts. Creamy skin. Slightly rounded stomach and flared hips. Her slit was glistening and swollen, begging for his mouth.
Good God, she was sheer perfection.
He didn’t deserve to fuck her. He was a black-hearted criminal who valued money more than morals. His hands had committed violence and theft for as long as he could remember. And now he had one of the city’s most desired debutantes in his bed, naked.
But he was no fool, either.
He might not deserve her, but he wasn’t going to stop—not without showing her true pleasure. The kind he knew her uptown boys were too selfish to give.
When he began sliding down the bed, she rose up on her elbows. “Wait, what are you doing?”
“Lie back, Florence. You’re about to receive another lesson.”
Another lesson?
She had no idea what Clay was talking about. Worse, she felt foolish. She’d whimpered from the pain of his invasion and caused him to stop.
Why hadn’t she bitten her lip or a pillow instead?
The pain never lasted more than a minute or two. Then the tingles returned and it would start to feel good again. If only she’d convinced Clay to keep going . . .
And what was he doing now? He was moving down the bed, his head between her spread thighs, his face directly there. Then she remembered the couple from the brothel—
His fingers touched her folds, separating them, just before he leaned in and . . . Oh, sweet heaven. He’d licked her. From the entrance to the tiny button on top. Her limbs twitched in surprised ecstasy as his groan reverberated throughout the entire room.