Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
H e stared at Matilda's glistening core, his mouth watering at the sight of her wanton, needy sex. She squirmed on his desk, perhaps anticipating what he was about to do.
And by God, he would enjoy making a meal of her…
Christopher slid his fingers along her slick folds, dipping one into her wetness before bringing it to his lips. He suckled his finger clean, savoring her curt but delicious taste.
Her eyes widened, and she bit her lip, watching him under a hooded gaze that mirrored all he felt in this moment—need, possession, excitement, and raw, unbridled lust.
His body burned. Every nerve was taut, his cock straining painfully against the confines of his breeches. He longed to free himself, press into her tight warmth, and claim her wholly.
"You like my touch." The words not a question but a statement of undeniable truth. She nodded, her thighs parting wider, inviting him to revel in her.
He pulled his chair closer and reached beneath her knees, drawing her toward him until she was positioned at the desk’s edge. His lips quirked in a predatory smile as he dipped his head, his breath hot against her delicate folds.
The first touch of his tongue sent her hips bucking, her taste tangy and intoxicating. "I want you, Christopher," she beseeched, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk.
He smirked, determined to make her want him as fiercely as he wanted her. He wouldn’t ruin her—he told himself this with resolve—but by God, he would ruin her for any other man. He intended to leave her wanting, aching for him and no one else.
Her legs rested on his shoulders as he lavished attention on her most sensitive place. His tongue teased her swollen nub, his lips sealing around it and suckling gently. Her moans filled the room, mingling with the rhythmic creak of the desk beneath her.
"I'm going to make you come so hard, Matilda," he murmured against her slickness. A promise he intended to keep.
She moaned his name, her hand slipping into his hair, fisting it as if to anchor herself to him. He welcomed her control, his mouth working tirelessly to bring her closer to the edge.
He brought two fingers to her mouth, watching as she parted her lips and licked them with her tongue. The sight sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through his veins.
"I'm going to fuck you with my fingers." A promise he would fulfil. "And you're going to like it, but be discreet, like the proper lady I know you are."
She nodded, her intense gaze never leaving his. He pressed his fingers slowly inside her, relishing the way her body clenched around him.
"Christopher," she gasped, her hips lifting to meet his hand. Her body moved instinctively, her unspoken need guiding her movements.
"Shoosh, Matilda, don't make any noise." He paused, teasing her some more. "Suppose it were me filling you right now," he rasped, his mind a haze of right and wrong, temptation warring against what he wanted. "Hard and slow, filling you, teasing you until you beg me for release."
She whimpered, unable to form coherent words as his fingers found the spot within her that made her arch. She moaned, and he dipped his head, his tongue returning to her nubbin as he matched his strokes with flicks of his tongue.
"Harder, Christopher," she pleaded. "I need… I need you…"
Her words nearly broke his control. She was a duke’s daughter, his equal in station and dignity. He couldn’t take her maidenhead—not like this. Not yet.
But she was so close, her moans becoming desperate, her body trembling beneath his touch. He couldn’t stop now.
He stood, unbuttoning his breeches with one hand while the other held her firmly in place. His cock, thick and rigid, sprang free. He pulled her closer, the heat of her sex tantalizingly close to his.
"I want you inside me," she begged. "Please, Christopher. Do as I ask."
"I cannot." His words were pained, his jaw tight with restraint. He wouldn’t take everything from her, no matter how desperately they wanted it. He still had some shred of morality left, even if it teetered on the brink of collapse.
"This will have to do," he said, positioning himself.
He rubbed the tip of his cock against her folds, their mingled arousal easing the glide. Her hands gripped the desk as she began to move with him, her body meeting his every motion.
She gasped, the friction sending them both spiraling. His heart thundered in his chest as he watched her unravel, her flushed cheeks and parted lips a vision of pure desire.
Her movements quickened, her cries becoming louder as her release neared. He matched her rhythm, forgetting the need for them to be quiet. His climax built, and he fought to hold on, to savor every second of this bewitched moment.
The sound of voices in the hall shattered their shared haze of pleasure.
Christopher froze, his head snapping toward the door. Panic surged through him as he pulled back, swiftly fastening his breeches. With desperate efficiency, he pulled Matilda from the desk and adjusted her skirts and appearance just as the door swung open to reveal his parents.
His father joined them first, followed by his mother, whose narrowed eyes darted suspiciously between them.
"Ah, Lady Matilda," his father began, his tone genial but laced with curiosity. "I see you’ve been a dutiful friend, bringing Christopher his lunch. I trust you enjoyed your meal, my boy?"
Christopher, seated at his desk, inclined his head. "I enjoyed it very much," he replied steadily. His gaze met Matilda’s briefly, a flicker of shared understanding passing between them. "Lady Matilda was just leaving. Thank you again for the delicious meal. I look forward to finishing it later."
Matilda’s cheeks turned crimson, her composure visibly shaken. She nodded stiffly and turned toward the door. "Have a good afternoon," she murmured before slipping from the room without another word.
Christopher caught the knowing gleam in his mother’s eyes and schooled his features into an impassive mask. The last thing he needed was for her to speculate further—or worse, intervene.
"We came to see if you would take Lady Delphine out in the carriage tomorrow," his father, oblivious to the tension in the room stated, as he ambled about. "She mentioned at lunch that it’s been years since she visited the grotto near the river on the western side of the property. You enjoyed the place as a child, and I thought you might show her again."
Christopher leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’d prefer not." A headache formed behind his eyes. "I have no desire to give her—or anyone else—the impression that I’m courting her. We’re friends, and that is all we shall remain."
His mother raised an eyebrow. "It would merely be a kindness, my dear son. Unless, of course, you’d rather take Lady Matilda. You seem quite the companions these days."
His gaze hardened, daring her to continue. She held his stare for a moment before relenting. "In any case," his mother smoothed out her skirts, attempting to ignore his words, "perhaps you could make it a group outing. Lady Matilda, Charlotte, and Lord Lacy might join you. That way, there would be no misunderstanding."
"That would be preferable," Christopher agreed. "I’ll mention it at dinner this evening."
"Very good." His mother’s gaze lingered on him, her lips curving into a faint smile. "And do freshen up before dinner, my dear. Your hair is askew."
He fought the urge to tame his hair, choosing instead to shrug. "Of course," he replied without inflection.
When the door finally closed behind them, Christopher exhaled in relief. Leaning back in his chair, he ran a hand through his hair, only to feel it sticking up in several places.
Damn it all to hell. What had they seen? What had they detected?
A sinking feeling told him his mother suspected far more than she let on. And if that were true, it was a development he neither wanted nor needed. He had enough on his plate as it was.