Chapter Thirteen #2
Damn, I should have bedded her more often than I did. I should have been here every bloody night.
It would be so easy to lose himself in her and never look back, but it was impossible. They had other lives, different things that were important…
“Tell me I made a difference in your life, that you are a better man for knowing me.” Constance panted, twined her arms about his shoulders and whispered into his ear.
“I want to know there was more between us than merely being lovers. That perhaps if we’d had more time together, there could have been a different ending to our story. ”
Oh, God. “Of course we were. Outside of a few male friends, you are the closest anyone has ever been to me.” Hot tears rose in his throat; they cut off his words.
Verbal communication wasn’t his strong suit, neither was wading through the agony that might be love if he gave himself time to truly think about it.
A few fleeting thoughts in a makeshift boxing ring didn’t count.
Too confused to sort himself, he did what he knew would show her his regard.
Gregory kissed her as if she held the last drop of water and he wished to share it with her.
Then he pleasured her breasts until soft cries left her throat.
When that wasn’t enough to show her what he mentally struggled with, he delved a hand between them, fought through yards of silky fabric to find his frontfalls.
After wrenching the panel from its buttons, he guided his hardened shaft through the fabric in search of her center.
When the head of his member bumped her wet opening and she moaned with the same need coursing through him, he didn’t hesitate. He thrust once and deeply until he was fully seated in her honeyed heat, and he died a thousand deaths to know this was the last time he would do so. “Ah, Constance, I…”
Why the hell can’t I tell her? Am I truly afraid of the ramifications? Do they mean more than her?
“You feel so good.” The whispered admission stole his breath. Her eyes shuttered closed, but she wriggled into a more comfortable position and held him tight, as if she, too, knew this was the end of what they would have together.
The dark arcs of her lashes against her pale cheeks almost leveled him.
With a half-cry, half-groan, he pushed into her with long, powerful strokes.
Being joined with her was too much, and he would break apart soon, but he had to make this last as long as he could.
His thrusts grew more frantic. Harder, deeper, faster he moved his hips, seeking to be one with her, for then they might not part.
Constance bucked her hips in time to his movements, and for a few seconds, their breathing, their coupling, aligned and everything was perfect.
This is how it is supposed to be; this is what I’ve wanted all along but didn’t know it.
“Bloody hell…” Raw sensation raced through Gregory’s member.
His stones pulled tight to his body and then he fell over the edge into bliss the same time she did.
The sounds she made, half sobs and half stifled screams of completion, warmed his ear while she collapsed into him, clinging to his neck as if he might disappear.
More to the point, this time he didn’t withdraw. He simply wasn’t strong enough, for he wanted to experience everything with her, about her, and as his shaft jumped and pulsed while deeply embedded with her, there was a second of such glorious perfection that moisture gathered in his eyes.
An honorable man wouldn’t have done such a thing, for if she fell pregnant and discovered it after she committed to someone else, she would be in trouble, but he blocked that from his mind as well. If a babe brought her back to him, would the outcome truly change?
There were still no answers.
“Is this the end of us together?” he couldn’t help but ask as he continued to hold her while intimately joined with her.
“I don’t see how we can go forward without becoming far too attached to each other.” Her whispered words were so low he could have imagined them, but her quiet sobs washed the sentiment away. “Eventually, it would be devastating once we both married.”
It was the devil of a conundrum. As his breathing returned to normal, Gregory held her tightly against his chest, telling her with his body what he couldn’t with his words. Never did he want to let her go, but they couldn’t remain together.
Eventually, he released Constance and lowered her to the floor, kept hold of her until she found her footing. Tears streaked her face, those same signs of despair that threatened to erupt from him soon if he didn’t flee.
Yet words refused to come, they merely sat on the tip of his tongue while his mind churned a morass of emotions.
Instead, he put his clothing to rights, and she did the same.
“Goodbye, Constance. I wish you well in the life that you choose, hope you find everything you are searching for.” How could he do the same when it rested in her hands?
Without giving her time to respond, he left the room, slammed out of the house, had to quit her company before he dissolved into a blubbering mess at her feet.
Blindly, he stumbled along the pavement toward the nearest hack stand. At least the exercise would help to clear his head.
How had everything gone wrong? Why hadn’t taking a mistress been as simple as he thought it would be? And why the hell hadn’t they just left it all to intercourse instead of sharing everything else along the way?
Perhaps more to the point, why had he done the stupidest thing by falling in love with a woman so very wrong for his life?