Chapter Nineteen
Isaac took another step toward her, eyes on the clouded glass.
A tightness wrapped around his heart as disappointment etched Miss Montclair’s face.
She was upset. Not for the lack of answers.
Upset for him, for his disappointment—spurred by a genuine care for him.
The warmth of her concern settled in his chest, something he hadn’t felt in a long time—perhaps ever.
He swallowed, the sound echoing through the room. He should turn away. She deserved better than stolen moments and second thoughts.
And he…
He didn’t deserve her at all.
Yet he wanted her more than anything. More than whatever that blasted key unlocked. More than finding Thorne.
As the thought materialized, it unlocked something inside him.
All afternoon, he’d wrestled with the urge to touch her again.
To pull her into his arms. He’d fought a multitude of battles in his head, rationalizing all the ways she didn’t—couldn’t—fit into his life, how she deserved so much more than he could offer.
He’d reasoned, resisted, reminded himself who he was.
To hell with reason.
Another step. She stood still, her eyes unblinking in the mirror’s depths. He eased closer, until the warmth of her scent curled around him. If he stretched his arm just right, he would be able to touch her. Could he? If he did, the line between duty and desire would blur for good.
As if in a trance, he reached forward, curled one finger until it brushed the inside of her wrist. A shock coursed through him at the simple contact, the sharp current of heat sending his pulse jumping.
He eased his hand back, but she twisted her arm to follow his movement, bumping against his knuckles.
The barely-there touch shattered his restraint and he closed the space between them.
She started to turn, but he shook his head, holding her gaze in the mirror.
He positioned himself directly behind her, his hands hovering on either side of her waist. Her breath came out in a shudder as he closed his hands around her hips.
With the searing contact, his last chance to walk away evaporated.
He leaned in and nuzzled behind her ear. “I’ve wanted to do this all day.”
His teeth closed on her earlobe and her needy gasp sent a thrill coursing straight to his groin.
Both hands skimmed up her sides until the heavy weight of her breasts rested on them.
With a soft groan, he cupped them, never taking his eyes off hers as her nipples hardened beneath his palms, straining against the thin fabric.
Emboldened, he unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, baring the silky skin at her neck.
Another button and the swells of her breasts teased him, promising him so much more.
He shifted his weight, his erection already thick and hard. One more button.
He growled his appreciation when the blouse parted, baring her to him.
Even in the shadows, the dusky pink of her nipples pebbled beneath his gaze.
Her lips parted when he rolled one between his fingers, and his body answered with a surge of possessive hunger.
With slow precision, he traced the outline of the key where it rested in the valley between her breasts.
Her chest rose and fell beneath his touch and he fanned his fingers out, running them in a whisper-soft circle around each perfect globe. The need to turn her became an overwhelming urge, to claim each nipple with his mouth. Gritting his teeth, he resisted, instead closing his hands over them.
Her body melted into his hands, her back arching as if pulled by some magnetic force as the soft curve of her breasts yielded to his touch.
He groaned. So damn perfect. A frantic pulse raced beneath his hands, each beat drumming against his palm.
He kneaded, firm and demanding, and the air around them crackled with tension, the weight of her desire matching his own.
With a shaky gasp, her breath caught as he let his hands fall away and reached for the hem of her skirt.
Muslin twisted in his hands as he inched it up, baring the softness he yearned to claim.
His knuckles grazed the smooth skin of her thigh when he pulled the fabric higher.
No drawers. God help him. With a shuddering breath, he continued his path up, inch by agonizing inch.
The soft brush of curls stilled him, the heat of her searing through him like flame, and he paused for the briefest moment.
“Tell me to stop.”
Her gaze found his in the mirror, steady and unflinching. “Don’t stop.”
The simple words, spoken with conviction, snapped his controlled movement.
His palm settled over her center, her gasp lost beneath the roar in his ears.
She was his. Not in a way that could be measured or explained—not yet.
That clarity could come later. For now, all that mattered was the undeniable truth of it, pulsing between them like a shared heartbeat.
His finger dipped between her folds, and he groaned at the slick warmth that met his touch. Her hips shifted as he circled gently, then pressed deeper. She rewarded him with an aching cry that sent his cock throbbing.
“Look at us,” he rasped against her ear, his voice frayed and low.
Her gaze locked on the mirror. Her blouse hung open, her flushed chest rising and falling with every breath, his hand hidden beneath her skirt, working her with relentless purpose.
While she stared there, he found the entrance to her womanhood, slipped his finger inside.
Her legs trembled as he curled it, stroking her from the inside.
With one last tug, he lifted her skirts to expose her.
The sight sucked the air from his lungs and he plunged deeper, burying his hand in her dark curls.
She cried out again, louder, and desire crashed over him in a wave so fierce, it nearly took him to his knees.
The wild want, the way her body writhed, all of it branded into his memory.
“Have you ever touched yourself?” The shocking words tumbled free before he could stop them.
Her lips parted. He held his breath. And then she nodded.
“Show me.”
Even in the old surface of the mirror, her blush shone. “I—”
He caught her hand in his and guided it toward the junction of her thighs, coaxing her fingers alongside his.
Pressing them between her curls, he held her hand cupped over herself.
For a long moment, she didn’t move. And then, a slender finger shifted.
He followed the movement with one of his, into the pulsing wet between her legs. She gasped.
“Feel how ready you are for me?” he growled into her ear.
She nodded, breathless.
He trapped her finger with his, dragging it up to her swollen nub and settling it there. “Show me.” He repeated his command, his voice strained with the consuming need to see her, to feel her.
With a jerky movement, she rubbed herself. Her breath sucked in and her knees sagged. He tightened his arm around her waist, lifting his hand from hers for a better view. Her head fell back against his shoulder, eyes closed, mouth slack as she moved her fingers.
Holy hell.
The sight alone might be his undoing.
Slowly she increased her speed, parting her thighs for a better angle.
His breath hitched as her back arched into him.
Not much longer. A soft moan escaped her and he dropped his hand, tangling his fingers with hers as his blood pumped hot and heavy.
Her eyes fluttered open in question and he leaned into her ear.
“I want you to find your release while I’m inside you. ”
With a pout, she strained to touch herself again and his lips curved. “Patience.”
He dragged her hand away, baring herself to the mirror. From this angle, she was all curves and softness. Pure perfection. Every muscle in his body coiled tight, desperate for more. He reached between them and unbuttoned his trousers, freeing himself from the tight confines.
Brown eyes followed his movement and she pulled her hand from his, twisting it behind her back.
With a growl, he rocked forward into her searching touch.
Her fingers faltered, and he caught her wrist, pinning it gently as he leaned in, letting her feel the full weight of his desire.
A soft groan shook through her as she moved her hand along his length.
His breath quickened as she worked him, the sensation of her delicate hand wrapped around him nearly driving him to madness.
Each stroke, each gentle pull, sent waves of heat rushing through him.
He clenched his jaw, willing himself to stay composed as her fingers moved with purpose.
Each touch pushed him closer to the edge, the raw need between them building with every second.
He fought the overwhelming urge to thrust into her hand, to spill his release then and there, but he took a breath, steadying himself.
He jerked his hand down and stilled hers, pulling it from his aching member.
She trembled, her shoulders rising and falling as he used his feet to pull her legs apart, opening her to him in the most delicious way.
With one hand, he guided himself between the pale crescents of her buttocks, until he dipped into the silky pool of wetness between her thighs.
She whimpered as he hovered at her entrance.
“Isaac.”
He stilled, the sound of his name on her lips tethering him to her like an anchor to a storm-tossed ship.
Her voice, soft and trembling with need, ignited a fierce ache within him.
He tilted his hips, nudging until he slipped just inside her.
The sensation was almost too much, every nerve in his body sparking with fire.
“Isaac, please,” she pleaded, pushing herself against him.