A Closed Heart by Oster, Camille (guided reading books TXT) 📗

sheer intensity of it. Again and again, it tore through her, sharp and exquisite.

When she emerged, she noticed that he’d observed her through it and she felt a little self-conscious, even as the waves of pleasure didn’t dissipate entirely, building again as he surged into her, consolidating the fierceness again as he ground into her. His release came in a moment of tortured stillness, groaning deeply as it stole through him. Her body surged with him, again, renewed waves flowed through every part of her, leaving them both utterly spent.

The weight of him was glorious as he sank down on her. There was nothing left as they lay with limbs entangled, still unable to catch their breaths. That had been... spectacular.

Chapter 23

IN MOST WAYS, JULIUS couldn’t believe what he’d just done. He’d been fully unhinged. Not a bit of control. Need had driven him. Want too. Such deep want.

But he shouldn’t have let it happen. Now he felt guilt. “I’m sorry,” he said as he pushed himself away. This might be the most in flagrante he’d ever been. He’d been lost to it, to the desire.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said and leaned on her elbows for a moment. She looked utterly ravished, which was exactly what she had been. On a side note, her body was utterly delectable and seeing her like this was an image that would probably be burned into his mind for the rest of his life—torturing him.

A sense of panic worked through him, not to the point where he actually regretted it, because there was something in him that was utterly sated. But the practical part of him did regret it. This was messiness, and...

She placed material between her legs as she sat on the bench. His spend was seeping out of her, and now he felt a spear of panic. What if there were consequences to this? A moment of pleasure and a lifetime of consequences. “What if there is a child?” he said, finding himself pacing as he quickly ordered himself.

“Then it would be the biggest gift anyone has given me. I am not... prone to it due to illness as a child. The doctors say so, so if it were to happen it would be a wonderful thing. There will be no requirements on you, I assure.”

“I am able to take care of my...” He was going to say by-blows, but it sounded cruel, “obligations. But this would be a child born out of wedlock. It will be severely limiting, and a cruel thing to do to a child.”

“It would be a well-loved child, and I have tried to tell you that there is life outside the confines of fine society. Quite a wonderful life. It isn’t something you should worry about.”

How could he not worry? She might not see the precariousness of her situation, or admit to it, but it was very much there.

Something in him felt cruel and ungenerous, so he went back to the bench and sat down next to her. “I’m sorry. You were generous and now I am being beastly.”

Shifting, she turned to him. “There are no consequences to this. If, by chance, a child would result, then it would be the happiest thing.”

Maybe that appeased him a little because he wanted to be appeased. A part of him wanted to rejoice in this being a wonderful thing that had happened. The part of him that competed with the stern man who ran this family and the fortunes it was built on. This, being with her, did nothing to serve that—which made this gratuitous and unnecessary. The problem was that it had felt the exact opposite. But that was what emotions got you. Now he had potentially gotten himself into trouble because of those base urges. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, irrespective of how much he told himself he should. If there was a child, he would care for it generously.

Drawing her near, he kissed her on the forehead. “You are wonderful, but you are trouble, Miss Brightly. Clearly you have decided I need some trouble.” It was a curious statement that he grappled with, because a part of him still needed her desperately. That was the part he feared. He’d worked so hard to deny it, and she’d come along and ripped it all open.

Because the truth was that he knew what she, and even his sister, was referring to when they said he wasn’t living his life.  He wasn’t a complete idiot. It was just that his life was much easier without someone like Jane Brightly stealing his attention away every moment she was near.

*

Birds chirped out the window, and inside the room was the scratchings of her charcoal on paper. She sat in her shift on a chair by the bed, drawing him. While she looked informal most of the time, she was more so now. Her hair was loose and messy, and the shift clung to her curves.

All it had taken last evening was one look at supper and he’d succumbed entirely. Then again, had there been any way he could have walked away when he’d known the wonderfulness they could share? It was simply too compelling.

Two could play that game, he thought, and drew the sheet a little further down his abdomen, and as expected, she noticed.

“I take it this makes me your muse now,” he said. “I thought you said you didn’t have muses.”

“I don’t,” she said with a smile.

“Then who are these lovers of yours?” It had been a question brewing in his mind for weeks. “I take it you don’t have one now.”

She looked over at him and then back to her drawing. “No, I don’t have one now. I don’t really have lovers, as such, but there have been encounters. Brief in duration.”

“Just met a stranger and... “

“They