Page 44 of Undercover with the Heiress
Phineas sucked air between his teeth, forcing himself to find control. Everything about her subsumed him. From the tantalising scent of her sex to the decadent curves of her soft skin, Rosanna suffocated him with her eagerness, her desire, her neediness. He laid a trail of kisses along her thighs. Her muscles tensed, and in the same instance, she arched her back and moaned.
Control. Time. No need to rush.
Rosanna placed her other leg over his shoulder. The back of her boot pressed into his lower back. Her thighs rested against his cheeks, her body wrapped around his, and Phineas gripped at her, pulled at her stocking like it was a rope dangling in salvation and he stood teetering on a precipice. Like everything in his life, he had turned fucking into another examination of order and mastery. Yet, without realising it, Rosanna gently undermined his stability even here. Eager and uncertain, innocent and shameless—how could one person contain so many contradictions, so many thoughts and feelings? She carried her complexity with such lightness. And when she shuffled her arse a little further forwards, when she spread herself a little wider, Phineas released every restraint and let himself fall. Still, before his eyes rolled back in concession, heforced himself to maintain a modicum of order to steal a look, a look to last him a lifetime.
Truly disordered, everything about her disobedient, Rosanna sat perched above him like a wanton goddess. From her open shirt, her skewed stays that half concealed one breast while the other sat free, to the loose curl draped over her shoulder and her half open mouth… Everything about her radiated lust and energy and life. When he caught her gaze, reason slipped from his fingers. And when their eyes locked, an instant stretched into eternity.
Tender expectation, longing, trust, and anticipation—all carried in a look. She splayed her fingers through his hair and drew him closer, directing him to her damp cunt. Electricity rippled through him, and he bowed to her, subservient.
‘You would like the pleasure of my mouth?’ Phineas breathed the words across her thigh, to the decadent line where leg joined hip, where earth met heaven. He stroked her slit and parted the coarse curls to reveal her softness. He flicked his tongue against her soft bud. Sweetness and tang. Phineas circled and licked as he explored her taste, so much better than from his fingers where it was tainted by his own skin. This was pure Rosanna.
Rosanna moaned. ‘No one will hear me?’
Phineas kept his mouth on her sex as he shook his head, then pushed firmer, drawing her clitoris into his mouth before releasing. Rosanna groaned, deep and degenerate, her entire body vibrating with the effort.
‘This is so much better with someone else,’ she gasped. ‘Don’t stop, oh sweet heavens and mercy, don’t ever stop.’
So slick and wet, opening just for him. He slipped his fingers inside her and stroked. ‘How often do you touch yourself?’ he rasped.
‘Much more often since I came to live with you.’ Rosanna grasped him and manoeuvred him like a helpless, licentiouspuppet, forcing his face back to her core. How many nights had she been lying in her bed, pleasuring herself while he stroked himself in the room above with her image in his mind? The thought was more than he could manage. He scrabbled at his trouser buttons, shoved down his smalls, and took himself in hand.
Rosanna moaned again, a long rattling sound. Her back arched as she presented herself, and he licked and laved, circled her tenderness, sucked hard on her clitoris, dipped his tongue into her body, and teased at the length of her slit. With every shift in his attention, she writhed and jerked against the desk. Palm tight around his shaft, Phineas pumped harder, lost and abandoned to her essence. She seemed to clamber over him, opening wider, ankles crossed against his back, ensnaring him and making him captive to her desires. She sang her bliss, her words like an orchestra to his ego. Over and over, she said his name.Yes, Phineas, I like that, Phineas, I love your mouth, do that again, Phineas. And when her words lost form and became nothing but whimpering, he tightened his grasp on himself with one hand and slipped a finger inside her with the other. Rosanna bucked and pushed his face into her cunt so hard that he thought he might suffocate, but no other heaven even mattered. She quietened to tiny pants and whispered whimpers,don’t stop, don’t stop, until her quiet became a roar, and the most magnificent rumble of exhilaration spilled from her lips. She pulsed against him, and he greedily drank and lapped at all of her. Slackening, she collapsed over him like a cocoon of intimacy as she panted into the background hum.
Then she pushed him from her body with a gentle nudge. ‘Are you touching yourself?’
He grunted, still driving himself forwards, his eyes on her wetness, on her gorgeous sex, swollen and glistening from his mouth and her orgasm.
‘I want to watch you,’ she said. ‘Stand up.’
Phineas obeyed mutely, his hand still working and stroking at himself. She gripped his chin and kissed him, light and tenuous, then pulled back to hold his gaze. ‘Don’t you look away,’ she ordered as she slid her hand beside his, into the restraint of his clothing, cupped him, stroked him, inexperienced and experimental. Each little touch and flutter as she caressed his body swallowed his senses, and still, barely blinking, she watched him. And when he panted harder, heavier, when he grunted, she continued to hold him in place with her grip and her eyes. Her eyes bored into him, deep and relentless, and while his years of solitude and silence railed against the intrusion, something more debased, more vulnerable, revelled in the intimacy. With all his forced composure, he held her stare until, with a moan of her name, he found his release. He spent against her thigh and tumbled, both lost and found, adrift and anchored, into the mired agony of uncontrolled bliss.
Every part of his body hummed and buzzed, frenetic. He tucked himself away, broke her stare, and retrieved a fresh kerchief from his pocket to wipe at her thigh.
With her palm against his cheek, Rosanna drew his attention back to herself. ‘Don’t be embarrassed. I like seeing you like that.’
‘Watching me? As I—’
‘Uncontrolled,’ she said. ‘I like seeing you lose yourself.’
‘I shouldn’t. I don’t like to lose myself.’
‘Shh…’ She stroked his cheek, then leant forwards and kissed him.
There was nothing extraordinary about it. It was a kiss of satiation, of endings, of consumed desires. A kiss of embers. Yet unlike every other moment with Rosanna, it did not careen headlong into chaos. She remained gentle, supporting him, firm and steadfast. And in her kiss, all the restlessness in himsettled. She held back, for him. She saw him; she understood the confusion, and she reached out. Even as she broke their connection, she held him until he could retreat and close himself back into his safety, his quiet familiarity.
Yet not familiar. Something within him felt off kilter. His heart did not sit as it should, like it had completely detached. Instead it dragged itself across the dusty floor, flopping, pedantic, ticking like an over-wound watch. And as he felt its rhythm, as he looked to the sublime panting of his wife, to her scarlet red lips and her chest puffing with exhilaration, to the endless comfort of her eyes, he knew his heart would never again feel comfortable inside his own chest.
Because it no longer belonged to him.
The realisation stabbed him, like he was a wounded spectre dissolving into oblivion. There was nothing else for it. His heart was now hers. From the slight curl of her index finger in the centre of his palm, to the laughter that spilled from her crimson lips, to the pink of her cheeks, to the pull of her buttons… When faced with all her decadence and innocence and obstinance and compassion, he was her slave. The yearning comprehension in his chest filled him with terror, but mostly, relief. He could love. He was not ice and stone. For all its danger, the realisation of his love freed him.
He would never, ever tell her. He couldn’t burden her with his own longings, create obligation when he had promised he would not.
But nor could he keep her.
It was time to let her go.
Chapter Eighteen
