Combustion (13 page)

His hips jerked forward, thrusting all the way into her mouth, and his hands went to her head to still her. She drew back to look up at him, releasing his cock, and met his eyes. When she began to trace small circles with her finger, his head fell back, eyes closing.

“Do you like this?” She knew he liked it, knew she was driving him out of his mind, but wanted him to confess. He paused, eyes still closed, hips thrusting into empty air. She pressed a bit harder, the tip of her finger slipping inside, and he let out a low, guttural animal noise that made her drip with arousal.

“Tell me you want this.” Bending down, she licked the tip of his cock again, and it bobbed against her lips. “Do you want it?”

He nodded, biting his lower lip. That was good enough for now. She took him in her mouth again as she slid her finger slowly into him.

“Oh, fuck…fuck…fuck…God, yes.” His swearing became less coherent when she curled her finger forward, finding that spot Cecily had told her about. He tangled one hand in her hair, not holding her down, seeming to need to touch her as he began to thrust into her mouth. She loved the way he tasted, loved feeling him lose control at last. As she continued, he began to breathe more erratically, his body trembling, and she knew he was close. The power of her position made her body thrum with heat.

“Christ, Astrid. You've got…you've got to…”

She ran her tongue from base to tip. “Got to what?”

“Stop that.”

“No. I want to make you come.” And she took him into her mouth again, sucking hard, fucking him with her finger. His hips bucked when he came, crying out, emptying himself into her mouth. She swallowed, drinking him down, sucking until she felt him growing soft. Then she withdrew her finger, sat back on her heels and looked up at him.

Head lolling back against the sofa, he was a picture of distraction: disheveled, hair askew, panting and sweaty even while mostly clothed. She reveled in the personal satisfaction of having gotten him to that point. After a moment, though, he dragged her back up onto his lap, kissing her neck and making her knees go wobbly. She felt his cock twitch and looked down between them. “Already?”

“Give me a few minutes, but I'm not that old.” He looked her full in the eyes. “I want you.”

“I know you want me.” Astrid slid off him, then began unfastening her boots. “How do you feel about me?”

“I feel like I want you.” Eli shucked his own shoes, then his trousers, as she slipped out of the rest of her clothing. When she climbed back onto his lap, straddling his thighs, he ran his hands up her back and pulled her flush against his chest. She could feel his heart beating against hers. He slipped a hand between them, finding her clit, and she dug her nails into his shoulders at the rush. “It feels like you want me too.” He pressed two fingers up into her, slid them deep and began thrusting them in and out. “Tell me you want me.”

“God, you're such an arse.” She pressed her mouth to his, riding his fingers like she wanted to ride his cock, which was coming to full attention again between them.

He stilled her hips with his free hand, holding her steady while he curled his fingers inside her and rubbed hard. His thumb found her clit, and the combined stimulation made her break their kiss to gasp for air. She couldn't squirm away, and she remembered riding the Ossy and feeling the same beautiful helplessness. She'd never been with a man who could play her body so well, hitting the exact right spots and driving her to the edge so quickly. When she thought she might quiver apart before they'd even fucked, he withdrew his fingers and pulled her forward, lining her up to sink down onto his shaft.

He gasped into her mouth, his hands suddenly clenching on her hips, his own gasp swallowing hers as she felt his hard cock throbbing inside her. For a moment, she stayed like that, savoring his hot flesh against hers, her muscles tensing around him. When she lifted her hips and pressed down again, the pleasure made her eyes fall closed. Oh, that was good. She began to ride him, angling her hips so he hit the right spot with each stroke. In the intensity of their coupling, she could push emotions aside, focus entirely on the sensations.

“Look at me.”

At the sound of Eli's voice, she looked down at him, meeting his eyes. God, his eyes. They were wide, the pupils dark, pleasure written across his face. With each thrust of her hips, his eyelids fluttered, his jaw going slack. Then he slipped his hand between them again and began rubbing her clit with his thumb. Her hands tightened on his shoulders as sparks erupted inside her.

“That's right.” He continued to rub in steady circles, staying with her as she rocked her hips against him and coherent thought slipped away. She could feel the slow climb beginning, driving her higher with each stroke, her movements becoming unsteady as she felt the first spasms inside her.

“I want to feel you come.” Eli began thrusting upward, now, his hand on her clit never wavering. He was close too, the muscles in his neck tense with effort of holding back, but he didn't break eye contact. She could get lost in those eyes. Somehow, this was the most intimate they'd been; she was seeing him plainly for the first time, unable to close out the raw emotion in his gaze.

Her orgasm crashed over her, making her cry out as waves of bliss washed through her so quickly she couldn't think, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but grip his shoulders harder and ride it out. It seemed to go on forever, her body pulsing around him. Just as she started to come down, he began thrusting harder, driving into her warmth over and over, seeking his own climax.

“Astrid.” His voice sounded taut, desperate. “I'm going… I'm… I don't want to…”

She understood and managed to climb off right before he came, erupting with a low groan, eyes finally closing as his own pleasure overwhelmed him. Watching him, her heart tightened with sudden affection. With emotions welling inside her, she remembered Cecily's words.
Does he know that you're falling in love with him?

Neither of them moved right away, although he used his undershirt to clean himself up a bit. The silence stretched out between them, first seconds, then minutes, and it seemed neither of them wanted to break it. Astrid shifted on the sofa, her body languid with post-coital lethargy, and wondered what would happen now. Eli ran a hand through his hair. After a pause, he reached over and ran a hand through her hair too, lightly stroking the top of her head. She stiffened in surprise, then relaxed into his touch. It felt intimate, warm and sweet. Affectionate. He slid an arm around her shoulders and drew her against him.

“So are you going to tell me we shouldn't have done this?” Maybe her words were going to ruin the moment, but she had to know.

He paused, his body tensing, before relaxing again. “No. I would think that's an exercise in futility at this point.”

“Is it because you want me to finger your arse again?”

She was gratified to see him flush with color, his embarrassment visible all the way to the tips of his ears and down his neck.

“Hush.”

Grinning, she leaned up. “I thought you'd like that, but I didn't realize how much you'd like it.”

Eli looked away. “Let's not talk about it, all right?”

“What, you're shy now? Mr. Eli Rutledge is shy?” She ran a finger over his collarbone.

He pulled back an inch. “You know I'm shy.”

She paused, considering. “You're not shy.”

He shrugged, looking away. “I'm not like you, though. I'm not like this.” He gestured between them. “You just go after what you want, and the devil take whatever stands in your way. That's not me.”

Astrid shifted, considering. It was strange to hear him talk of himself in that way, when she couldn't see past his stable profession, his prominent role in the business community. He was a man people respected, so how could he
not
be confident?

Before she could think of what to comment, though, he added, “You're right, you know.”

This was unexpected. Eli admitting she was right? It wasn't about the shyness, so she guessed, half-joking. “About my finger in your arse?”

“No. About what you said before.” He wore a resigned expression as he continued. “I don't want to share.”

“I told you before, we're not in a relationship, so you don't get a say in this.” To avoid looking into his eyes, she studied his chest instead, tracing a pattern in the dark hair with her fingers.

“A relationship is out of the question.”

“Of course it is.” At least her voice sounded more certain than she felt. This conversation would probably be a lot easier to have if his hand wasn't stroking up and down her back, caressing her skin like a lover. Why was he so resistant to the idea of a relationship with her? Was his status so important that it superseded his feelings? He wasn't the first man she'd had sex with, but he was the first who treated her like more than an enjoyable pastime. He treated her like he could love her. She had a hard time believing he felt nothing for her, but regardless, he wasn't going to move forward on those feelings. Still, his next words surprised her.

“Let's make a deal, shall we?”

A deal? This was interesting. She shifted back to look up at him again. Eli was watching her, a smile playing about his lips. “You do whatever you're going to do anyway, but you don't tell me about it. And in the meantime, we stop fighting whatever this is between us. Do we have a deal?”

It wasn't perfect. No emotions, no entanglements, no relationship, but it was better than nothing at all. Astrid smiled, and if her smile didn't reach her eyes, Eli didn't comment. “Deal.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The London Business Council did not suffer fools gladly, and their meeting room seemed designed to convey that impression as clearly as possible. As Eli took his seat at the long mahogany table, he scanned the dull beige wallpaper, the undecorated walls, the wooden mantel-clock that was the room's only concession to decor. They had been meeting in that same room for over five years. Had it always been so drab?

Having arrived a few minutes early, he was able to watch the other members of the LBC as they entered the room. He'd never noticed how sour they all looked: stern, lacking frivolity, unhappy in a way that seemed fashionable for men of his class. How interesting. Even Leandor Hollbrook, the council member closest to his own age and a casual friend for several years, wore a grave expression on his face as he settled down at the table next to Eli. Had something terrible happened, and he was the only person unaware?

When the evening began as normal, though, with its tedious review of the minutes from their last meeting, he realized there was no unusual bad news. This was just everyone's mood. Apparently they were always this unpleasant, and he was finally noticing it.

“That brings us to the update on the World's Fair.” The council chairman, Gowen Woodbridge, tapped his stack of papers to make them even. “The builders began construction last week, and the IFCT has scheduled their Judges' Viewing for next week on May 27th. I assume you'll all be participating in the Fair?”

Around him, men nodded solemnly, a few also murmuring assent. Woodbridge scratched his graying beard. “After some negotiations, the IFCT has agreed to give the London Business Council prime placement in the fairgrounds. As pillars of the business community, your participation is essential to the continued high standards of the World's Fair. We cannot let the Fair descend into a rabble of disreputable merchants and swindlers as it has in other countries.”

Around him, men nodded again, and Eli almost found himself going along with the crowd without thinking much of it. Then he paused, thinking of Astrid. Where would she fall on Woodbridge's continuum, the one with “pillars of the business community” on one end and “rabble of disreputable merchants and swindlers” on the other? He had a feeling he knew.

As if to confirm his assumptions, Woodbridge continued speaking. “We've enforced the mandate that all Fair participants must either be reputable businesses or sponsored by reputable businesses. Weed out the riff-raff.”

Eli held up a finger to catch Woodbridge's attention. The man stopped, eyebrows raised. “Yes, Eli?”

In all his time on the council, Eli rarely weighed in on the issues personally, but it felt imperative he speak up here. “I was curious about that mandate. Aren't you worried it excludes smaller businesses?”

Woodbridge blinked at him, as if unsure about the question. “Yes, I think that's the idea.” After giving Eli another confused look, he continued speaking about the Fair and their responsibilities as a liaison organization to the IFCT. Eli tuned him out, though, and sank into his own thoughts.

He liked Gowen Woodbridge. The man had been a mentor to him when he had first taken his father's seat on the LBC, had guided him through the turbulent first years after the Revolution. He led the council fairly and with an eye on the future. Yet now, Eli couldn't help remembering the times that Gowen persuaded them to vote against expanding membership, emphasizing how a small core of committed businessmen was better than a large, nebulous organization. It had seemed like the best idea at the time, but how many small businesses had lost the opportunity to join the council as a result of that decision? In fact, no new businesses had joined in the time Eli had been present. He'd taken his father's seat on the council nearly ten years earlier, and in those ten years, the membership had remained exactly the same.

When the meeting adjourned, Leandor pulled him aside, his eyebrows knit. The worried expression seemed at odds with his tousled black curls and youthful face, dark skin smooth and unlined. “What's gotten into you, mate? You were staring off into space for the whole last half of the meeting. Does this have anything to do with your top-secret World's Fair invention?” He smiled, but his smile was full of concern.

“Actually, yes. I have a lot on my mind lately.” He hesitated. How much should he tell Leandor exactly? They weren't that close, but he wanted to confide in someone.

Leandor read the tension in his expression. “Why don't we go grab a pint?”

A half hour later, they were sitting in the Brass Whistle, a pub mostly frequented by businessmen such as themselves. Eli stared down into his drink while Leandor shifted on the next stool. “So are you going to tell me what this is all about, or what? You were moping through the whole council meeting. I know the meetings are boring, but it was no different than usual.”

Eli took a gulp of the strong, hoppy beer and set it down on the counter. “Leandor, do you know any women business owners here in London?”

Leandor rubbed his smooth-shaven chin, puzzling, before his face broke in a smile. “You mean like a brothel?”

“No, not like a brothel. I mean other than that.”

“I dunno, let me think.” Leandor drank from his own pint while he did so, staring up at the brass piping that ran its way around the ceiling. “The bird I bring my sewing to, she's a woman.”

“And that's it? No others?”

“No, mate. It's not something women really do.”

Interesting. A month ago, he probably would have said the same thing. He stared down into his drink, the light brown froth on his beer clinging wetly to the glass as he took another sip. “I don't think that's it, Leandor. I think it's our fault. The council, and all that. I think we keep women from getting a foothold in business.”

“Is this about the World's Fair?” Leandor's brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out the situation. This conversation wasn't fair to him, really. He had no idea what was behind Eli's comments.

Eli set his beer back down on the bar and rubbed his hands across the tops of his thighs, preparing himself. “So, you know I'm entering the Fair.” Leandor nodded. “I'm not doing it alone, though. I've partnered up with Astrid Bailey.”

Leandor's blank stare revealed that the name was unfamiliar. Not a surprise. “She's a business owner, but she wasn't allowed to enter the Fair because she doesn't have a storefront. Not a ‘reputable business', they told her, without even knowing what she was selling.”

“So why doesn't she open up a storefront?”

“Money, mostly, I'm sure. She hasn't come right out and said it, but that's got to be why.” He took another swig of beer, leaning forward on the bar. Before meeting Astrid, he'd never considered his own privilege; he'd mostly thought about his difficult upbringing and how much he'd worked for his status.

Leandor rubbed his chin again. “Why are you partnering up with her? Why not enter on your own? You're going to have to split the prize money if you even win anything. Oh, are you fucking her? Is that what this is all about?”

Eli gave him a scathing look. Why was he even talking about any of this with Leandor, anyway? “Forget it.”

“Sorry. I was only cocking around. Didn't mean to strike a nerve.” Leandor looked into his own beer, temporarily subdued. After a moment, he looked back up at his friend. “Wait, are you in love with her?”

“Of course not.” Eli set his beer down with such force that it sloshed up on the sides of the glass. “I don't have time for any of that frivolity.”

Leandor shook his head. “Everybody needs somebody. You can't go your whole life as a bachelor. Who'd take over the business?”

Eli was beginning to regret this conversation. “It can't be Astrid.” Maybe he could marry someone quiet, someone who'd find him suitable, but he couldn't get tangled up with a firecracker like her. That sort of relationship had a shelf life, and it was just until she found someone better. Maybe she'd already found that person in Cecily. Eli felt his stomach give an unpleasant lurch.

“Oh, she's probably beneath you, yeah?” Leandor nodded shrewdly. “Can't get mixed up in that. You're an influential man in this town, but you can kiss the LBC goodbye if you go shacking up with some working-class doll in a short skirt.”

Eli stared, speechless, the thought having never even occurred to him. Did men really refuse women like Astrid because of class differences? Leandor's statement appalled him. Before he could express his disapproval, Leandor continued. “Listen, mate, you don't owe this girl anything. You're doing her a favor by sponsoring her. Don't let her manipulate you into anything else, like buying her a shop or paying her bills.”

Eli looked over at Leandor and tried to keep his anger in check. “Astrid hasn't asked for any of that. She wouldn't ask for anything like that. She's not that kind of person.”

“Well, then, if you're not in love with her and she's not asking you for anything, sounds like there's not a problem at all.” He patted Eli on the back. “You're doing enough. The World's Fair, that's top notch. You should feel good about that. Not everyone needs to be a council member, Eli. It's like Gowen said. We can't let just anyone in, or the whole organization is meaningless.”

Eli stared down into his beer again, not sure how to respond. Leandor didn't understand at all; he thought Eli was avoiding Astrid because she was a lower class than him. His earlier statement bothered Eli, though: the LBC was old-fashioned, yes, but was he jeopardizing his reputation by partnering with Astrid? Her felicitation devices were a lark, but harmless, and certainly not offensive. No, it wouldn't be a problem. He'd been a member of the LBC for a decade now and his reputation was solid.

Leandor moved on to another topic of conversation, but Eli lingered on his worries and had trouble listening. He couldn't help feeling he had made some terrible mistake somewhere along the way that was about to catch up with him.