The Golden Spider (The Elemental Web Chronicles Book 1) (28 page)

She swallowed hard, willing the two men to walk away.

“We should go back, search the powerhouse again, top to bottom,” one watchman grumbled.

Several heavy, clattering thuds sounded.

“Trysting lovers aren’t worth the effort,” snorted the other watchman. “‘Sides, you’ve got their boots now. Sell ‘em. We’ll split the profit. Take the silk stockings home to the wife. Maybe she’ll let you back in her bed.”

“They pay us to keep people out, Bill.” There was no humor in the voice belonging to the first watchman. “We should go back. Meet up with Jack.”

Bill sighed heavily. “Do what you want, Joe. I’m for my break.” His footsteps faded away.

Joe hesitated, but moments later, the metal door clanged shut behind him. Presumably, he headed back to the powerhouse. And to look for Jack.

“Don’t move,” Thornton whispered. “We’ll give Joe a few minutes. If he continues on, we grab our boots and make an escape.”

His warm breath against her bare neck sent shivers running down her spine. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the thud of his heart. The press of his leather trousers against her through the thin satin of her skirt. She could feel every molded contour.

He was aroused. Impressively so.

Despite his words, despite his impassive face, here was the evidence he wanted her. That their kiss had not been a fleeting interest. The thought lit a fire in her blood. She could feel the heat of it now, rushing to the surface of her skin. Their predicament had put her exactly where she had so longed to be. She shifted, pushing backward against the hard column that pressed against her lower back.

“Amanda.” He growled a low warning, the vibration against her neck sent a tingle of electric webs across her skin. Every nerve was on edge now, screaming to feel the brush of his skin against hers.

Hardly believing she dared, she rolled her hips suggestively, invitingly, and his erection pulsed against her. At last the advantage fell to her.

The fingers of his free hand dug into her hip, holding her motionless. “I won’t take what belongs to another man,” he warned.

She tipped her head back against his shoulder, looking up into his dark eyes. “I’m not his,” she whispered. “Nor is there any…‌ agreement.”

“I’m not looking for a wife.”

She dragged her lips across the rough stubble of his jaw. A thrill shot through her. “Noted.”

Distant footsteps sounded on the factory floor.

They froze.

~~~

The footsteps faded away once more, but still his heart pounded, propelling the liquid fire that was his blood everywhere except into his brain. He could no longer remember why, exactly, he’d been so intent on pushing Amanda away. Perhaps it was time to return the favor and give her a small taste of the flames she ignited in his veins.

He bent forward, dipping his head to her jaw, her neck, her throat, tasting her soft skin‌—‌and was rewarded with a soft gasp. He scraped his teeth gently over her shoulder, nipping lightly, and she shuddered in his arms.

Hot desire pulled in his groin. With one arm, he held her tightly against him, careful to keep the gypsy coins still and silent. He had no interest in discovery. “We could go now,” he said softly, then nibbled her earlobe.

“Go?” She sounded confused.

“Back to the cart.” He kissed his way along her jawline, then pulled back. “Is that a no?”

She whimpered.

“Amanda?” He wanted to hear her say it.

“Yes. No.” She gripped his arm, the one that bound her to him, and gasped out, “We should stay…‌ a bit longer.”

The answer he wanted. His mouth stretched into a grin against her skin, a grin that was a touch feral. “Very well.”

His free hand smoothed over the sinuous curve of her hip, upward across the smooth, bare skin of her stomach. Upward over the brocade of her vest, to slide beneath it, his palm cupping the full heaviness of her soft breast. Beneath the thin cotton of her shirt, her nipple was already pebbled with anticipation, waiting impatiently. He rolled the taut peak between his thumb and forefinger and was rewarded by the buck of her hips against his.

He pushed back, his groin hot and hard with lust.

She threw her head backward onto his shoulder, turning her face into his neck. “God, don’t stop,” she breathed.

He had no intention of stopping, not yet, not until he made her as wild as he felt. As his fingers pinched and tugged, he bent his head and covered her mouth with his, urging her lips apart, sweeping his tongue inside. She answered every stroke with one of her own.

Her hips rocked with increasing insistence, pushing against his throbbing erection, driving him slowly mad. He could feel her restlessness building, her hips moving in that primitive, urgent rhythm driven by biological instinct to seek fulfillment and relief. He knew, if he reached beneath her skirts, he’d find her hot and slick and ready.

His own body begged for release, and the large spool of cable wire before him beckoned. He wanted to bend her over it, lift her skirts and sink into her wet heat. But reason intruded, and he kept his desire firmly in check. Amanda was likely an innocent, and this was neither the time, nor the place.

Still, he could show her all-consuming desire. Even if it meant pushing the limits of his own control to the breaking point. He could make her come.

He pulled away from her demanding lips and looked at her. The pulse at her throat raced, her breath came in pants, her eyes were heavy with desire. Slowly, he slid his hand downward, splaying his fingers across her bare abdomen before hooking a finger under the edge of her belt, tugging a suggestion. “Do you want me to stop? Or do you want more?”

Her arms reached upward, hands threading fingers into his hair, and she breathed, “More.”

His cock throbbed against the leather of his trousers. Blood pounded in his ears. He took a deep breath and, focusing only on the woman in his arms, slid his hand beneath the loose belt, her scarf, the waistband of her skirt, nearly losing all control when he discovered nothing but bare skin. His fingers brushed lightly over downy hair, dipping deeper to find her swollen and wet.

~~~

She jerked in shock and mewled in pleasure as his fingers touched her core, where she was damp with pulsing need. He answered with a low hum of appreciation, his fingers setting up a slow, tortuous exploration of her folds. Circling, pressing, but never quite touching where she most wanted, needed the pressure.

She wanted to scream her frustration. Instead she ground backward against his erection.

He groaned and his teeth came down on her throat, scraping a warning. She gripped his hair in her fists, holding his hot, wet mouth pressed against her neck where it worked its magic. Kissing. Nibbling. Sucking. Sending new waves of heat between her legs where his fingers never stopped moving, addling her mind with desire.

Her heart hammered in her chest. His breath came in ragged, hot pants beside her ear. His leg pushed forward between hers, forcing her thighs apart, spreading her open to him. His fingers dragged mercilessly across her wet crease. She flexed and twisted her hips, demanding more, but he held her tight, continuing to explore her swollen folds.

Sweet torment.

If not for the threat of the watchman, she would twist around, work the buttons at his waist until the hot length of him fell free in her hands. Drag him to the cold, stone floor. Though a virgin, primitive instinct ruled. She was desperate to feel him inside her.

As if he could read her mind, a finger slid deep inside her and she turned her face toward his neck, stifling a moan.

“Hush,” he whispered in warning. “Or I’ll be forced to stop.”

He wouldn’t dare.

She bit down on his throat, suppressing a feral scream.

Two fingers plunged inside her. Withdrew. And plunged again. Over and over as the base of his palm ground against her clitoris, her frantically bucking hips urging him on.

Her nails dug into the corded muscle of his neck as need grew. Muscles inside tightened about his fingers, seeking more pressure, straining for something just out of reach. She fought the urge to scream that built in her throat.

“Stop fighting it and let go.” His low voice rumbled in her ear. Then his fingers thrust deep, his thumb pressed against her throbbing center, and his mouth covered her own, smothering her cry as her body shuddered and arched against his, clenching, pulsing as millions of tiny explosions shattered inside her.

Never had she ever experienced anything quite like this.

His arms shifted, holding her tight and safe as the tremors of bliss subsided, as the blood rushing through her body gradually slowed, leaving her limp and drained. He held her, pressing a kiss to her hair even as his own heart still pounded against her back, as the hard length of his desire still throbbed against her hip, but he made no move to sate his own needs.

What had just happened
?

Embarrassed by her wanton, wild behavior, she didn’t dare move. Dear God, she’d moaned and writhed and cried out as he touched her in ways no man ever had, dragging forth a pleasure so intense she’d cried out even under the threat of discovery. How could she ever look him in the eye again? Hold a rational conversation in his presence?

Overhead, rain began to drum on the windows, echoing her own growing distress. She listened as the rain outside gathered strength. Wind began to encourage the drops that fell, hurling them like sharp needles against the windows, against the skylight.

“No shame,” he whispered into her hair as if reading her mind. “What we shared was amazing.” Amanda flushed. She hadn’t noticed much reciprocity. He continued, “If we didn’t need to leave, and soon, I’d be tempted to repeat my performance.”

Humiliation burned in her cheeks. She had no reply. She’d wanted this, asked for it, and it seemed he’d enjoyed it as well. But her heart was behaving in a most ungoverned manner, yearning for the man who held her. He made her feel alive. Physically. Mentally. Yet he would never be hers. He’d said as much.

This encounter might be all they ever shared. Was it enough?

Not nearly.

So for now, she would take anything and everything he was willing to give. For as long as he was willing.

His arms loosened as he whispered, “We should go now.”

She didn’t want to leave this moment behind, but it was time to venture out into the cold and wet of the dark night, out of the circle of his warmth. It was time to face what waited for them both outside. Responsibilities. Expectations.

“We should,” she agreed, pulling away, moving as quickly as her unsteady legs would toward the exit.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

T
HORNTON SAT IN HIS
office, listening to yet one more student try to explain why his case deserved special consideration.

God, he hated office hours.

And today’s session was the worst. “No, Mr. Button,” he said, cutting the man off mid-sentence. “I will not issue a reexamination. If you wish to raise your grade, I suggest you apply yourself more to your studies and less to your antics in the dissection room.” The boy’s mouth fell open. “Yes, Mr. Button. I am well aware of the reasons you and your friends spend such long hours with the cadavers. While there are no specific prohibitions against posing with dead bodies for the camera, I can assure you that the board of trustees is not at all pleased at the distribution of such images and is reconsidering your continued presence at this school.”

The student, pale and shaking, jumped from the stiff-backed chair Thornton reluctantly provided for such student-centered encounters. “Sorry, my lord. I…‌ we…‌ it won’t happen again.”

“Good.”

Mr. Button rushed from the room. Dare he hope that was the last of them?

Thornton closed his eyes and let his head fall into his hands. His headache pounded like a steam-driven piston against his skull. He’d barely slept last night. Instead, he’d lain there, aroused and frustrated until he’d at last taken matters into his own hands.

He wanted her.

If he were honest with himself, he’d wanted her since that first anatomy lecture. Certainly she’d registered as beautiful, as interested‌—‌her eyes had followed him as if he were something to be devoured‌—‌but her piercing insight into nerve conduction made her a woman to be pursued. He’d told himself he wanted her only for her mind, but that was a lie. He wanted her body and soul.

And she wanted him.

Watching her sit beside Sommersby in today’s lecture‌—‌smiling at the man’s comments, responding politely‌—‌all the while refusing to make eye contact with him had been nothing short of torture. Thornton wanted her to look up and see the heat in his eyes, see that he was remembering how he held her in his arms last night, making her writhe and twist and buck with pleasure and, at last, come with such force that even now he swelled at the memory. He wanted her complete and undivided attention.

Her continued proximity to Sommersby‌—‌to any male that expressed interest‌—‌set his teeth on edge.

When no further students entered, Thornton picked up the pile of correspondence he’d dragged with him from his townhome this morning. Invitations to balls, garden parties‌—‌and yes‌—‌even a tea, he threw in the bin. Then, recognizing Mother’s loud, looping letters, he almost sent her missive behind the others, unopened.