Page 48 of Forever Her Bachelor

Dear Kitten,

Your last letter moved me so much that it has me wishing for something more, but I do not know what.

Yours,

Chauncey (The Assistant)

Every part of St. Clara’s body was on fire, shaking with need. Begging to be inside of what he was sure was the sweetest part of Pippa Price.

One more day.

One more fucking day.

He repeated the words over in his mind, but his body craved her with a hunger St. Clara had never known. In less than one day, he was marrying the woman who had once been his dream and reality. She would be lucky if he did not wake her at the crack of dawn to make the last push to Gretna Green and march her over to the famous blacksmith’s lodgings that many couples before them had gone to.

The further away they were from London, the more desperate St. Clara became to marry her. He was vastly aware that it was only circumstance that had led them back to each other, but he did not care. He wanted her to be his in every way imaginable. It wasn’t only her body he wanted; St. Clara also wanted her intelligence, determination, and kindness.

Their marriage would accomplish two things for St. Clara. One, it would allow him access to his inheritance, giving him the ability to finally pay Reaper. Two, he would have one year to convince Pippa to stay with him forever.

She was refreshing, a breath of air that he needed in the clouded haze that was his life. He’d take her for as long as she would have him, and if that was only a year, it would be the best year of his life.

St. Clara wanted to do the most mundane, ridiculous things with her like he had when they were younger. Watch her work in her laboratory, sit beside her as she read a book. He wanted to do everything with her, and it didn’t have to involve nudity. Though he would particularly enjoy that part of their year together.

He warred within himself to stop the madness of ravishing her before their wedding night, but there was no controlling himself when she fit so perfectly under him, like she was always meant to be there.

Pulling the thin linen of her night clothes ever so slowly up her body, he revealed her legs one glorious, lush inch at a time. Fingers grazed her bare thigh, and he felt her skin pebble under his touch.

Slanting his mouth over hers, he claimed her eagerly, wanting to possess every inch of her. The kiss was wild, causing him to emit a sound between a growl and a groan. He was no longer a cultured duke, but an animal in need of his prey.

Through his lust-filled haze, St. Clara gripped the material of her night dress in his quivering hand once more. “I need tosee all of you, Kitten,” he pleaded against her addictive mouth, feeling her nod of assent, giving him the permission he so desperately wanted.

Ending the kiss, he shifted his body weight to the side. Like a man possessed, he turned his full attention to her, taking her in greedily. Continuing his mission to relieve her of the offending garment, he slowly pulled the fabric up, desperate to view her without impediments.

His gaze travelled up the length of her body, which was still partly covered. Delicate ankles, athletic legs, and lush thighs all led to a tempting thatch of dark-brown hair. The dark curls of her sex called to him as the fabric glided against her soft abdomen. Swallowing, St. Clara held his breath as her full, heavy breasts emerged, round and supple. He licked his dry lips as her dusky nipples begged for his mouth to suck and tease.

Slipping her night rail over her head as carefully as he could, he tried not to behave like an eager lad. Yet St. Clara flung it over his shoulder not caring where it landed. It was no longer a barrier between him and what he wanted most in that moment.

Bloody hell.

Greedily, his gaze traveled up and down her naked body, committing every dip and curve to memory. He had never seen her in such a state. Needy and bare. She was a breathtaking sight that he would never forget as long as he lived. If he was to only have a year, this moment would last him a lifetime.

Hazel eyes filled with desire met his gaze as her delicate fingers teased the thin hairs on his chest through the opening of his shirt. His cock jerked, wanting to feel her touch as well.

St. Clara was out of control, his mind wandering to all the things he wanted to do to her … with her. Unable to calm himself, his body vibrated, nearly shaking with the force of his passion. He had never been so aware of a lover; it was she whodrove him so mad that he was close to committing himself into an asylum.

Unable to stop from touching her a second longer, St. Clara crushed his mouth to hers again, his hands freely caressing her soft, pliant skin. Each touch burned his own hand as he grazed the side of her breast with his fingertips before kneading the plush mound in his large hand. Her answering quake from his touch showed him she was just as lost to the madness of their mania as he was.

Clinging to his shirt, she looked up at him with lust-filled eyes, the fire in them threatened to unman him completely. “I want to feel all of you,” she said, lifting the fabric of his shirt, her hands finding a home on his abdomen.

Giving her plump, pink lips one last kiss, St. Clara rose, wrenching his shirt over his head, flinging it into the abyss like her night dress. His breeches remained on, knowing that if he lost the last barrier between them, he would surely take her before their nuptials. Although he was confident that they would marry the next day, St. Clara did not want to dishonor her by taking her before she was officially his bride.

“Can I not see you as you’ve seen me?” she asked so sweetly that he dared not deny her, as Pippa’s hands reached for the placket of his breeches.

He groaned at her eagerness. “Kitten, if you see all of me, I can promise you that you will not be a maiden on our wedding day.”

Movement on Pippa’s stomach caught his attention. Her hands were sliding down her creamy abdomen. His mouth watered, watching the trajectory of her hands as they traveled lower and lower.God, what he wouldn’t give to see her pleasure herself.

“Have you ever touched yourself, Kitten?” he asked, leaning down to brush his lips against her soft cheek.