Page 24 of The Marquess Match (Love’s a Game #3)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
T he next time they met at the club, there was no pretense. No veiled glances. No lingering innuendo. Just the quiet, thrilling understanding that had built between them, simmering beneath the surface for far too long.
Ash watched her from across the room, the flickering candlelight playing over her features as she played faro, winning round after round with effortless grace. But she wasn’t looking at the cards. Not really. Every now and then, her gaze flicked to him—small, fleeting moments, but each one sent a pulse of heat through him.
And then, without a word, they left together.
Upstairs, the air between them was thick with expectation. As soon as the door shut behind them, she was in his arms, their bodies colliding with a force that had been held back for too long. Clare barely had time to gasp before Ash lifted her, carried her to the bed, and laid her down upon it. Firelight cast flickering shadows along the walls, painting her golden against the dark.
She arched a brow, breathless, teasing. “What took you so long?”
He locked the door with a soft click. “Two seconds is too long to be away from you.” His voice was low, roughened by the hunger that had haunted him all evening.
She reached for him, but he was already moving, lowering himself onto the mattress beside her. His heat seeped into her skin before his lips ever touched her, and when they finally did—when he kissed her—she melted into him as if she had been waiting for this moment forever.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more.
Ash could see it in the way her chest rose and fell too quickly, the way her pupils were blown wide with something wild. But before he could claim her, she did something unexpected.
Leaning back against the pillows, she trailed one delicate hand down her body, her fingers skimming the curve of her waist before slipping lower.
His pulse thundered.
“Teasing me, love?” His voice was nothing but gravel.
She met his gaze, her eyes dark with challenge. “Would you prefer I didn’t?”
His jaw clenched. God help him, but he had never been so desperate for a woman in his life.
With a sharp exhale, his hands went to the fall of his breeches, undoing the buttons with swift, impatient fingers. He was hard—achingly so—and the sight of her sprawled out before him, touching herself with unabashed confidence, made him throb with need.
Her moans filled the space between them, soft, breathless sounds that made his blood burn. When she reached for him, tugging him toward her, he didn’t hesitate.
With one smooth thrust, he slid inside her, and the world tilted.
She gasped, her nails digging into his back as he stretched her, filled her, consumed her completely.
His control was razor-thin, but he wanted to make this last. He set a slow, deliberate rhythm, rolling his hips to feel every bit of her, to make her feel every inch of him. Her body arched to meet him, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper, holding him in place as if she never wanted to let him go.
“Ash,” she gasped, her voice breaking on his name.
He groaned against her skin, his lips trailing from her neck to her collarbone before finding her breast. He took a nipple into his mouth, teasing with his tongue, and the sound she made nearly undid him.
She was close. He could feel it in the way her body clenched around him, the way her breathing grew more erratic. But she wanted more.
With a sudden shift, she pushed against his chest, flipping them so she was on top, straddling him.
His breath caught. He never let women take control. Not ever.
But Clare—Clare was different.
She was fire and recklessness and temptation wrapped in golden skin, and as she sank down onto him, slow and deliberate, he thought he might go mad.
His hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements as she rocked against him, setting a pace that was both torturous and perfect.
Then she smiled.
That did it.
With a growl, his fingers found the delicate bundle of nerves at her core. The moment he touched her, she gasped, her rhythm faltering.
“Oh,” she breathed, her head tilting back, pleasure washing over her features.
His smirk was pure sin. “You like that?”
“Yes,” she panted. “Please.”
“Please what?” His voice was dark, teasing.
“Please make me come.”
That was all it took. His fingers moved in slow, devastating circles, pushing her higher, closer—until, with a sharp cry, she shattered.
The sight of her unraveling, her body clenching around him, was his undoing. He flipped her onto her back, driving into her with deep, urgent strokes. She was still trembling from her release, her body pulsing around him, and as she gasped his name, he followed her over the edge, groaning his pleasure against her lips.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Clare lay tangled beneath him, her golden hair spread across the pillows, her skin warm, her body still humming with pleasure.
Ash exhaled slowly, his forehead resting against hers.
He had never felt so utterly spent. Never been so completely satisfied.
And he had never been more terrified.