Kissed at Midnight

by Holt, Samantha

  Tugging his necktie completely away, he set to work on his waistcoat buttons. They seem to have shrunk in size and were now the smallest buttons known to man. Not only that but his fingers were now like that of a giant’s and he had all the grace of a donkey.

  After interminable hours of fighting with his waistcoat, he turned his attention to his shirt. He hissed and cursed and grumbled, eliciting laughs from Ivy as he pulled off his cufflinks and set to work on the pearl buttons on his shirt.

  “Let me,” she said, pushing up from the bed but he motioned her back down. He wanted her bare to him, laid out against the sheets like that for as long as he could have her. For too many nights he’d been imagining as much.

  “I can manage.”

  Gripping the fabric, he wrenched his shirt apart. Ivy gasped and buttons pinged everywhere, even bouncing onto her body and landing on her stomach. August wasted no time removing his trousers and socks before coming onto the bed next to her.

  Her gaze roved over him, a gleam in her eyes. She reached out to touch his chest, the movement inquisitive. Her cool fingers winnowed through his chest hair and he closed his eyes to savour the touch before desire carried him away again.

  And it would. Only Ivy seemed to break through his control. He skimmed his finger down her body, tracing the rise of her breasts and the indent of her waist until he came upon the tiny pearl button that had landed on her. He picked it up and she laughed.

  “How are we to explain away all these buttons in the room?”

  “I suppose we shall have to hunt high and low for them.” He kissed her shoulder. “I must warn you, Ivy. I can’t seem to control myself around you.”

  “I like it,” she said. “But I must warn you. I have little idea what I’m doing.”

  “Just do what feels right.”

  He took the button and drew the smooth edge over her belly, placing it into her bellybutton and admiring the sight. “You look like a woman from some exotic country.”

  “I feel exotic,” she replied on a sigh, glancing down. “Especially when you... when you kissed me there.”

  August lifted the pearl out of the indent of her navel and brought it up over her nipples, playing around and around them. “What about when I touch you here?”

  “Oh yes. More,” she said.

  More. She wanted more. And bloody hell would he give it to her. He couldn’t deny her a thing, not even his control. He let the button roll down her breast and flicked it aside. This time he used his finger to tease her nipples before leaning over and drawing the tight nub into his mouth. She rose up to meet him and he used the opportunity to hook an arm beneath her.

  He took the time to nibble lightly on her nipples and down each peak, gauging her reactions. They were all favourable. She didn’t hide her reactions, didn’t try to act prim and proper. His Ivy was so open.

  Then he used his free hand to slip between her legs. She was still wet and so ready. Her eyes grew wide when he touched her sensitive flesh and she gripped his arms. He waited for it—the no, the shake of the head, the flutter of panic across her face, but it didn’t come. Instead she lifted her hips and begged him with her eyes to press into her.

  First one finger, then two. He drew in a sharp breath through his teeth and used his mouth on her to tease and kiss her until she shuddered. It was hard to believe she was letting him do this, hard to believe he was the first. Though she was so tight and warm. He couldn’t wait to be inside her.

  Ivy brushed her hands over his shoulders. His muscles seemed to rise to meet her touch, undulating with each sweep. August had no control over his response and his cock throbbed impatiently.

  “Touch me,” she begged, voice thin and wanting.

  “I am.”

  “More.”

  More. Again more. How like Ivy to demand everything from life. There would be no second best for her and he was determined to make this a moment to remember. He worked his fingers deeper, moving with long strokes. Her hands wriggled downwards, grazing the top of his rear. God, to feel those nails digging into him. Just the image was enough to have him having to draw in a breath to control himself.

  He continued to press into her, deeper and faster until something caught him off guard. Fingertips. Then a hand. Dear God, she had grasped his erection. His tempo faltered and he even let his fingers slip from her, selfish cad that he was, to wrap his hand over her and show her how to pleasure him.

  “Ivy,” he ground out as it all became too much. He was too hot and hard for the light touch of her fingers. Too likely to shame himself. Where was his control when he needed it?

  She unfurled her fingers from around him and her hands came back to his shoulders to urge him on. She widened her legs.

  An invitation. And, by God, he was going to take it. He would make Ivy Davis his. Right now, she was nothing but a flesh and blood woman and he a man with burning desire running through his veins. There were no distinctions in rank, employment or upbringing.

  He settled between her legs and pressed an errant curl from her face. “Tell me if it hurts.”

  She nodded.

  Propped on his hands, he eased his hips forwards until he felt the touch of her warmth. His arms juddered with restraint and he felt himself scowl. She must have seen it too as she touched a finger to his brow.

  “Take me, August.”

  She wanted this as badly as he did. It was enough to have him pressing into her, not even an inch at a time. Hot, tight and unbearably welcoming. He moved another fraction deeper and Ivy gasped but her hands slipped down and gripped his buttocks. He met her gaze and saw it as he slid home—the look he’d been fearing and wanting all at the same time.

  This was not desire. Not sex. This was more. More.

  Perhaps he’d always known. Perhaps that was what had kept him fighting her. For him, he was always going to fall for Ivy Davis. He’d want to make her his and keep her forever. It couldn’t happen and that was why he had fought.

  August held his position for several breaths and felt the tension leave her body. When he slid forwards, she cried out but he knew the sound to be pleasure. It was the same for him. The friction was unbearable in some respects but he wanted it to go on forever. He could lose himself to Ivy so easily.

  They moved together, finding an easy rhythm. He couldn’t help but watch her expression as he drove her closer and closer. Putting his weight on one elbow, he slipped a hand between them and rubbed a thumb over her folds. Ivy’s nails dug into his skin and he buried his head in her hair, drawing in the violet scent of her. Here, buried amongst the softness of her locks and in her sweet body, he would happily remain if she’d let him.

  She unravelled quickly. It started with shaking limbs and small cries and ended with his name on her lips and her body stiffening then giving way. He no longer held back and thrust into her with relish until the pleasure burned through his body. Eyes clenched shut, he thrust one last time and withdrew to spill upon her thigh. He groaned and milked himself while she swept her hands up and down his back.

  When his breathing had steadied and the world was coming back to him in small parts, he pulled open his eyes to find her beaming at him. His heart did a spasm. Hell, even his stomach did a jolt. Bedding Ivy Davis had likely been a mistake but it was the best mistake of his life.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Easing open the door to the study, Ivy paused in the doorway, hand to the wooden frame. August sat in repose, a whisky in hand, his necktie and waistcoat undone. Two lamps were lit—one on the table and one on the bureau behind him, casting him in a flickering light that highlighted the slight bump in his nose and made his skin so beautifully touchable looking. He made her mouth dry and her heart thunder.

  That was until she noted the lines in his brow were etched deeper today. He stared at the amber liquid, occasionally tilting the glass so the drink coated the inside of it before tilting it back again. She wasn’t sure he’d even heard her enter.

  “What’s the matter?” she
asked softly, wary of startling him and feeling a little like she was creeping up on a sleeping lion.

  He lifted his gaze to hers. She observed the heavy rise and fall of his shoulders as he took a deep breath. Those large, capable fingers stretched out and pressed a newspaper over the desk towards her. She peered at it for a few moments before stepping forwards and scanning the text. She stole a peek at August once more and understood his dire mood.

  The article was disparaging—about him and his work. Indignant anger rose up inside her and she curled her fingers inwards until her nails bit into her hands. How dare they suggest his work was folly? How dare they think he didn’t care for his workers? If anyone cared about those men, it was August. She had seen his grief after the tunnel collapse. Whoever had written this article—she glanced at the name—had been looking to create a stir rather than print the truth. She was sorely tempted to hunt down this Mr Knightsbridge and give him a piece of her mind.

  Instead she tamped down her anger and came to stand in front of August. Taking the whisky from his limp fingers, she pushed aside some letters to place it on the desk. Then she wrapped her hands around his head, burrowing her fingers through his thick hair in an attempt to soothe away the turmoil she knew would be plaguing him. If she had learned anything about this man, it was his tendency to brood. Perhaps he wouldn’t tell her everything he was thinking, but she knew him well enough to understand. August’s work meant everything to him and for someone to have torn apart his life’s work would eat deep inside him.

  He expelled a heavy breath and one hand came to her hip. Then the other followed suit. He leaned forwards and pressed his head to her stomach. For many moments they remained like that, Ivy stroking his hair in a way similar to how she sometimes soothed Elsie.

  “We are days from finishing and still the newspapers are not satisfied.”

  Unable to think of comforting words, she simply held him to her. She drew in the scent of him that mingled with the slight must of books and wood. It was like an aphrodisiac to her. Her breasts grew heavy and aching, her body longed for his touch. She almost felt herself unfurl towards him as if every part of her was trying to reach him, like a flower stretching towards the sun.

  But she brushed aside her needs. For now, it was about August. She might have come into this job for her own needs—to ensure she had a place to sleep and coin in her pocket—but it had become so much more. August and Elsie had become so much more. If she let herself, a heavy weight might threaten to send her heart plummeting to her toes when she thought of leaving them, but those were selfish thoughts and she wouldn’t let them overtake her. They needed her for the moment and she would take those few moments happily. And when her career took off, she would remember them fondly.

  She would remember them always.

  With his forehead pressed against her, she continued to plough her fingers through his hair, creating little furrows in the curls. She did it over and over until his shoulders softened and his head grew heavy against her.

  When he lifted his head and his shocking blue eyes met hers, her stomach threatened to flip over and never right itself. Each part of her body reacted with utter excitement. Nerve endings tingled, skin prickled, blood heated. Would she always feel this way about him? She suspected yes. Never had a man stirred so much feeling within her with just one look.

  And the haunted cast to those eyes made her want to stay forever and ensure that he never felt this way again. But for the moment all she could do was remove it temporarily.

  “Where is Elsie?” he asked.

  “Asleep. It’s nine o’clock.”

  Both his brows rose in surprise.

  “You missed dinner.”

  “My apologies,” he said quietly.

  She shook her head and smiled away the apology. Silly man, thinking she would care about one missed dinner. All she cared about now was him. He shouldn’t have been brooding away, keeping all his woes on those great shoulders of his. As great as they were, they were never intended to take all of the problems of the world upon them. Ivy wanted to help bear that burden.

  Fingers still in his hair, she tilted his head enough so that she could press a gentle kiss to his lips. His grip on her hips tightened and he drew her close enough so that her knees touched his.

  “God, I need you, Ivy,” he groaned, the words gritty and urgent.

  I need you too, she meant to reply but the words were trapped in a tight throat. To be so wanted, so desired... Regret sat deep in her stomach that she would one day have to say goodbye to it. For once in her life, words didn’t spill from her so instead she tried to show him with actions.

  Ivy straddled him, her chemise riding up her bare thighs. August’s hands came down to touch her legs and he smoothed his hands up and down them, his head tilted back as he released a groan. She eyed the cords of his neck flexing and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. The desert that counted for her mouth now watered and she leaned into him to press kisses to his neck. Bristle teased her lips and she relished it, sweeping her lips back and forth over the roughness.

  As she settled on his lap, his arousal pressed against her and he snuck his hands up under the cotton of her nightgown to grip her bottom. A satisfied rumble came from him at the feel of her bare skin while he let her continue to kiss his neck. Remembering how he had once done the same to her, she nipped at his earlobe and breathed into the shell of his ear. A shudder wracked his large body.

  Then his hands were on her back and her skin pricked from head to toe. The rough warmth made her want to lean back into his hands and let him take care of her, but she was meant to be taking care of him. So she slid farther forwards until her sex was notched against the hardness she felt there.

  While he skimmed his hands up and down her back, she set to work on the buttons of his shirt until there was enough space for her to press her palms into the fabric to feel the taut muscles and crisp hair.

  “Ivy, I need you now.”

  He locked gazes with her, his expression so intense that all the air seemed to vanish from the room. Nothing existed but August and the desire that swirled around them like a tempest. It surprised her that the books and papers did not lift from the shelves and surround them in their own personal storm, such was the strength of emotion and need between them.

  Swallowing the heavy knot in her throat, she nodded and shifted enough to be able to undo his trousers and free him from his undergarments. He was hot and heavy in her hand and as much as she would have liked to have enjoyed him, she couldn’t wait and neither could he if his tight grip and the sharp inhale were anything to go by.

  His hands came back to her hips and helped her ease him into her. Ivy gasped at the first invasion and her blood seemed to have been lit by a fuse. Fire flared all along her until she could wait no longer and she sank down in one smooth motion.

  Their collective intake of breath resounded through the small study. Ivy placed her hands to his shoulders and did as her body begged her—she rose and fell against him, creating the most beautiful friction.

  August’s lips were on her collarbone, gently at first and then he was nipping at her neck and the rise of her breasts. Her nipples ached and she rubbed them across his chest in a bid to defeat the frustration. However, one of his hands came away from her hip to tug down her chemise and before long his hot mouth was upon the peaks, teasing and drawing them into his mouth. She moved faster, harder.

  Her legs were tiring, her calves burning, and August must have sensed it as he slipped his hands underneath her thighs and positioned her so that her legs hung over his arms. Her weight was supported with his hands locked around her and she clung to his neck. It brought him impossibly deep and she was at his mercy. He pounded into her with such desperation, it had her making nonsensical noises as pleasure of the most extreme kind rolled through her over and over. The dam of ecstasy broke in one bone-shattering moment and all she could do was hold onto him and let it overtake her.

  At some point, she en
ded up laid out on the oriental rug near the desk. All she could see was walnut table legs and then August looming over her, glorious in his nakedness. Every part of him was hard with scattered dark hair. She longed to run her hands up his rough, muscled legs and taste him from head to toe but her mind still whirled from her orgasm. He settled between her legs and joined them once more.

  This time he was slow, tender. He secured his gaze on hers and pressed unsteady kisses to her lips. His muscles bunched under her palms and with a groan, he spilled onto her stomach.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Oh, August.”

  He lifted his head from the crook her neck and propped himself up on both arms to view her. “I like it when you say my name like that, my sweets.”

  Ivy released a satisfied smile. She knew it was a satisfied one as she felt it slide across her lips a bit like after she’d just consumed several chocolates. Except August was so much better than chocolate.

  She reached up to stroke his cheek. “Do you feel better now?”

  He chuckled and she noted the lines in his face had softened. “I do. How do you do that? You’re a miracle worker, Ivy. What would I do without you?”

  Her heart turned to stone at his words. A great heavy lump of nothing but hurt. Soon, he would be doing without her. And no doubt he would move on and find a beautiful wife to look after himself and Elsie. He wanted her gone, surely? Or else he would not press her to continue singing. But while she longed so badly to sing, the vision of her future was muddied. Because she could not tell where her passion truly lay anymore. With singing or with August?

  ***

  August traced the tiny bumps of her spine, up and down like piano keys. “Sing to me,” he said.

  She twisted her head on the pillow and smiled. “I’ve been singing all month. Why, you even had me sing in front of Mrs Cartwright and Tilly. Surely you’re tiring of my voice?”

  “Never.” He skimmed a finger over her bare back and down to the dip above her rear that was just covered by her chemise that had been lazily flung over them both. Firelight flickered over her skin, casting it in gold. A temptation to be sure. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of her. Not of her voice or her body or her company.