CHAPTER 114: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN

Carcel lifted her from the desk. He didn’t let her adjust her dress. He didn’t let her cover the creamy expanse of her chest or the bare skin of her thighs. He held her against him, her legs wrapped around his waist, as he carried her back across the room to the Chesterfield sofa.

He set her down, but not on the cushions. He placed her feet on the rug.

He sat down on the edge of the sofa, his legs spread wide, his elbows resting on his knees. He looked up at her. She stood before him, a disheveled vision in a servant’s gray wool, her hair a wild mane, her lips red and swollen from his kisses.

"You asked for fairness," he murmured, his voice a low, dark rumble that seemed to vibrate in the floorboards. "You asked what I wanted."

Ines nodded, her breath hitching. She felt small standing there, yet incredibly powerful. She saw the way his eyes devoured her.

"Kneel," he whispered.

Ines sank to her knees on the rug. The wool of her dress pooled around her. She was now eye-level with his waist. She looked at him, waiting, her hands resting nervously on his thighs.

Carcel reached for the waistband of his trousers. He was already undone, the buttons torn from their earlier, frantic entanglement. He pushed the fabric down, freeing himself completely.

He was still very hard. He was heavy. He was pulsing with a need that he had held back for weeks.

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Ines’s ear. His hand was trembling just slightly.

"You did well last time," he said, his voice thick. He was remembering the library. The way she had looked at him with such innocent curiosity. The way she had tasted him. "You were... enthusiastic. So, you should be able to do it again. But this time... for me."

He placed his hands on her shoulders, guiding her forward.

"Take me," he whispered.

Ines didn’t hesitate. She remembered the taste of him. She remembered the texture. She leaned forward. Her breath ghosted over him, hot and quick.

She opened her mouth and took his length in.

Carcel groaned. His head fell back against the sofa cushions. His hands left her shoulders and tangled in her hair, gripping the silky strands.

"Ines..." he breathed.

She moved her head, finding a rhythm. It was easier this time. She knew the shape of him. She used her tongue, swirling it the way he had done to her, testing, teasing. She felt him twitch against her lips. She felt the power she had over him.

Carcel looked down. Through the haze of pleasure, he watched her.

He saw the top of her reddish-brown head moving in his lap. He saw the gray bodice of the dress, still open, revealing the soft, pale curve of her breasts swaying with her movements.

But her hands... her hands were resting idly on his thighs.

He frowned. That wasn’t enough. He wanted her to be as lost as he was. He wanted her to be burning.

He reached down. He grabbed her right hand—the one resting on his knee.

Ines paused, pulling back slightly, looking up at him with questioning eyes. Her lips were wet.

"Don’t stop," Carcel commanded, his voice strained.

He guided her hand away from his leg. He moved it down, between their bodies. He moved it to the hem of her dress, which was bunched at her waist.

He pressed her hand against her own center.

"Don’t stop with your hand, Ines," he rasped. "Apply what I taught you."

Ines blinked. Do both?

"Touch yourself," he ordered gently. "While you taste me. I want to see it. I want to see you feel it."

Ines swallowed hard. It felt impossible. It felt like rubbing her stomach and patting her head, but infinitely more scandalous.

But she obeyed. He was her master for this night and also her lover.

She slid her hand between her legs. She was already slick, wet from their earlier activities on the desk. She found her rhythm. She began to rub, circling the sensitive nub, applying the pressure he had shown her.

At the same time, she leaned forward again. She took him back into her mouth.

The sensation was overwhelming. It was a closed loop of pleasure. Every time she sucked him, she felt a jolt in her own body. Every time she touched herself, she felt the urge to take him deeper.

Carcel watched.

He drew his head back, taking one sharp, hissing breath through his teeth.

The sight was destroying him.

Ines, on her knees in a maid’s dress. Her mouth working on him with a sweet, desperate dedication. Her hand moving between her legs, her fingers busy, her hips rocking slightly to meet her own touch.

She was making small, muffled sounds against him. Sounds of pleasure. Sounds of effort.

"Yes," Carcel groaned. "Just like that. Good girl. Look at you."

He reached down with one hand. He couldn’t just watch. He needed to touch. He cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over the nipple that was peaking in the cool air.

Ines continued fingering herself while sucking him. Her mind was fracturing. The pleasure was building too fast. The dual sensation—mouth and hand, giving and receiving—was too much. She felt herself climbing toward the edge again.

Carcel felt it, too. He felt the tightening of her mouth. He felt the way her breathing hitched.

And he felt his own control snap.

He couldn’t sit there. He couldn’t just receive. He needed to be in her. He needed to be the one to push her over the edge.

"Ines," he growled. "Stop."

She pulled back, confused, dazed. "Carcel?"

"I can’t," he panted. "I can’t control myself anymore. I need you. Now."

He stood up, pulling her up with him. He turned her around.

"Bend over," he whispered, his voice rough.

He guided her to lean over the armrest of the sofa. The leather was cool against her stomach. The position left her completely exposed to him. Her gray skirts were hiked up to her waist. Her legs were spread.

She looked back at him over her shoulder, her eyes dark with desire.

Carcel stepped up behind her.

He didn’t wait. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh.

He guided himself to her entrance. He was wet from her mouth. She was wet from her own hand.

He pushed in.

One long, smooth, powerful thrust.

"Oh!" Ines cried out, her head falling forward onto the sofa cushion.

He filled her completely. He was deep. Deeper than before.

Carcel groaned, resting his forehead against her back for a second, savoring the feeling of being home.

Then, he began to move.

He pulled back and drove in again. The angle was perfect. It hit a spot deep inside her that made her vision blur.

He reached around her.

His hands found her breasts. They were swaying with the force of his thrusts. He cupped them, holding their weight, his thumbs teasing her nipples.

"Carcel!" she screamed, her voice muffled by the sofa.

"I have you," he growled in her ear. "I have you, Ines."

He caressed her breast, pinching the nipple lightly, while his hips slammed into hers. It was like the rhythm of the ocean he had promised to take her to.

They rode the wave of pleasure together.

Ines was no longer thinking. She was just feeling. The friction. The heat. The weight of him behind her. The way his hands claimed her body.

She felt the tension coil tight in her belly.

"Carcel," she panted. "I’m close. I’m... I’m..."

"Go," he commanded, his voice a ragged shout. "Go, Ines."

He thrust harder, faster, chasing his own release.

Ines shattered.

Her body convulsed around him, clamping down, milking him. She cried out, a long, high, keen of pure ecstasy.

Feeling her release, feeling her walls tighten around him, Carcel let go.

He drove into her one last time, burying himself to the hilt.

He groaned, a loud, guttural sound of triumph and surrender. He spilled himself on the floor, his body shaking with the force of it, pouring everything he had.

They stayed there for a long time. Carcel slumped over her back, his face buried in her neck, his arms holding her up as her legs gave way.