Page 17 of Promised to the Heir

Jeremy answers.

Not with words.

His mouth comes back to mine, firmer now, the kiss opening as he moves, a slow answering rhythm that meets mine instead of taking over. The first glide of it pulls a broken sound from my throat, surprise and something else tangled together, and I feel it echo through him.

There.

That.

My body reacts before my mind can catch up, a soft, helpless shift beneath him that has him tightening his grip on me, his hands sliding from my face to my hips, holding me as I move again.

Each motion changes it. Builds it.

The warmth low in my belly spreads, curling outward, upward, threading through me until it’s not just there anymore but everywhere, catching in my chest, in my throat, in the way my breath won’t steady no matter how hard I try.

His mouth never leaves mine.

The kiss deepens with it, not rushed, not forced, just… there, matching me, following every small movement like he feels it too. I taste him again, warmer now, and I lean into it, chasing that connection as much as the feeling building inside me.

“Jeremy…” His name slips out against his mouth, barely more than a breath.

His answer is a low sound, felt more than heard, and then he moves again, and⁠—

Everything tightens.

Draws.

That coil inside me pulls so hard it almost hurts, my body going still for a fraction of a second before it breaks.

The release hits in a rush, rolling through me in waves that steal the breath from my lungs, my fingers digging into him as I cling to something solid while everything else slips. My head falls back, the world narrowing to sensation, to the way it pulses through me, over and over, until I can’t tell where it starts or ends.

Somewhere close, Jeremy’s breath turns rough, his hold on me tightening as he follows, his body tensing against mine, a low, broken sound leaving him as he goes with me over that same edge.

He follows me over it, his breath breaking, his body tightening against mine, the movement of him echoing through me as the waves keep rolling.

The waves ease slowly, leaving me trembling beneath him, my breath uneven, my body still humming with it as I come back piece by piece. My hands loosen where they hold him, but I don’t let go, not yet, not when he’s still there, still pressed close, still exactly where I need him to be.

CHAPTER 9

Clara

The sound of running water pulls me from sleep. My muscles protest when I stretch, and every inch of me remembers why. The ache is deep and satisfying, a pleasant thrum that rolls through my body like the afterglow of a vigorous workout.

Jeremy Weston, the unflappable, unstoppable man of iron, thrown clean off his game by a simple truth. The look on his face when he realized—god, if I could bottle that. For a heartbeat, I thought he might actually apologize. Then the shock burned off, and he looked at me like a man discovering a secret he intended to worship, not regret.

Before I can wonder more about giving my virginity to Jeremy Weston, the bathroom door opens. Steam drifts out first, followed by the man himself. He’s naked except for a towel slung low on his hips. Drops of water slide down his chest and gather at the edge of the fabric. He doesn’t hurry. His steps are measured, sure, like gravity itself is working in his favor.

Sunlight from the partly open curtains cuts across his broad and sculpted chest. A fine trail of hair runs down his abdomen, drawing my gaze lower before I can stop it. I know what’s hiding behind that cloth and what it can do with a woman. I suppress a moan and lick my lips.

“My eyes are up here.”

I jerk my head up. “I wasn’t⁠—”

The corner of his mouth lifts but his gaze softens. “You were.”

The tease fades as our eyes hold. Something pulls tight between us, making my nipples pebble and my core soften. Despite the ache between my legs, I want him again.

“I think you’re not ready for round two,” he says as if he’s reading my thoughts.