Page 89 of Love & Notes

Her whole body shudders against me, a sharp cry echoing as her climax violently rips through her. She clenches viciously around my hand, shuddering again and again as the waves crash over her. I don’t stop. I hold her through every single pulse, my mouth pressed to her throat, drinking in the undone sounds of her until she finally slumps on the piano, entirely undone.

For a long time, the only sound in the massive library is the ragged sound of our breathing.

My hand slowly slips from beneath her dress. I lift her off the piano lid and pull her flush against me, wrapping both arms around her, burying my face in the crook of her neck.

My cock is throbbing so intensely against my trousers it’s actual agony, but I don’t care. Holding her like this—completely unraveled in my arms—is a high I never want to come down from.

She lets out a long sigh against my neck, her hands resting softly on my shoulders. It feels like the most honest thing she has ever given me.

I press a slow, deep kiss to her hair.

“Come with me,” I whisper. “I can’t do half the things I want to do to you in here or on this piano.”

Ellise pulls back an inch, her ocean-blue eyes, clear and utterly present as she stares up at me.

“And what’s that, Thorne?” she smirks.

I lean down, my mouth brushing the shell of her ear as I tell her exactly what I’m going to do.

30

Ellise

The endless corridors of the Thorne estate are lined with artwork that deserves to be studied, but I can’t focus on a single piece of it.

My mind is hazy in a way that has nothing to do with the two glasses of champagne I had earlier, and everything to do with the man walking ahead of me. His fingers are linked firmly with mine, leading me deeper into the manor. He knows exactly where he is going and exactly what he wants to do.

Holy shit.

I let him lead me.

If I’m being honest with myself, I’m not sure what I expected when I got in his car tonight. I think I expected to survive the gala, to smile politely at high-society snobs, stay by his side, and then go back to Belrose.

I did not expect this.

I did not expect Julian Thorne’s hand wrapped tightly around mine, carrying a bottle of chilled champagne and two crystal flutes dangling by their stems from his other hand, walking down a corridor to what I can only imagine is his bedroom.

I guess I won’t be going home tonight.

His dark hair falls carelessly over his forehead, his shirt unbuttoned—the bow tie long gone. He looks devastatingly handsome.

My feet, on the other hand, are destroying me. Four-inch stilettos seemed like a brilliant decision earlier this evening. But now, after what can only be described as a thorough athletic warm-up against a grand piano, the balls of them are throbbing with a relentless, sharp pain.

To make matters worse, my hypermobility is finally catching up on me. The adrenaline that kept my joints composed all night is rapidly wearing off, leaving a dull, sickening ache in my shoulders and knees.

“I need to take these off,” I say, slowing my pace and looking down. “My feet are killing me.”

“Nope.” Julian passes me the bottle of champagne and both flutes without breaking stride. “Hold these, Bow-Peep.”

Before I can process what he is doing, my feet leave the Persian runner entirely. In one swift, effortless motion, he scoops me up into his arms, one arm anchored under my knees, the other sweeping across my back to hold me flush against his chest.

I gasp, hooking my free arm around his neck as the crystal flutes clink softly in my hand. I look at him, instantly getting lost in the dark, heavy warmth of his eyes.

“That’s better.” He smiles. “Now I can see you properly."

I decide very quickly that I am in a significant amount of trouble.

In fact, to put it plainly: I am well and truly screwed.