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Suddenly he could stand it no longer. “I suppose Allsop shares your outlandish views?” he remarked and almost winced at the undeniable edge to his words. What had got into him? As a rule, he was easy-going to a fault. Everyone said so.

Dora turned her head on the chair-back to glance at him in surprise. “What makes you think that?” she asked, a pucker appearing between her brows. “Harold’s manner of dress is probably the most conventional in this house, apart from Hetty.” She seemed to consider. “I don’t think he holds any decided views on the matter.”

For some reason, this did calm him a little. “He doesn’t? Not even a view on his late cousin’s attire?” he asked. He was dismayed to hear his question sounded more like a jibe.

Dora’s eyebrows rose even further. “I do not recall him ever mentioning her manner of dress once,” she said slowly. “I have seen her photograph, for he keeps it in a leather-bound frame. In it she was dressed very simply in a sort of sprigged muslin.” She shrugged, shooting him a puzzled look and Clem felt suddenly a fool.

Why had he reacted like that? He was supposed to be putting distance between them, not strife! Every word she had said about Allsop made sense. He was the most strait-laced person in the household. He might be a musician, but he was no forward thinker or revolutionary.

Allsop wasn’t even a bohemian like Felix and Theo, not really. He was mild-mannered and rather dull. The most interesting thing about him was that he liked playing piano at The Eagle. Clem could not think for the life of him why such a man should have caught Dora’s fancy.

Perhaps it was being raised in a house by an eccentric uncle? She craved a little mediocrity in her life. No, that was not fair. He had to admit Allsop could write a catchy tune. Just because he did not like him, did not mean he was without talent. Maybe it was just sheer proximity. There had been no other males within her sphere after all.

It was only five minutes later when Dora said his name in a small voice. “Clem?”

“Yes?” His reply was far too keen.

“I would very much appreciate it if you would engage a seamstress on my behalf,” she said quietly. “In fact, I would love it. As for the fabrics …” Her gaze was steady. “I would dearly love that too.”

Unable to think of a reply, Clem gave her a nod. “Eat your sweets,” he said gruffly and tried to keep his eyes off her for the next couple of hours before they turned in. He failed, of course, miserably. Just as he failed to keep to his side of the bed once the candles were blown out. If she could only see his face in shadow, then maybe he could fool himself he was keeping to his resolve.

“Clem?” Dora whispered in his ear as he kissed down her throat. He made a discouraging noise in his throat. He didn’t want to talk to her. That way problems lay. He kept incriminating himself. “I’ve put my preventative in.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “You have?”

“Just on the off-chance you might want to ...”

He breathed noisily against her collar bone. “I do want to,” he admitted raspily.

“That’s good, then.” Feeling her wrap her arms about his back, Clem gave up all thought of resistance and gave in to his body’s needs to join with Dora’s. As the room was only dimly lit at this point by the glow of the fireplace, he felt free to indulge in his baser promptings. He was a little cruder, a little brusquer than he had let himself be with her before.

She did not seem to mind when he dragged her knee up high, opening her up to him so he could pet her there. “You’re nice and wet, Dora,” he said huskily after a couple of minutes. “How do you feel about trying a nice, fast fuck to take the edge off?”

“I’d like to try it, certainly.”

Something about her solemn reply made Clem’s lips twitch, but instead of laughing, he lowered his head and kissed her again, slow and unhurried, which did not really fit with his mood at all. Then he reached down and caught her other knee, dragging it up so she was fully open to him. “Tell me at any point if you want to slow things down,” he said before grabbing his cock and positioning himself to push inside her. Dora gave a little sob of pleasure when he started the slide inside, that had him instantly wanting more. “Is it good?” he asked. “Tell me.”

“Yes, yes it’s good,” she assured him breathlessly and it was at this point that Dora did the thing. The thing that Clem liked so much. Clem could never rationally explain why it had the effect on him that it did. She was likely only echoing his own preoccupation with her nape, but when she reached up and squeezed the back of his neck, Clem lost it, thrusting into her without restraint until he was buried up to the hilt in Dora’s sweet, tight pussy.

“Fuck,” he wheezed. He had meant to be less tender with her, it was true, but not fucking brutal. “Are you—?”

Dora moaned. “Clem,” she breathed. “Oh yes.”

He was lost. Dora arched her back, and took his thrusts, more than took, she met them, her own hips moving fretfully, emitting breathy sighs and gasps that somehow set his own chest burning. Feeling her hand, not only touch him there, but apply pressure? God alone knew why but it gave him a full body shiver and drew a groan out of him so loud it startled even him. “Yes, Dora,” he had panted.

She had gazed up at him with glazed eyes, but she did not remove her hand. Instead, she had tugged on him there, drawing his face down to hers. “Kiss me,” she had murmured simply, and Clem’s pulse had kicked in like she had asked for something far more exciting.

When she had tangled her tongue with his, he had groaned again. Jesus, what was wrong with him? His heart was pounding, and he felt almost breathless when the kiss ended. He even chased her lips for more, though his chest felt like it was bursting at this point, and he was panting from the effort.

“Do it again,” he wheezed as soon as he could bring his lips to leave hers. “Again,” he all but begged, though it brought him perilously close to the brink. She likely didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, he realized, but even as he opened his mouth to explain, he felt her fingers squeeze his neck and he had to grit his teeth against the pleasure.

Holy hell, the squeeze there, the squeeze on his cock, was she deliberately making them simultaneous? He was going to come. He wasn’t ready, he realized, not by a long shot. “Stop.” He had to force the words through his lips, and they weren’t convincing at all. “Jesus, Dora, I’ll spill.”

“Stop?” she asked. In the dim light he could just about make out her looking at him through her eyelashes. “Are you sure?”

Christ, the quirk of her lips—they looked swollen and kissable. He wanted to kiss her, he wanted to come, he wanted … her? The thought had him blinking. She was his anyway, what did it matter? His thoughts were stuttering, disjointed. He couldn’t focus, not when she had him bound so tight in pleasure.

“Because,” she interrupted, drawing the word out teasingly, “you really don’t look sure …” He saw she was going to do it, the instant before she did it.