The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(88)

“Yes.”

He forgot to be her captor for a moment, laughing as he walked with her to his bed. She could remember a time when his laughter had been rare. That was no longer the case. But a moment later, the laughter faded as he looked at her. Without warning, he tossed her to land in the center of his bed.

When she gasped, he raised a brow at her and began stripping off his clothing. She’d seen his chest before, but that made it no less exciting now. She would likely always be awed by Fallon and what he kept hidden beneath those dark-gray ensembles. He kicked off his boots. Then with his hand paused at the top button of the fall of his breeches, he looked at her. “There’s no going back from this point.”

“I don’t want to go back, Fallon,” she confirmed, understanding fully his meaning. “And anyway,” she added, “I made a bargain with a wicked gentleman, and now I must pay the price.”

“You’re perfect,” he whispered almost to himself before shifting his attention to the buttons of his breeches.

“You’d best set the poor townsfolk free, unharmed, for what I’m pay…ing…” She was staring. She’d been taught that it wasn’t nice to stare, but how could she not? He was all lean muscle with dark hair accenting his chest and tapering down to trim hips. “You’re quite handsome you know…and…that.” She gawked at the length of him, protruding in front of his powerful thighs. “I know the overall idea here, and you’re large. You’re going to—”

“Shh, I don’t believe you’re supposed to find your captor handsome,” he said, stepping closer to her as he rounded the bed.

“I find it quite helpful, actually.”

“What a difficult prisoner you are.” He grabbed her ankle, dragging her closer as he crawled onto the bed.

She slid her hands up his arms to his shoulders, then down the planes of his chest, and around to glide down his back. Looking up into his eyes, she was caught in an instant by the emotion she saw shining in his gaze. She couldn’t look away. And in that instant she knew—as much as he joked that she was his prisoner, he was just as much hers. Then his lips were on hers and she was melting beneath him.

His arms were braced around her in support of his weight, keeping space between them. But she wanted more. She wanted it all. She loved him. He trailed his lips over the line of her jaw, and she pressed her heels into the bed and squirmed closer to him. Arching off the bed, she pressed her body against his, loving the abrasion of his rough skin against hers.

Sensing her impatience, he shifted his weight and slid his hand down her belly, pressing his palm down against her body. He slipped two fingers farther down in some form of delicious torture. She writhed beneath his touch, wanting everything yet struggling to remain still to receive it. Then he dipped his fingers into her as he had last night, and her head fell back on the bed. “Fallon…” she breathed his name.

“Look at me,” he murmured, and she opened her eyes.

It was growing rather dark in the room, but she could still see the care and concern for her in his eyes. His gaze was precious and tender. She couldn’t look away. Her heart pounded in her ears.

He slid his hand around to her hip. She knew what was next, and she wanted it now. She wanted to embrace everything that made this man who he was. She wanted this. Gripping his back on either side of his spine, she tipped her hips up toward him.

He gave her a cautious smile just as he plunged into her. Her body stretched to receive him, and she stared up into his eyes. All at once, she had both a feeling of complete wholeness and the need for more. A second later the look of concern on his face passed and he pulled back to drive into her again. Only this time was different, and a new tension began to build within her. Each time he pushed into her, he brought her closer to the tipping point.

Shifting to his knees, he pulled her with him, still keeping the steady rhythm against her body. But now he moved his hands up her abdomen, pausing to gently pinch the sensitive peaks of her breasts. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. Somehow, even without words, he knew exactly what she needed, and she loved him all the more for it.

Then sliding his hands down her belly, still moving against her, he held her hip with one hand and touched her core with the other. She couldn’t endure much more, but she wanted to more than she could say. She reached out and grasped the bedclothes for purchase, needing to hold on to something or fall into oblivion forever. Then he began to stroke her with his fingers, coaxing her closer and closer until she cried out. Every muscle in her body clenched around him, as if trying to hold on to him just a bit longer before she was reduced to a shaking heap of body parts beneath him.

“Fallon, you—” she began. But he was already moving again, pulling her back up the steady incline with him.

“I’m not done with you,” he murmured.

She could sense an even higher point nearing ever closer on the horizon. Fallon was pure intensity. She’d seen the look in his eyes before, dark and needful, but this was far greater. She wanted to help him as he always did her, but she wasn’t certain how. All she knew was she wanted more of him, every secret and every hidden thought, forever.

Placing her hands over his where they were splayed out over her hips, she curled her fingers around his. She met his gaze without wavering.

He increased his pace, driving into her with abandon. She braced herself against him, wanting to go with him wherever he went. A moment later he pulled her close as their bodies pulsed together in unison, murmuring, “Isabelle, my sweet, beautiful Isabelle.”