Gentleman Sinner(96)
‘Theo.’ I pant, dropping from my elbows to my back, forcing my hands to remain by my sides. He’s going to have to restrain me soon. I can’t be held accountable for my hands, which are twitching, desperate to go on a feeling frenzy.
He nips at my neck and breaks away, pulling my jeans and knickers down my legs as he goes. He stands to the side of the bed and reaches for his tie. It gets yanked loose, his expression straight but hungry.
‘Tie me up,’ I demand, beginning to panic. I’m desperate, so happy to have him back. It’s making my control slip.
He pouts, shaking his head. ‘Not today.’
My buzzing form stills as he strips down, exposing his body in slow, torturous phases. His chest first, then his arms as he lets his shirt tumble to the floor. Then his thighs, drawing his trousers slowly down. Then his boxers, freeing his cock, the head visibly dripping with need. ‘Please,’ I beg, turning my head and looking away.
His hand quickly seizes my jaw and turns my face back towards him. ‘I want your undivided attention; do you hear me?’
‘You need to tie me up,’ I insist, slamming my fists into the mattress beside me in a temper. It’s either that or grab him. I can’t do that. I know I can’t do that.
‘I do not need to tie you up.’ He collects my hand and smacks it into his chest, releasing a mild exhale. The force behind his words doesn’t make me feel any better. He was telling himself. Not me. ‘This is yours. You touch it, feel it, kiss it. You do what the fucking hell you want with it.’
My wide eyes drop to my flattened palm on the centre of his chest. ‘Theo, don’t be a hero,’ I say, wondering what on earth has gotten into him.
‘I’m no hero, Izzy. I’m a damaged man.’ He begins to move my hand around in slow, precise circles, his muscles tensing beneath my touch. ‘But you can fix me.’ He drops to his knees on the bed, holding my hand in place. ‘I need you, Izzy. Please.’ He lowers and claims my lips softly, the feel of his warm, wet mouth relaxing me, wiping my mind of all protests. I keep my hand where it is, but I don’t move it. Not even when he spreads his body all over me, sliding his hand up my arm and linking his fingers with mine, squeezing reassurance into me.
His body on top of me forces me to move my hand from his chest, but it goes straight to the bed, and Theo circles his groin, pushing his cock into my thigh. I jolt beneath him, the hardness against my soft flesh feeling so good. So right. But my free hands feel so wrong. I’m not used to it. I thought I’d be unable to contain myself, would be feeling every exposed piece of him, but now that I have the opportunity, I’m too frightened. I try hard to focus on Theo, his mouth on mine, his tongue exploring softly. His body against me, his heat mixing with mine, his hard muscles pushing into my soft curves. My need for it all is there, but it’s being distorted by caution and a fear that I don’t have when I’m restrained.
‘Touch me,’ he demands. ‘Feel me. Izzy. Fix me.’ He pushes his forehead to mine, looking down at me with so much hope, I almost shatter under the pressure of it. Releasing my hand gently, he keeps his eyes on mine, leaving me with two free hands that he wants so badly on him. So steeling myself for the worst, I reluctantly bring my palms to his lower back, watching him carefully, keeping an eye out for any signs. He’s expecting my touch. This isn’t the problem. The problem is when he’s going to be swallowed up in me, distracted from everything except the pleasure he’s getting. I flex my fingers.
He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he smiles proudly and swoops in with a hungrier kiss, passionate and demanding. I’m absolutely lost in it from the second our lips connect, my hands going straight for his hair and gripping hard. He groans, he shifts, rubbing himself into me, and then his hips lift and he falls to my opening. I bite his lip, keeping it in my grip as he pulls away to look into my eyes. He exhales, swivels his hips, and plunges deeply into me with a groan. My muscles lock, and I cry out, my spine bowing, my head tossed back in ecstasy. He’s deep, so deep, stretching me beyond comprehension. ‘Breathe, Izzy,’ he orders gently, stilling, giving me time to get used to him. ‘Okay?’
I nod, bullying my lungs into compliance. ‘Okay.’ I unlock my muscles and melt back into the bed, flexing my hips a little in acceptance.
He hisses. His head drops. ‘Damn, woman, you feel too good to be true.’ An expert spin of his hips drives him deep, knocking my breathing to shit again. I move my hands to his shoulders and grab him. He flinches. He definitely flinches. But he continues to rock into me, his body hard, tense, and heavy. I purr, meeting every one of his advances, digging my nails into the damp skin of his shoulders. He begins to moan, his pace quickening. I can’t help but think he’s trying to get this done with as quickly as possible, like he’s in agony and ecstasy and he’s struggling with the conflicting feelings . . . which I know he is. I slide my hands down to his arse and grab it hard. He jumps, so much he nearly slips free of me.
No. This stops now.
‘I’m not doing this.’ I wriggle under him, removing my hold, being sure not to touch him. ‘Theo, get off.’
He moves like lightning, pulling out abruptly. It makes me wince and close my legs as I watch him pushing himself up on to his knees. I sit up, brushing my hair from my face. ‘I can do it,’ he insists. His stomach is creased with taut ripples that have nothing to do with the lack of fat on him. He’s strung like a threatened animal.