Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(30)
* * *
They spent a pleasant, relaxing Christmas Eve together. Nevertheless, Francesca was aware of a sore spot in the vicinity of her heart, a raw, abraded place. It was more difficult than she’d realized, sitting there in Ian’s favorite room, surrounded by Ian’s relatives on such a special holiday . . . without Ian.
Her loneliness seemed to swell inside her chest as Gerard escorted her up the stairs at the end of the night. He caught her hand and steadied her when she faltered on the top stair.
“Too much of Mrs. Hanson’s punch?” he asked, smiling.
“No, that’s not it. I’ve just grown out of the habit of wearing heels.”
“Not standard apparel for an artist, I expect.”
“Hardly,” she said, highly conscious of the fact that he kept her hand in his. The domed, high-ceilinged hallway was cloaked in shadow. Her heart started to beat uncomfortably fast as they neared her room.
“This is me,” she said, nodding toward the door. Still, he didn’t release her. He stepped closer. She kept her gaze trained on his crisp white dress shirt.
“Francesca?”
“Yes?”
“It’s past midnight. Merry Christmas.”
She looked up to return the greeting. He covered her mouth with his, coaxing her lips to part for his tongue. For a second, she allowed it. Perhaps she was curious. Maybe she was a sad, lonely woman who desperately wanted to feel connected to another human being in the once-in-a-lifetime way she’d connected to Ian.
His arms came around her and his kiss deepened.
A chill went through her when she realized she was thinking of him as the equivalent of a sex toy. He was a human being, not a convenient object to feed an insatiable, unquenchable desire.
She broke the kiss and pushed against his chest. He didn’t immediately release her.
“What’s wrong?” he rasped. His mouth moved along her neck persuasively, his hands tightening at her waist.
“Gerard, let go. It’s not right. I don’t want to,” she said quietly.
He lifted his head and looked down at her in the dim light. “Francesca—I know you must think this is odd, what with my being Ian’s cousin. I’ve thought about it, too.”
“You have?” she asked uncertainly.
“Of course. Ian is like a brother to me. Do you worry he’d be upset with us? Feel betrayed?”
“Why should he feel betrayed?” she asked irritably, her teeth set on edge. “He’s the one who left.”
“I agree.”
She blinked at his steadfast reply and was once again caught by his stare. Her cheeks flushed. “It’d just be wrong.”
He studied her for an uncomfortable moment, seeming to read her face. Slowly, he released her.
“I disagree,” he said gruffly. “I think it’d be amazing. I’m not going to tiptoe around the fact that I want you. I might in these circumstances, with a different woman . . . with a less intense attraction, but I won’t with you. The other night, you said the timing wasn’t right. I want you to know I’ll be there when the timing is right.”
She inhaled, feeling that scored area in her chest. “It never will be right. To be honest, I’m ashamed to say that the only reason I allowed that just now is because you remind me of him a little. You’re part of his family.” She shrugged helplessly. “Maybe I just wanted to feel like I belonged to all of that.”
“You do belong. Any stranger could have seen that if they were watching the four of us tonight. Ian won’t always stand between us,” Gerard said firmly when she didn’t respond. “He abandoned you, Francesca.” He touched her cheek with skimming fingertips.
“Do you think I don’t know that?” she asked bitterly, jerking her chin and halting his touch.
“I see he left quite a collar on you,” he said, his fingertips lowering to her throat where he caressed both her skin and the pearl choker Ian had given her. “But I’m persistent. I’ll break it.”
“Good night, Gerard,” she muttered in a strangled voice, turning away from his touch and opening her door. She refused to look up as she shut it, but she knew he was still standing there, his gaze boring into the door.
* * *
He watched her get into bed wearing not a stitch of clothes, pale limbs gleaming in the golden light of the lamp, full breasts heaving although her cheeks were dry. She was clearly upset, but forcing herself not to cry, tamping down her anguish. Her body had clearly been trained for pleasure. She struggled to exist without it, he realized as she reached for her *, her actions striking him as arousing despite the almost angry quality of her masturbation . . . maybe because of her focused fury. She hated this obsession, this absolute necessity to feel.
All the better for him.
He could tell by the way she almost immediately plunged her finger into her vagina that she needed to be filled. She craved, but when would she succumb to her hunger? He unfastened his trousers and reached for his cock, his eyes glued to his computer screen.
He paused with his hand wrapped around his throbbing erection when she frantically finger-f*cked her * and used her thumb to stridently massage her clit. At the same time, she put one wrist above her head and fixed it to the pillow. Her back arched, the display of her plump, round breasts making his mouth go dry. Her face tightened in a poignant expression of thwarted desire and acute frustration.