Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(37)
His research into Trevor Gaines’s sordid past would just have to be put on hold for the time being. Francesca didn’t want him near her, but he’d have to contrive a way to manage it until his fear was calmed.
Again, her image rose to taunt him, the remembered sensation of holding her slender body while they danced, of touching the silk of her skin, a torture he eagerly sought. She looked more beautiful to him than she ever had, but he didn’t kid himself that she hadn’t also shown the signs of suffering. Her muscles had felt rigid with tension beneath his hand while they danced. Her face looked drawn and there were pale purple shadows beneath her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping. He wasn’t surprised, but seeing her pain firsthand was yet another festering wound.
A muted sound penetrated his thoughts and he opened his eyes.
Francesca walked toward him, her loose, long, rose-gold hair glowing subtly like dying embers against the ivory robe she wore. Had his desire been so sharp he’d called her to him? For a spellbound moment as she drew nearer, he didn’t know if he slept or dreamed. Was he more intoxicated than he’d realized? She stopped in front of his bent knees, her face sublimely lovely, her expression inscrutable. He didn’t move a muscle, frightened he’d shatter the spell. He caught a whiff of her scent, of her hair. Her body. No, she’s not a dream.
“I see you couldn’t sleep, either,” she said.
“I never even tried.”
His fingers unfurled when she put her hand on the snifter he held. She set it on the table.
“I’m not doing this because I forgive you,” she said, her large doe eyes gleaming in the firelight, her voice a smoky caress against his roughened skin.
“I never expected forgiveness.”
“Maybe that’s why you haven’t apologized.”
He watched, enthralled as she shrugged off the robe and let it drop heedlessly to the floor. She was naked beneath it, her skin a pale gold in the firelight. For a moment, she just stood there, studying his face as he worshipped her beauty.
“Have you been with others? Since you left me?”
He looked up at her question, meeting her stare full on without reluctance.
“No.”
For a moment, her gaze moved over his face. Then she straddled him and settled, her weight in his lap making his lungs burn. He inhaled sharply, realizing he’d been holding his breath, and her scent fully pervaded his awareness: the achingly familiar scent of her perfume, her skin . . . her arousal.
He closed his eyes when she encircled his neck with her arms, buried her face against his neck and shoulder, pressed her lips to his neck and ground her * against his cock, her actions single-minded . . . electrical. Need clawed at him from inside, the pain of it impossible to control. His hands absorbed the softness of her skin. For a second, he just sat there, rigid, an animal straining silently—furiously—at fraying bonds. She shifted. Desire ripped through flesh and bone, exploding to the surface. His fingers furrowed in the hair at her nape. He clutched and pulled, forcing her head back, exposing her white throat and lush, parted lips.
He kissed her. It was like going from cruel impoverishment to indecent wealth in five seconds flat.
For an indeterminable length of time, he ravished her, unable to get enough of her singular taste and soft moans, becoming fevered by the fire he felt rising beneath the surface of her skin and penetrating from her * to his cock. He molded her curving hips to his palms, the once familiar, erotic fit maddening him. He used his hold to ground her down in his lap, their harsh moans mingling in their fused mouths.
“No,” she said harshly when he began to move her off his lap in order to lay her on the couch. He was consumed by the idea of taking her, fusing with her, perhaps afraid that if he waited too long, this unlikely moment would pass. He saw the glint of determination in her firelit, dewy eyes. “I will stay on top.”
For a moment, he didn’t move, absorbing her meaning. His nostrils flared as a flash of . . . not anger, precisely, but frustration went through him. They had made love countless times, but never with Francesca in the position of control. But still . . . he understood her point.
He had lost her trust. She would fight against surrendering control again. He must tread carefully, or she would flee.
“All right,” he said quietly.
There was a trace of defiance in her expression as she held his stare and scooted back on his thighs. They both unfastened his pants, their movements increasingly frantic. Ian grew hastier when she left the mechanics to him and cupped her hand around his cock through the fabric of his pants, making jacking motions up and down the shaft.
He hissed at the sensation of her hand enclosing the naked skin a moment later. She rose over him. The sensation of her wet, clinging flesh gloving the tip of his cock was divine, the feeling of burrowing into her warm, tight body sacred. Once she sat in his lap, and he struggled to reaccustom himself to the nirvana of being buried in her, she cupped his head in her hands, her thumbs caressing his face.
“You still want me.”
He blinked, shock penetrating his lust at her fiercely uttered words.
“Do you think I ever stopped?” he demanded through a clenched jaw incredulously. “Do you think I ever could?”
She shook her head and he saw a tear glistening on her cheek. “I don’t know what I think, except I hate you for making me do this.” He felt her shudder all the way at the core of her body where he was lodged. “I hate you for making me need you so much that I’d lower myself to this.”