Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(38)
“You have never once lowered yourself,” he rasped, grabbing her hips, his fingers sinking into firm buttocks, moving her. She gasped and clamped her eyes closed. “Look at me,” he said harshly. She reluctantly opened her eyes. “You have only raised me. I know I don’t deserve you, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t burn for you. That I didn’t. Every minute of every day.”
She moaned and placed her hands on his shoulders. Despite meeting his stare for a moment, she kept her eyes closed as she began to f*ck him, the tight, fluid roll of her hips leaving him gasping. She hopped in his lap, breasts bouncing, clearly needing the frantic joining he also craved. Their flesh beat together quicker and quicker. He studied her face in the firelight, sensing her wild desperation.
He tightened his hold on her hips and stilled her in his lap. Her eyelids blinked open heavily. He held her stare as he put his hand between her thighs.
“No,” she whispered, even though she bucked her hips forward, bumping her damp outer tissues against his knuckles as his finger burrowed between her labia.
“I don’t like to see you suffering,” he murmured. “You need to come. You need relief.”
He placed one hand at the base of her spine, his other between her humid thighs. He flicked and pressed her clit with the ridge of his forefinger, slightly pressing her body against the pressure from the back in order to increase her pleasure. He watched with a tight focus as every muscle in her sleek body tightened. He saw the flush on her chest and cheeks deepen, felt her slight tremors as she crested.
Her cry as she succumbed struck him as poignant. Sad. So beautiful it hurt. He nursed her through her climax, his cock throbbing in her convulsing vagina. It was too much to bear, but he forced himself to exist in the flames, not wanting the moment to end.
He couldn’t survive that way forever, though. No man could. He leaned forward slightly at the same moment he pushed her back, so that her upper body was bent back between his spread thighs at an upward angle, her hair falling behind her, her weight supported by his spread hands on her back. He began to f*ck her in that position, using his pumping arms to control the motion. His gaze moved hungrily over her perspiration-glazed, naked torso, her beautiful breasts trembling every time he thrust high into her, a tiny cry popping out of her throat as they slammed together.
He slid one hand up her back to her shoulder, using his hold to support her better and to optimize the thrusts of her * down on his cock. His groans twined with the muted keening sound she made. The friction was intense. Optimal. His flexed biceps felt like they’d pop out of his skin, he abused them so hard, never letting up an ounce on the tension, but he didn’t care. The pleasure far outstripped the discomfort.
Desire rode him like a slashing rider, but he grimaced when he saw she’d closed her eyes again, blocking herself from him. He realized too late that instinct had taken hold. He was controlling their lovemaking, f*cking her ruthlessly.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, the fist of passion gripping at his throat, making him sound strangled. He would stop, though. He would, if she said the word. “Do you want to finish it?” he asked even as he thrust her up and down again and again on his voracious cock.
She clamped her eyes tighter and shook her head. A moment later, he felt a rush of heat around him. She was coming. He plunged her down on him and flexed his hips, sinking his cock to the hilt.
He let heaven fall. It crashed down like knives, spikes of pleasure ripping through him.
He pulled her against him while he still ejaculated inside her, hugging her to him desperately, breathing the scent of her release, moving her sweet body over him in a sublime dance he dreaded coming to an end.
* * *
She kept her eyes closed as she panted with her face pressed against his neck, filling herself with his scent. She wondered dazedly if she was trying to blind herself to the vision of him, or if she was childishly shutting her eyes in an attempt to hide her own treachery from herself. His hands moved, stroking her sides and back, his touch somehow soothing her and making misery rise at once. When mounting confusion and shame reached her throat, she held down a groan. She lifted herself off him, wincing at the abrupt extraction of his still firm, warm flesh from her body.
She didn’t know if she was glad or anxious that he didn’t speak as she stood and hurried into her robe.
“I have promised to paint Belford Hall for Anne and James,” she said in a thick voice as she tied her robe rapidly.
“Yes. Grandmother told me,” he said.
She glanced at him and impatiently ripped through the unsecure knot she’d just made and refastened the robe. He hadn’t moved since she’d crawled off him, she realized with rising discomfort. He just sat there, looking devastatingly beautiful with his dark hair mussed, his tuxedo pants down around his thighs and his glistening penis falling against the stark white of his dress shirt at a slanted angle. Her fingers shook as she jerked at the belt of her robe too tightly.
“I was planning on doing the sketches while I’m here. If you plan to stay, however, I’ll come back another time,” she said, determinedly meeting his stare. His blue eyes glittered in the flickering light of the dying fire.
“You won’t leave Belford,” he stated flatly. “Not now.”
“Well one of us has got to,” she said, anger edging her tone at his finality. Not anger at him, for once. At herself. She couldn’t believe what she’d just done. He had made her a stranger to herself.