Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(47)
“I need a word with Francesca,” Ian said to Gerard with a note of finality.
Gerard’s jaw tightened. “Very well,” he said coolly when Francesca didn’t protest. He turned and left them. Ian didn’t look at her, just stared toward the Great Hall. It took her a moment to realize he was waiting for Gerard’s footsteps to fade. She could hardly tell when they finally did disappear, because her heart had started to beat so loudly in her ears.
She knew what usually happened when Ian’s eyes became fire and ice at once. He firmed his hold on her hand and pulled her behind him into the hall. She could have refused to go with him.
She could have, but she didn’t.
Chapter Six
She followed him, struggling to keep up with his long-legged stride in her heels. He opened a paneled door that Francesca knew led to an area Anne had called the reception room when she’d given her the tour, a formal, gilded room that Anne said she rarely ever used anymore. She thought he’d pause in the empty room, but instead he continued walking purposefully straight through the room to another door.
“Ian,” she called from behind him, her breath coming erratically. But he didn’t turn, just opened the door and pulled her after him. They were in a short, dark corridor. She followed him down it. He opened another door and turned on a light, prompting Francesca to pass before him. This wasn’t a room Anne had shown her, Francesca realized. She had a brief impression of a long, narrow mudroom with locked gun racks on the wall, dozens of coats hung on hooks, a giant Chinese urn filled with umbrellas, assorted Wellington and snow boots lining the wall, and an oversized washer and dryer. Two worn upholstered chairs that had probably once adorned a great room faced each other, placed there for convenience, Francesca supposed, for people to sit and put on or take off boots before walking or hunting on the grounds.
She spun around when she heard Ian shut the door with a thud. Blood roared in her ears when she heard the snick of the lock.
“What are you doing?” she asked when he came toward her.
“You asked me this morning if I’d been with another since we’d been apart and I told you no. Can you say the same to me?” he demanded coldly.
“I don’t owe you any explanations for my behavior for the last six months, Ian,” she grated out, infuriated by his manner, but inexplicably excited as well.
“Are you sleeping with my cousin?” he shot out, stepping closer. She backed up until her bottom ran into the edge of the washer.
“No. But even if I was, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”
“Do you want to f*ck him?” he asked crudely. “Because he obviously wants it. Rumor has it he’s a good lover. Do you figure he’d do the trick for you?”
She slapped his cheek. Hard. She’d never hit anybody before. It felt fantastic . . . and yet she’d never hated her loss of control more. Her flash of aggression barely seemed to penetrate Ian’s consciousness.
He opened his hand along her jaw and tilted up her face. “Francesca?” His voice was quieter this time, but it was still an order for her to respond. He pressed nearer still, until their fronts were plastered together, her breasts heaving against his jacket-covered ribs, the fullness behind his fly becoming increasingly more obvious against her belly. It felt so good, so elementally right, that for a moment she couldn’t focus on what he was asking her.
“Answer me.”
“No I don’t want to f*ck Gerard, damn it,” she spat, so angry that it was true, furious that she couldn’t find some way to sever this throbbing cord of connection she felt to Ian. His gaze ran over her face hungrily. She found herself straining toward him, her teeth bared. Her feelings were so confused in that volatile moment, she honestly couldn’t say if she wanted to kiss him or bite at him like an animal and draw blood. His eyelids narrowed. He frightened her a little bit at that moment. She wasn’t the only one about to lose control.
“Go on,” he said.
She blinked at his low taunt and felt his erection swell against her. Her heartbeat roared in her ears.
“Take a bite, Francesca.”
He barely got out her name before she put her hand on the back of his head and pushed him to her, her mouth molding his roughly, her teeth scraping his lower lip as she sucked the captive flesh, her tongue licking and plunging and seeking. It was an angry consumption more than a kiss, and one he didn’t allow to be one-sided for long. Within seconds he leaned down over her, forcing her back to arch, the barrier of their clothing feeling both insubstantial against their mingling heat and pressing bodies, and also unbearably intrusive. God, she needed to feel his naked body against hers, needed to be filled by him . . . absolutely required him to prove he was there with her in that moment in the most primal way possible.
She lost all sense of time or place as he kissed her with a hunger that matched her own. His hand firmed on her jaw and he sealed the kiss, backing up a few inches when she craned toward him. She met his blazing stare.
“Do you want me to ask you permission to bend you over and f*ck you hard, or do you just want me to do it?” he rasped. She whimpered when she realized he’d plunged his hand below her neckline and was extricating a breast from the confines of her demi-bra. He lifted it above the edge of the neckline. She felt his cock leap next to her belly as he stared down at the exposed flesh, the vulnerable, tender nipple. Before she could draw a full breath, he leaned down and sucked the nipple between his lips. She squealed at the abrupt, delicious sensation of him drawing on her greedily. Her hips thrashed against him, grinding against his erection. By the time her nipple popped out of his suctioning, hot mouth, it was hard and pebbled and reddened.