Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(55)

“Oh . . . Ian,” she moaned shakily after he’d sucked on her for a minute or so, her muscles tensing again with renewed arousal. He drew on her nipple, but she felt the tug in her womb. He continued to massage her breasts in his large hands, holding the flesh captive while he consumed her, sucking first one nipple, then the other, until the crests were unbearably sensitive, rosy, and glistening and Francesca was crying out once again in stark arousal.

He lifted his head and looked at her face, his nostrils flared. A flush had grown on his cheeks. He placed one hand on her inner thigh. She shuddered and clamped her eyes shut. She’d grown so wet her juices were wetting her thighs. The subtle evidence of her rampant need both shamed and aroused her, the mixed emotions creating a sharp friction inside her.

“Open your eyes,” he demanded, his fingers still moving on her slick skin, amplifying the burn in her clit.

“No,” she whispered.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, lovely.”

She twisted her chin, keeping her eyelids clamped shut. She disagreed.

His fingers paused and she restrained a moan.

“Very well,” she heard him say, his voice rough with desire and frustration. “I can see you want this done and over with. Come onto the bed. I’ll take my pleasure of you and put us both out of our misery.”

Lust rushed through her at his words along with a fresh surge of shame. Damn him. No other man could say something so singularly selfish and make her so aroused. He knew she loved it when he finally let go and sought bliss in her flesh with a single-minded focus. He knew saying that would turn her on.

Standing, he released her from the grip of his thighs. She cracked open her eyelids cautiously. “Get on the bed, belly down, hands above your head. You won’t have to look at me in that position,” he said, his mouth pressed into a grim line.

“Fine,” she replied, equally edgy with anger and arousal. Why should she protest? It was true. She didn’t want to gawp at his savage beauty as he gave himself. It was all an illusion anyway, wasn’t it? He wasn’t giving anything. Not really.

He helped her onto the bed. She lay prone, her bound hands above her head. He gently extricated the pillows from under her forearms. She bit her lip to stifle a moan when he shoved them under her hips, elevating her ass. He parted her legs. She felt the air lick and kiss at her wet sex and thighs.

When he didn’t immediately get on the bed with her, she twisted her face around to peer at him. She wished she hadn’t. He was undressing. Completely. Forget about the fact that they’d been apart for a half a year, the vision of him naked was always compelling. Addictive. Ian usually only removed all of his clothes during the most intimate moments of lovemaking. She often wondered if he did that to make her crave the vision of his naked male glory all that much more.

If he did it for that reason, it worked. In spades.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him as he unbuttoned the white dress shirt and pulled it off his shoulders with a flex of rigid muscle. She went completely still on the bed. It was true that he’d lost weight in the past half year, but he’d never looked more powerful. He must still be partaking of his rigorous exercise. His leanness only served to glove his physique more tightly. His stomach was slightly concave beneath his muscular chest, but the muscles there looked like a ridged, solid wall. His tuxedo pants fell low on his narrow hips. He unfastened them fleetly while he kicked off his shoes. He bent to take off his socks and noticed her staring through strands of her hair. He paused.

If she had any pride, given her previous protest, she would have looked away. As it was, she couldn’t blink, let alone turn away.

He held her stare as he shoved his pants and underwear down his solid, strong thighs. She caught a covetous glimpse of his cock, heavy with arousal, flagrantly erect, the tapering head large, smooth, fleshy . . . mouthwatering. Then he was crawling on the bed behind her, and she could see him no more. She pressed her face into the mattress to muffle her whimper.

He didn’t speak. There was no preamble. He just parted her buttocks firmly with his hand and arrowed his cock into her *.

Her lungs deflated in an instant. He began to f*ck her powerfully. She gasped, but it was as if her lungs wouldn’t fill . . . like there wasn’t room for both him and air inside her. His cock pounded into her, the friction he created intense. For a few tense, breathless moments, she wanted him to stop. It hurt. No, it didn’t hurt, it felt delicious.

She didn’t know what it felt like. She only knew she was helpless to stop it. He was doing what he’d said he would, taking his pleasure of her. His pelvis smacked against her ass again and again, his cock pummeling her. He was f*cking her single-mindedly, but he was doing something else to her as well. He was softening her with this erotic beating into her flesh, weakening her defenses, forcing her to give way, insisting she accept him. She tightened around him, every muscle in her body resisting even as her hips bobbed against him and they crashed together, two storm fronts colliding.

He leaned down over her, his fists pressing into the mattress near her head, still f*cking her without pause. She would be sore tomorrow, but right now, it felt so good . . . so bad.

“Francesca,” he grated out after a moment. “Open your eyes.”

When she didn’t respond, only kept her face in the mattress, her entire body a tightly coiled spring, he whisked the majority of her long hair onto one side of her head and shoulders, depriving her of the only cover she had. She made a hissing sound as he put his hand on her chin and gently turned her so that her cheek rested on the mattress. At the same moment, he thrust forcefully. A cry popped out of her lungs and her eyelids sprung open at the deep caress.