Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(56)

“Leave me alone,” she said, wild with arousal, desperate, knowing he was breaking through her defenses.

“As if that’s a possibility.” He grunted savagely, but she couldn’t tell if it was in lust or frustration when she turned and pressed her forehead to the soft sheets. His pushed his fists off the mattress. She sensed him straightening his upper body behind her. He squeezed her ass cheeks into his palms, plumping them together in order to amplify the pressure on his pounding cock, his manner lewd, single-minded. Her bottom still stung from her punishment. His rough handling of the tender flesh amplified the burn in her clit, exciting her. Then he lifted her ass off the pillows. She keened uncontrollably as he served her * to his cock, fast and furious, the frantic sound of their bodies smacking together blending with the pound of her heart in her ears.

Her eyes sprang wide. It was too much. She was going to come . . .

She squealed in protest when he halted abruptly, sheathed high and hard and throbbing deep inside her, and set her pelvis back on the pillows. He used his hand to twist her onto her side, one hip still pressed into the mattress. He fell down heavily behind her. The next thing her lust-impaired brain knew, he held her tightly against him, her back against his hard torso, his arms wrapped around her waist tightly, his face pressed against her neck. Her damned hair was spilled everywhere—probably in Ian’s mouth—but he didn’t seem to care or notice. The fronts of his strong, hair-sprinkled thighs pushed on the back of her legs, forcing her to bend, shaping her to him. He resumed f*cking her, groaning deep and rough, his breath hot against her skin.

It was disorienting, to go from a relatively impersonal sexual position to one of such intense intimacy. She felt surrounded by him. She didn’t have time to guard herself against the power of his embrace. He slid his hand over her hip to the back of her upper thigh, pushing it higher, giving him freer access to her *. He resumed his hold on her waist, gripping her so tightly against him she almost couldn’t breathe. He was a solid wall of muscle behind her, resonating heat into her skin. She instinctively contracted around his cock with her vagina, lowering her bound hands to his hold at her waist, hugging him like she thought she could absorb him, wanting him . . . needing him to never leave.

“Jesus,” he muttered thickly next to her neck. Their four hands rose and fell in unison as he used his hold on her to pump her back and forth on his cock, f*cking her ruthlessly. She groaned in a fever of agonized delight. She needed him so much.

He would leave her.

“Tell me,” he said harshly.

Her moan of misery came erratically, punctuated by the harsh staccato rhythm of him crashing into her. His cock swelled impossibly large. He was on the edge. So was she. He captured one of her breasts in his hand, his fingers pressing near her heart. She felt herself cresting. His head moved, his teeth scraping the tender skin of her neck. She knew there was no escape.

And had there ever really been a trap?

Always.

“I love you,” she said fiercely, for what good was there in speaking the truth and whispering it?

He groaned gutturally and began to come. They were so entwined, she could feel it: the convulsions of his penis, the warmth of his semen shooting into her, the tightening of his facial muscles against her neck. His hand moved between her thighs and she quaked, her sharp cry mingling with his rough moan.

She joined him in bliss, and in that moment, it felt neither right nor wrong, just inevitable.

* * *

Minutes later, he rolled her onto her back. She watched him as he smoothed the hair out of her face and off her arms and chest. She looked sublimely beautiful, her face moist with perspiration and drying tears, the anger gone from her eyes, the tension erased from her features. The calm after the storm, he thought . . . and perhaps before another. It didn’t dismay him. Nothing could have in that moment. She had said the words he craved, given him the balm that soothed his bruised spirit. She lifted her hips in compliance when he began to pull the pillows from beneath them. He felt her stare as he unbound her hands and tossed aside his tie.

He took her wrists and opened her arms wide, resting them on the mattress, drinking in her undefended beauty.

“These arms,” he murmured tightly, kissing the tender flesh on the inside of her elbow. How could her arms be so inexplicably beautiful to him? But they were. He cherished every square inch of her. He could never convey to her how much. The round globes of her breasts heaved up and down as he lowered his head and pressed his face to the smooth, pale expanse of her belly. He kissed her, his tongue dipping into her navel, and looked up at her face.

“I worship you,” he said.

He kissed her belly again, his eyes burning when he felt her shudder of emotion vibrate against his lips.

* * *

Francesca moved her hands, cradling his head as he kissed her belly, her fingers burrowing into his thick hair, relishing the sacred, full moment. He lifted his head, and she put out her arms. Her chest ached at the vision of him coming to her. He accepted her embrace, taking her into his. Their flesh seemed to melt together, fuse. As if it had been the sensation her body had been waiting for, an inescapable wave of warmth and heaviness went through her. She fell almost immediately into a deep, exhausted sleep.

* * *

She awoke with a start at the sound of a brisk rap on the door. She opened her eyelids and was blinded by the bright light of sunshine hitting the white sheets.