Broken Dove (Fantasyland #4)(44)

His hand slid up my back and into my hair and that was good.

Until he turned his head away, breaking the contact of our lips.

He shoved his face in my neck and muttered, “Gods damn it.”

I hoped that was capitulation and I had hope since he was walking me to the bed.

Then he put me down on it, but once he’d done that, he captured both of my hands and yanked them over my head. Holding them in one of his, his other went to his belt.

I had a feeling I knew what this meant and it was not that he was giving me what I wanted but that he was going to use his belt to tie me to the bed and then take off.

“You’re leaving me?” I gasped, seeking confirmation.

“For your own good, poppy,” he confirmed.

I shook my head. “Then don’t tie me down. If you have to go, go. But I need my hands.”

He took my meaning. I knew this when his eyes darkened and went over my head as his lips murmured, “I should have gagged her first.”

I struggled on the bed. “If you’re going to leave me like this, I need my hands, Apollo.”

I was writhing uncontrollably on the bed and he was watching me.

God, his eyes.

That mouth.

God.

“If I can’t have you, let me have my hands.” I sounded desperate and imploring, mostly because I was.

Something had to give and soon.

I licked my lips and watched a muscle tick up his cheek and it was hot.

So hot, I moaned.

At my moan, his voice gruff, he demanded, “You’re in no shape but still, swear it. Swear it to me now, Madeleine. No recriminations tomorrow.”

Oh my God.

Was he…?

I wasn’t going to waste time asking.

I shook my head frantically. “None, nope, not a one. It’ll all be good tomorrow. All good.”

His gaze burned into mine and it did this, like, forever.

So long, I couldn’t take a moment longer and breathed, “Baby.”

His eyes moved to my mouth. “This word goes through me like a knife.”

“Is that good?” I asked.

His eyes came back to mine.

Then he let me go and exited the bed.

Shit.

He moved to the door.

Shit!

He stopped at it, locked it and moved to the table.

Oh God.

Yes.

I pushed up to my knees, yanking my skirts out from under them so I could walk on them across the bed. I stopped at its edge.

He poured a cup of tea, and just the delicate cup in his big hand turned me on beyond reason (not that I wasn’t already there) and nearly sent me over the edge.

I did a full-body tremble when he put the cup to his mouth and threw his head back, downing it.

Oh God.

Yes.

He put the cup down and turned to me.

God, oh God, he was beautiful.

I stood on my knees on the bed, the insides of my thighs quivering, and stared at him.

He stared back.

“You’re beautiful, Apollo,” I whispered.

I watched him run his tongue over his lower lip.

At the sight, my sex convulsed and I whimpered.

At my sound, Apollo lunged.

Finally.

I was on my back in the bed, Apollo on me and he felt so good, so damned good.

What was better was his mouth on mine and his tongue in my mouth.

That wasn’t good, that was awesome.

But I wanted more and he’d made me wait long enough, I was going to get it.

I slid my hands in his sweater and yanked up. He broke contact with my mouth to arch back, lifting his arms. I tugged his sweater off and tossed it away.

He came back to me, lips to lips, tongues tangling and I moaned into his mouth as I bucked. He let me move him but I suspected only because he knew I’d move with him, and I did. He rolled to his back, me on top and then it was me breaking contact with our lips.

But my lips didn’t break contact with him. They slid down his neck, over to his corded throat, down his chest, the ridges of his stomach to the waistband of his breeches.

There, I broke away but only to lift up to straddling him. I clenched my fingers in my dress and tugged it off, the cashmere dragging over my skin in a way that made my ni**les ache and my cl*t pulse.

“Gods,” he grunted.

I was wearing nothing but green satin panties and a cream satin bustier with green ribbons, and my guess from his tone, he liked it.

I looked down at him staring up at me, his face dark, his eyes hot, feeling my lips curl in a little smile that made him say, “Gods,” again but in a groan this time.

I felt that groan shoot straight between my legs and knew it was time to get a move on.

So I did, moving off the bed. I grabbed him behind his knee and lifted up his calf. Straddling it, I yanked off his boot, then his sock. On to the next foot then I was moving to him. He’d already unbuttoned his breeches and I curled my fingers in his waistband, tugging down. Apollo helped by bucking his h*ps from the bed and they were off.

I tossed them behind me and entered the bed, crawling up him on all fours, my eyes on my goal.

And what a goal. His c**k was hard, thick and long, the veins distended in a way that demanded the trace of a tip of a tongue. So big. So swollen. So beautiful.

I had to have it.

I didn’t delay. Wrapping my hand around it, putting my lips to the tip then taking him so deep, I felt him in the back of my throat, my gag reflex g-o-n-e, gone.