Love, Come to Me(61)

“I wouldn’t have thought . . . you would force a woman . . . who doesn’t want you,” she said with pure loathing.

“You want me.” Before she could answer, he drove into her with a powerful thrust, and she arched up to him with a thin cry. A wave of pleasure broke over her, spreading over every inch of her body, and she was paralyzed with astonishment as she felt him press deeper inside her. He moved within her just once and then pulled out, leaving her shaking with desire. Bending over her, he nuzzled past the sagging neckline of her dress to find the aching peak of her breast, and he pulled at it gently with his mouth. When Lucy finally breathed his name in protest and unwilling excitement, he turned his attentions to her other breast, circling her nipple with his tongue until her slender wrists were limp in his grasp.

“You’re my wife,” he said, widening the spread of her legs by pressing his knees against the inside of her thighs. “And from now on you’re going to give me all that a wife is supposed to give her husband, without argument. Aren’t you, Lucy?”

He had won—damn him. She wanted him, and she would promise anything, just as long as he didn’t stop. “I’m your wife,” she whispered obediently, and she nearly choked with relief as he pushed back into her. But just as she felt a surge of pleasure rise through her body in a swelling current, she felt him withdraw from her again.

“You’re going with me,” he insisted, and she kept silent, her body arching up to his.

“Please,” she groaned.

“You’re going with me.”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, I’ll go with you.”

“And there are going to be no more lies.”

“No.”

“Then tell me the truth about last night.” Slowly he circled his hips, and she felt the warm, heavy pressure of his loins against hers. “Tell me.”

“I wanted you,” she whispered.

“Like you do now.”

“Yes.”

He let go of her wrists and sat up, looking at her expressionlessly. Bewildered, Lucy met his eyes and realized that he intended to leave her now, in retaliation for all that she had said and done during their argument. He was rejecting her in the most intimate moment imaginable.

“Heath . . . no—”

“Now that that’s all settled, you’d better try to get some sleep,” he said coolly. “The next few days are going to be busy.”

He stood up, and she understood that he really was going to leave her. She stared at him—her eyes dark and bright, her cheeks burning with feverish heat—while some barrier within her broke. “Don’t do this,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me. Please.” But as she saw that he was looking down at her with indifference, she closed her eyes in humiliation and curled up on her side, pressing her face into the pillow.

All at once Heath bowed his head as he fought for self-control. He tried to remember that he had to teach her a lesson, but somewhere it had all gone wrong. Swearing under his breath, he stripped off his trousers swiftly. Lucy felt his weight added to hers on the mattress, and then he was turning her onto her back, tugging off what remained of her clothes, running his hands down her shivering body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sliding his arms around her and hugging her remorsefully. “I’m sorry.” He reached down to part her thighs, but they were already sliding open for him, and her loins were tilting hungrily up to his. He pressed into her slowly. She couldn’t hold back a sob as he filled her with a low, smooth surge, giving her all the pleasure he knew how to give.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, and his heart seemed to break at the desperate plea.

“I won’t,” he whispered tenderly, sliding his hands underneath her bottom. “I couldn’t.” He pulled her up hard against his loins, quickening his rhythm, concentrating solely on her satisfaction. His eyes shone into hers until her lashes fluttered down to hide her soul from his gaze.

Carefully, patiently, he reached past her inexperience to bring her to a new threshold. All he could give her now was a hint, a promise of all they would someday be able to share. He would make her understand all that he could not tell her out loud. She was made for him, she belonged to no other. He was a wanderer who had found her. He belonged nowhere but in her arms, a part of her flesh, claiming her, giving himself in return.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she tangled her fingers in the golden fire of his hair, meeting his every movement. Gentle and fierce, tender and brutal, he took her in a storm of desperation. Her cheek pressed against his shoulder as she was consumed by a slow explosion of sensation. Sweet words were uttered into her soft, bare skin, and then words faded into the strong rasp of his breath. His hands tightened on her hips, lifting her higher as he felt the contractions of her body around his. As the rapture spun itself out, she moaned and held onto him weakly, and the sound was all that it took to send him over the edge. He buried himself in the clasping softness of her and sighed deeply; his hands clenched convulsively in the warm chestnut flow of her hair.

They were still for a long time afterwards. Quietly Lucy lay underneath him, trapped by his arms and the pleasant heaviness of his leg across hers. Though her eyes were closed, she could tell that he was staring at her, and she was mortified by how easily he had gained her surrender. Oh, why was it destined to be this way with him? Why did he seem to understand her so well? He would hold her to the promises she had made, and they both knew that she would not refute them.