Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(83)

His h*ps nudged against hers in a slow rhythm that matched the movements of his tongue. She whimpered in her throat, caught helplessly against his hard body, pleasure rising through her in a burning tide. Realizing what was about to happen, she tried to pull her mouth free, but it was too late; the sweet convulsion had overtaken her. Gasping and shuddering, she clung to him while the maddening rhythm of his h*ps continued and his lips searched hotly over her neck. When the last spasm had left her body, he let her down and pulled the nightgown over her head, throwing it to the floor.

She helped him with his clothes and slipped her hand in his, leading him to the bed. His dark form towered over her, and he pushed her to the mattress, following her down immediately. She caught her breath at the exquisite agony of his ravaging mouth, the pluck of his teeth on her ni**les, the wet swirl of his tongue. His hand moved between her legs, and she opened to him eagerly, welcoming his invading fingers. Bending over her, he crushed her mouth with his, absorbing her moans.

She rubbed her palms over his shoulders, her fingertips brushing over the ridges of scars and the muscled plane of his back. With a soft purr she stroked his lean h*ps and bu**ocks, letting her nails scrape until he groaned at the delicate clawing. Pulling her h*ps underneath his, he mounted her, holding her clasped between his powerful thighs. Trembling, she reached for him and tilted her h*ps to receive him. “Justin,” she gasped, “Take me now…now…”

He caught her wrists in his hands and stretched them far over her head. As she stared at him she thought dizzily that he was still as darkly savage as he had been on Isle au Corneille. His head dropped to her br**sts and he kissed and suckled at her sensitive ni**les until she cried out in torment. Only then did he press forward, easing into the swollen core of her body.

Breathing harshly, he pulled back a few inches and then sank deeply inside her, his face contorted, his fingers entwining in her hair. She met every lunge with her own feminine strength, gripping his back and digging her heels into the mattress. Her slim arms wrapped around him, and then her legs, and he was so completely held, possessed in her softness, that he could no longer contain the burst of his seed. The fierce excitement dissolved in a rush of fulfillment. Justin clutched her tightly, his breath coming so fast that his lungs ached.

When he had strength enough to move again, he rolled to his back, and she draped herself on top of him. He pushed her silken hair back from her face and stared into her dark eyes, wanting to say a hundred different things, but finding himself speechless. She smiled faintly and brushed a kiss on his lips. His hands slid from her shoulders to her white br**sts, stroking with the lightest of touches. She straddled his thighs and leaned back in wanton invitation. Justin felt himself harden again, and he clasped her hips, positioning her over his rigid shaft. She reached down to guide him into her, and both of them stopped breathing as she slid down the full length of him.

Justin muttered her name. Her eyes half-closed as she raised and lowered herself in a compelling rhythm. Drugged by the sensual pleasure, Justin followed her languidly, savoring the movements of her lithe body. His hands roamed from her shoulders to the glinting down between her thighs, teasing and tormenting until she arched above him in a shuddering release. His own cl**ax was not as sharp and deep as before, but longer, slower, seeming to spread from his toes to the top of his head in a fiery glow.

Celia relaxed on top of him and settled her head on his chest. “Justin,” she whispered thickly. “What will happen to us?”

“Shhh, little heart…we won’t talk about it until we know for certain if Philippe’s alive.”

“But what if he is? What will you—”

His fingers came to her lips, silencing her. She would have asked more, but he hushed her again and began an idle stroking of her neck and back. Tears slid from her eyes and fell to his chest. It felt so natural to be in his arms, but she knew it was wrong. All the other times they had been together, she had believed herself to be a widow. Now, by giving herself to Justin when she knew her husband might still be alive, she had betrayed Philippe.

“I shouldn’t love you,” she said, spreading tears and kisses across his neck, his shoulders. “I never wanted to love you.”

“I know.” He held her tightly. “I know.”

“My feelings for Philippe were never like this, even though I—”

“No,” he murmured. “Don’t compare. It’s not fair to either of us.”

“But I want you to understand. I…I could never have loved him like this, never—”

“I understand.” He kissed her until she was quiet.

Suddenly she was exhausted, and she closed her eyes. “Don’t leave me,” she mumbled.

“Now, petite coeur…” He kissed her forehead and cuddled her until she drifted into sleep.

*   *   *

The sound of a bell rang through the crisp morning air. The plantation was just beginning to awaken, chores being started, food being cooked, voices calling sleepily. Justin and Max ambled away from the main house down the long plantation drive, oblivious to what was going on around them as they talked. Their long, lazy strides matched perfectly, and their dark heads were bent at precisely the same angle. They walked past the smooth lawn while the wind strew leaves about their feet.

Justin looked at the garçonnière. Celia was still sleeping. He had wanted to wake her before he left her bed that morning, but he had seen the lines of strain on her face even as she slept. She would need rest in order to face the next few days.