Beautiful Bastard(59)

Bending slightly, he kissed my ear, saying, “Je suis à toi.” His voice was strained and gravelly as he held himself up for me and I put us both out of our misery, sinking down over him with a groan, and loving the depth of this position again. He whispered a single, profane syllable over and over, staring up at me. Instead of clutching my hips, his hands fisted the shirt at my sides.

It was so easy, so natural between us, that it somehow just added to the space of uneasiness that I couldn’t seem to shake. Instead of focusing on that, I focused on his quiet grunts into my mouth. I focused on the way he sat us up abruptly and sucked on my breasts through his shirt, exposing the pink beneath. I got lost in his urgent fingers on my hips and thighs, his forehead pressed to my collarbone as he got closer. I got lost in the feel of his thighs under me, his hips moving faster and harder to meet every one of my movements.

Flipping me over, he spread his hand flat on my chest, hips stilling. “Your heart is pounding. Tell me how f*cking good this feels.”

Instinctively, I relaxed when I looked up at his cocky grin. Did he know I needed some reminder of who we’d been less than a day ago? “You’re doing that talking thing again. Stop.”

His smile widened. “You love my talking. You especially love it when it coincides with my dick being in you.”

I rolled my eyes. “What gave that away? The orgasms? The way I ask you for it? Good sleuthing.”

He winked, pulling my foot up to his shoulder and kissing the inside of my ankle.

“Have you always been this way?” I asked, tugging uselessly on his hips. I hated to admit it, but I wanted him moving. When he was still, it teased, it was sore, it felt incomplete. When he moved I just wanted time to freeze. “I pity the females whose discarded egos litter the path.”

Bennett shook his head, leaning over me and propping himself up on his hands. Mercifully, he started moving, hips shifting forward and up, pushing deep into me. My eyes rolled closed. He hit the perfect spot again and again and again.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

I looked up, watched the sweat bead on his brow, his lips part as he stared at my mouth. Shoulder muscles bunched as he moved, his torso shone with a thin layer of sweat, and I watched where he moved in and out of me. I’m not sure what I said when he pulled almost all the way out and then pushed hard back into me, but it was quiet and filthy and instantly forgotten as he pounded into me. “You make me feel cocky. It’s the way you react to me that makes me feel like a f*cking god. How can you not see that?”

I didn’t answer, and clearly he didn’t expect me to, his gaze and the fingers of one hand drifting down my neck and over my breasts. He found a particularly sensitive spot and I gasped.

“It looks like someone bit you here,” he said, his thumb sweeping across his bite mark. “Did you like it?”

I swallowed, pushing up into him. “Yes.”

“Fucking wicked girl.”

My hands slid over his shoulders and down his chest, across his abs and to the muscles of his hips, my thumb running back and forth over his tattoo. “I like this too.”

His movements grew jagged and forceful. “Oh, f*ck, Chloe . . . I can’t . . . I won’t last long.” Hearing his voice so desperate and out of control only intensified my need for him. I closed my eyes, focusing on the delicious feeling beginning to spread throughout my body. I was so close, teetering right on the edge. Reaching between us, my fingers found my clit and I began to rub it slowly.

Tilting his head, he looked down at my hand and swore. “Oh, f*ck.” His voice was desperate, his breath coming out in deep pants. “Touch yourself, just like that. Let me f*cking see you.” His words were all I needed, and with one last brush of my fingers, I felt my orgasm overtake me.

I came hard, clenching around him, the nails of my free hand digging into his back. He cried out, his body seizing as he came inside me. My whole body shook in the aftermath, tiny tremors continuing even as my orgasm faded. I clung to him as he stilled, his body sinking against mine. He kissed my shoulder and my neck before placing a single kiss to my lips. Our eyes met briefly, and then he rolled off me.

“Christ, woman,” he said, exhaling a heavy breath, forcing a laugh. “You’re going to kill me.”

We rolled to our sides in unison, heads on our pillows, and when our eyes met, I couldn’t look away. I lost every hope I ever had that the next time would be less powerful, or that our connection would somehow melt away if we just got it out of our systems. This one night with a “truce” didn’t dim anything. I already wanted to move closer, kiss the stubble on his jaw, and pull him back over me. As I gazed at him, it became clear to me that when this ended, it would f*cking hurt.