Resisting Mr. Kane (London Mister #2)(55)

I look down and meet his eyes as his tongue flicks in and out of me. “There.” It comes out as a croak. “Yes. Exactly like that.” My legs thrash as the pleasure rips through me in violent shudders.

He looks up at me with a satisfied smirk.

He moves off the bed before I can recover and rips his clothes off then stands in front of me, naked.

It’s even better than I remember.

My hands stay tied to the bedpost. Tristan climbs back on top of me and pushes his knees between my legs so that I am spread wide apart.

“Damn,” he hisses. “Condom.”

“I’m on the pill.”

“Can I come inside you? I’m clean.”

I nod, thrusting my hips. I need skin on skin.

He slams his thick length into my opening. A low groan erupts from him, and it’s the sexiest damn sound I’ve ever heard.

I clench around his cock, my hands tightening around the bedposts, desperate for freedom so I can maul every inch of his body. “N-not f-fair,” I stutter.

A low chuckle is the only response I get. He thrusts in and out, holding my hips in place, my breasts jiggling with every thrust. “Elly.” He draws in a stuttered breath. “You feel so good.”

The slapping of our bodies gets louder, faster. Tristan’s face contorts in pleasure, and I know he’s close. Just watching him come to pieces is breaking me. Our moans mix together, his low and throaty, mine high-pitched and frantic.

With a final deep thrust, he lets out a shuddery breath, and he comes so hard I’m scared he’s never going to stop.

I cry out, feeling the warm liquid pulsing into me.

Trying to steady his breathing, he hovers on top of me, his elbows holding the weight of his broad chest.

I’m wet all down my inner thighs. We are sticky and sweaty, and I’ve never cared less.

“I guess hoarding toilet paper in your room does come in handy.” He grins, untying my hands from the silk handcuffs.

His inner thighs glisten as he climbs off the bed. I can’t keep my eyes off him.

“I was wondering…our first meeting in my office, you said that’s not all I took from you. What did you mean?” he asks as he gently wipes my legs.

“Nothing,” I say, brushing it off.

He frowns. “I want to know. Tell me.”

My cheeks begin to flame hotter. “I meant… I meant you were…are the only man to ever make me come,” I whisper.

He stops wiping and stares at me, alert. “Were you a virgin, Elly?”

“No. But I’m not exactly a sexpert, either. I’ve had a few sexual partners and one long-term boyfriend, and it just never happened,” I say, feeling self-conscious.

“What about after Greece?”

“I haven’t actually…” I fiddle with my fingers. “I mean, I haven’t…”

“You haven’t had sex since us?” he asks quietly.

“Not deliberately,” I say quickly. “Truth is, I haven’t met anyone these past few months that I wanted to have sex with.”

He looks at me for a long minute, discarding the tissue in the wastebasket. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t delighted.”

“I wasn’t saving myself for you,” I snap defensively. “It’s just that the nun-hood seemed better than some of the buffoons I’ve met.”

“Shush.” He trails a palm across my collarbone. “It’s too early to define this,” he says seriously. “I don’t want to hurt you, and we’re in different stages of our lives. I’m divorced, and my priority has to be my kid.”

I nod, pain twisting in my chest. I’m getting the brush-off.

“But I’d like to keep seeing you, Elly. To explore this.”

I bite my lip to contain the grin.

“If we see each other, we can’t see anyone else,” I say in a small, firm voice.

“As if I would want to.” He rolls the blankets down. “Come on, I don’t want you to be tired for your mum’s birthday. Is this a single bed?”

“No!” I say crossly. “It’s a double. Stop complaining, or you can sleep on the floor.”

“I suppose the smaller it is, the harder it is for you to escape,” he grumbles, climbing into the bed behind me. “What is this made from? Bamboo sticks?”

I hit his chest.

He wraps his body around mine, his strong arms pulling me flush against him. This man could win awards for his spooning.

***

“Who the fuck are you?” says Tristan in a low growl beside me.

I rub my eyes and peer out into the darkness.

What’s going on? Is it 5 a.m. already?

Feeling my way in the dark, I find the bedside lamp and switch it on.

I squint my eyes, adjusting to the light. There’s a girl hovering at the bottom of the bed. She claws at the duvet in an attempt to get under the covers.

“Someone has escaped from the looney bin,” Tristan yells, his voice thick with sleep. Both of us sit up topless in bed. “Is this one of your housemates?”

She sees us then releases a half giggle, half burp. Beer gas assaults me.

“This isn’t…” she slurs, swaying to imaginary music.

“He’s called Frank,” I say in a groggy voice, covering my bare breasts with the duvet.