Surrender to Me (The Derrings #4)(37)

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, rising on his elbows over her.

His words caused a deep pang near her heart and she blinked tightly, willing the hurt away.

His fingers combed the hair from her shoulders. His chest lifted with a deep inhalation, the crisp hairs tickling her breasts.

“I knew, you know,” he drawled, his voice a rough scrape on the air. “You’re a wildcat. Full of heat and passion. Nothing cold or proper about you.” His beautiful mouth curved in a smile.

Her chest tightened, his words salt in an open wound.

He shifted, easing the weight of his chest off her and sinking his hips deeper against her. Her eyes widened at the deep thrust of him within her. His member stirred, hardening inside her again, coaxing a response. One her body was only too willing to give…even if her mind screamed that she resist.

She shook her head side to side on the fur coverlet and shoved at his chest. It was like pushing at a wall.

“No,” she whispered, her voice a desperate plea. She could not go there again, could not lose herself all over, not so soon. It was disgraceful.

“What?” he rasped, lowering his head and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the thrumming pulse in her neck as he slid his hard length out of her.

“You don’t want to?” He pushed back inside her and she gasped at the sensation. “Where’s my little hellcat now?” he purred against her throat.

“No,” she whispered, but her body betrayed her, her inner muscles tightening, squeezing him like a glove, pulling him deeper inside her.

He moved again, nearly sliding all the way out, his flesh a hot drag of sensation against her own. Her nails dug into his forearms, her body arching and straining against him as he inched back within her by slow, agonizing degrees.

The friction unbearable, a sob escaped her. Defeated by her own body, her hips rose to take as much of him as she could, mindless from the slow, steady pace he set, wanting it hot and frenzied like moments ago.

Her hands clawed at his chest, nails digging into the supple flesh.

He moved, slipping out of her and rolling onto his back, leaving her empty and aching.

Her head whipped sideways to glare at him in reproach, the core of her throbbing, empty and crying out from the loss.

He cocked an eyebrow. “You said no.”

Folding his arms behind his head, he held her gaze, his blue eyes burning like winter fire. “You want it? Take what you want, Astrid.”

She dropped her eyes down to his manhood. It sprang boldly from the nest of hair between his legs, beckoning her. With a bitter curse, she rolled over and mounted him, lodging him deeply inside her, hating him in that moment for filling her so perfectly. For making her seize control, making her claim him so that there could be no confusion, no doubt that she wanted this—wanted him. That she was as weak as her mother had been.

Dismissing the unpleasant thought, she sighed with gratification and closed her eyes against the sight of his satisfied smile as she rode him, setting the frenzied pace her body craved, taking herself to that final pinnacle until her body shuddered and stilled atop him.

Chapter 14
For some time, Astrid didn’t move. Draped over him in a boneless puddle, her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. Rolling to her side, she brought her legs together, their length slick and damp with perspiration. She flinched when his large hand fell on her hip in a possessive gesture, fingertips curling and sliding toward the jut of her hipbone.

She felt him inch closer to her back and closed her eyes, squeezing them tight, his touch, his closeness unbearable, stirring the deep want for him all over again.

A hard knock sounded on the door, startling her and sending her scrambling beneath the counterpane.

“Easy,” he chuckled, rising and sliding his breeches over his nudity.

Peering over the edge of the covers, she watched as he strode across the chamber and pulled the heavy wood door open.

A maid stood there, bearing a large tray, steam wafting from its contents. Astrid sat a little taller, attempting to identify the source of steam and tantalizing aromas.

The servant took her time eyeing Griffin’s chest, her eyes gleaming with wholly feminine appreciation. Dark, possessive feelings tightened Astrid’s chest and she glared at the girl.

“Thought you might be wanting some food.” Her voice rang coyly as she attempted to step around Griffin.

He blocked her and removed the tray from her hands. “Thank you.”

The girl frowned as he removed her burden. Craning her neck, she caught a glimpse of Astrid on the bed and grinned slyly.

Face burning, Astrid sank low on the bed, well imagining how she must look, hair wild around her naked shoulders. No doubt her appearance gave evidence to the carnal nature of their activities. And the maid would waste no time informing everyone that Griffin had taken their advice, crudely worded as it had been. The skin over her face tightened, heating with shame.

The door thudded shut and she released a pent-up breath, glad to have the girl’s prying eyes gone.

“You must be hungry.” He lowered the tray before her.

Stomach clenching, she gave a quick nod. Tucking the counterpane tightly beneath her arms, she snatched a chicken leg from one of the plates and tore into it with a snap of her teeth. She moaned briefly in appreciation.

“I guess making love isn’t the only time you make that sound,” he murmured as he sat beside her.