“I adore your hair. Do you know that?” he whispered. “I used to dream about it in my lonely monk’s bed, long mahogany locks twining themselves about my limbs in my sleep. I’d wake aroused and aching and cursing you.”
He tilted his hips into her bottom, his cock sliding sweetly against her, as if to emphasize his words.
She felt her center go hot and liquid, yet she licked her lips and challenged him. “I don’t believe you. I’ve never heard you swear, even when you were in great pain.”
“I consider it a sin to take the Lord’s name in vain,” he said as he smoothed aside her hair, baring her neck. “Yet you drive me to sin.”
His mouth was on her skin, at the tender place where her neck met her shoulder. He licked her there, as if he would taste her essence, as if he was experimenting. Then suddenly he bit, his teeth sharp and hard, and she gasped.
“Do I hurt you?” he asked against her skin.
“No,” she said shakily, for no matter his aggression, he didn’t. He was always gentle with her, always aware of his greater size and strength.
“You hurt me,” he said conversationally. “Daily. Hourly. Second by second.”
“I’m sorry.” She tried to turn, tried to take his face in her hands and tell him that she didn’t mean to, truly. She only did what she thought best for them both.
But somewhere along the way, he’d finally lost his infinite patience.
“No.” He bit her again, like a stallion chastising a mare. “We do it my way.”
He ran his hands down over her sides, sliding over the silk, until he found the hem of her chemise. Then he drew it up, slowly, inch by inch, teasing her with the feel of each bit of her skin being exposed to the night air.
For a moment his hips lifted from hers as he palmed her bottom, his hand hard and hot. His thumb found the crease of her cheeks and he ran it down, lightly, almost tickling, sending all her senses on alert. He paused where her bottom met her thighs and then swiftly thrust his fingers between her legs.
“You’re wet,” he said, and although his words were light, nearly conversational, he couldn’t disguise the deepening of his voice.
Her arousal aroused him. The animal taking over the human body. Except animals felt no love. No regret or sorrow.
She wouldn’t think about that right now. His fingers were teasing her from behind, making her lift her hips in supplication. She felt wanton as he inserted a finger slowly into her sheath. The fit was tight from behind, and she thought of how tightly his cock would be in her from this angle.
She bit her lip, closing her eyes, feeling as his finger slid in and out of her, her passage as slick as the silk of her chemise. For a moment his hand abandoned her.
“I like this scent,” he said, his voice whispering against her ear. He placed his hand on the pillow near her face and she smelled it as well: her wetness. Her arousal. “Your scent. Exotic, secret, purely primal. My cock wants it. I lose my mind when I smell you.”
She moaned. She was growing wetter with his words. Why didn’t he simply turn her over and take her? She wanted him as well.
But his hand trailed down again, leisurely almost, moving to the side of her hip. “Lift for me.”
She obeyed and he slipped his hand under her, finding her from below. He spread his fingers, thrusting through her folds.
“Wet, so wet,” he muttered.
He urged her thighs apart with his knees settling between them so that she felt his cock, insistent and hard, at her entrance. She wasn’t sure he could even manage it from this angle. She was nearly flat on her belly. But he pushed and she felt him breach her, the big round head parting her folds relentlessly, the stretch of her muscles so sweet.
He paused as if considering and then thrust again, pushing inside, making a place for himself within her warmth.
She gripped the pillow by her face, wanting to rise up on her knees and push back. To hurry this along to its inevitable conclusion.
But he was too strong, too stubborn. He gave her no leeway. He flexed again and another thick inch slid inside her.
She thought she heard him groan, but it was drowned out by her whimper of need. He opened his mouth against the back of her neck and suddenly thrust hard, seating himself fully.
She nearly came around him.
Carefully, delicately, he found her clitoris with his fingertips and simply held his forefinger on her. He didn’t have to do anything more—her own weight and his on top of hers pressed her down against his finger. She tried to circle her hips, to move against that one finger, but she was impaled from behind, held immovable but by his wish.
“Now,” he whispered, and withdrew his cock an incremental amount. So tiny, less than an inch, surely. So small it should hardly matter at all.
But when he thrust back inside her, quick and hard and nearly brutal, the movement sent her hips grinding against his hand, trapped between her and the mattress. Sent her gasping for breath as the sensation spurred all her nerve endings to a nearly painful pleasure.
“I love you,” he whispered as he thrust again. And again. Each movement controlled. Each small movement devastating in its effect. “I love you.”
She lost all concept of time. She lost her place and surroundings. She couldn’t remember who he was—who she was. She lost her mind.
Because the pleasure/edge of pain was so sweet, so infinitely divine, nothing mattered but that it continue. She’d been seduced, enthralled, drugged by his lovemaking. At this moment it was all that mattered in the world to her.
And he didn’t stop. He was panting now, his breath sawing roughly in and out of his lungs as he thrust in and out of her, his movements becoming jerky.
“Come, damn you,” he growled in her ear. “Drown my cock in your liquid.”
And the earthy demand was too much. She convulsed, trapped between his fingers and his cock, utterly in his power as he continued his unending thrusting, beyond hope and dreams and human regard.
She was a being of feeling and nothing but, shimmering pleasure sparking through her veins, making her heart beat, making the soles of her feet tingle. She was everything and nothing and it was all because of him. He was drawing out her orgasm, making it last, and it seemed he would never stop pumping into her.
But he was only mortal after all. She felt it when it overwhelmed him, too, this wondrous sensation. He jerked against her, his finger pressed hard against her as his cock slammed all the way into her passage, and he simply held himself there, twitching, as his seed flooded her.