Rebel Love (Kings of Corruption Book 2)

by Michelle St. James

  He had no intention of rushing it now.

  He stopped at the bed, held her in his arms, half-afraid she would disappear the moment he put her down.

  “Are you going to fuck me now?” she said, touching her lips gently to the corners of his mouth, then his cheeks. “Because I think I might die if you don’t.”

  He set her down, held her face in his hands. “I’m going to do everything to you,” he said. “But I’m going to take my time.”

  He turned away from her, walked to the wall of windows he’d designed to fold back into the walls. He opened one of them, letting in the salty breeze rolling in off the water, then walked slowly back toward the bed.

  “It’s cold,” she said, rubbing her arms.

  “You won’t be cold for long.” He ran a finger from her chin down her neck, into the cleavage hinted at by the black dress. “I promise.”

  He reached for her shoulders, turned her around. When her back was to him, he pulled her hair aside, lowered his mouth to the creamy skin of her neck. She let out a breathy sigh, let her head fall to the side to give him better access.

  He kissed his way to the back of her neck, the scent of her shampoo — earthy with a hint of the patchouli incense he’d burned in college — sending another flood of desire through his body. He wanted to bathe in her scent.

  Wanted to breathe it in until it was part of him.

  He lifted his mouth as he reached for the zipper on her dress, wanting to see her naked body as it was revealed to him. Pulling on the zipper slowly, he watched as her porcelain skin came into view an inch at a time: her elegant back, the straps of a black bra, the narrowing of her waist. It stopped there, the swell of her hips just a promise beyond the fabric of the dress.

  Placing his hands on her shoulders, he slid the fabric down her arms, let it fall to the floor at her feet. For a moment he could hardly breathe, the air trapped somewhere between his heart and lungs. She was so beautiful it nearly hurt him to look at her.

  “Turn around so I can look at you, Elle.”

  She stepped out of the dress and turned, facing him in her lacy black bra, a matching scrap of fabric between her legs, her heels only exaggerating her long, lean legs.

  “Have I changed?” she asked.

  Her voice was so uncertain he suddenly wanted to wrap her in a bathrobe, scoop her back into his arms. But that would do her no good. Clearly she hadn’t been told how beautiful she was in far too long.

  It was a travesty he intended to correct.

  He stepped toward her, took her face in his hands, looked into her eyes. “You’ve only grown more beautiful,” he said. “Something I didn’t think was possible all those years ago.”

  “Don’t tell me.” She slid her arms around his neck, pressed her nearly naked body against him. “Show me.”

  He lowered his mouth to hers, swept it with his tongue, his cock straining against his jeans as the heat of her tongue tangled with his. His body was revving for her, ready to accelerate from zero to a hundred. But it was too soon for that, and he slid his fingers under the straps of her bra, slipped them off her shoulders, reached around to unclasp the hooks so he could toss it aside.

  “I don’t need any of this,” he said, kneeling at her feet and reaching for one of her heels. “I just need you naked.”

  She lifted her foot and he removed the shoe, then went for the other one. When she was standing in front of him on her bare feet he had a flash of her in college walking barefoot toward him across the grass. He could see her as clearly as if it had happened yesterday, the sun behind her casting a glow that made her appear like a goddess who’d stepped from the flames.

  He stroked her legs with his hands, relishing the feel of her bare skin under his palms. Then he pressed his face between her thighs, inhaling the scent of her sex as he pressed his lips to the lace covering her mound.

  Her breathing accelerated and he reached for the flimsy fabric and started sliding it down her hips. “Time for this to go, too. Goddesses don’t wear underwear.”

  She let him slip them down her thighs, past her knees and calves. When they reached the floor she lifted her feet so he could remove them.

  He sat back on his heels, looking up at her naked body in awe. She was just as perfect as he remembered, her pale skin glowing in the moonlight, dusky pink nipples erect on her full breasts, her body long and graceful as a wildflower.

  He stood and moved closer, the touch of her naked body through his clothes the best kind of torture. She was finally in his arms, separated from him only by denim and cotton.

  She ran her hands down his chest. “I want to see you, too.”

  He ran his hands across the slope of her shoulders, cupped her breasts in his hands. “You’re going to see me, Elle.” He backed her onto the bed, looked down at her, fiery hair spread across the mattress. “Even better, you’re going to feel me.”

  19

  She looked up at him, looming over her, his eyes flashing with desire. Even clothed, he was perfection, his big biceps and broad shoulders straining the fabric of his long-sleeved T-shirt, his erection pushing the bounds of his jeans. But it wasn’t enough.

  She wanted to touch him. To feel the heat of his skin under her fingers.

  She sat up, ran her hands up his denim-clad thighs, let them snake under his shirt, moisture rushing to her sex when her fingers finally came in contact with the heat of his skin, the ripple of his abs.

  She touched her lips to the skin just above the button on his jeans, and he hissed as her tongue snaked out to taste the salt on his skin. He held her head in his hands while she undid the button, unzipped his jeans, reached in to free his cock.

  He groaned as she wrapped her hand around him, stroking him long and slow.

  He gently removed her hand. “I think we better save that for later.”

  She leaned back on the bed. He’d always been a considerate lover. Someone who liked to take his time, to make sure he’d wrung every drop of pleasure from her before he took his own.

  “What are you going to do to keep me busy until then?” she asked.

  He stripped off his shirt, then pushed his jeans to the floor.

  “I think I’ve got that covered.”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  He’d always been beautiful, his cock large and thick, perfectly formed. But now it was part of a larger whole.

  Emphasis on the word larger.

  His chest was sculpted as if by a master, the defined muscle tapering to rippled abs, a prominent “V” leading downward. His cock stood at attention, the sight of it bringing a visceral pulse between her legs as she imagined him pushing into her. His thighs were muscular without being beefy, the thighs of an athlete — and a world-class lover.

  She spread her knees, giving him a glimpse of her pussy, throbbing with need for him. “Are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to join me?”

  He stepped toward the bed, kneeled on the edge of it until he was nestled between her knees. “Do you have to ask?”

  He leaned over her and she gasped as the head of his cock brushed against the sensitive bud of her clit. Then he was stretched out over her, his face inches above her own as he smoothed the hair back from her forehead and looked into her eyes.

  “I never thought I’d get to look at you like this again,” he said.

  She reached up to smooth the furrows from his brow, wishing it was that easy to take away the pain he’d felt for the last eight years.

  Wishing she could erase her own.

  “I’m right here,” she said. “Can’t you feel me?”

  “I can feel you.” He pushed his hips into hers until his erection slid between her folds, the tip teasing her clit until she squirmed under him. “Can you feel me?”

  She locked her hands behind his neck, thrust her hips upward to meet his. “It’s not enough. Make me remember.”

  She realized it was what she wanted: not to forget everything that had happened since they�
��d been apart, but to remember the way it had been when they were together. To remember how it once was and then build something new on top of it, a big open room with walls of glass and no secrets.

  He lowered his mouth to hers, sweeping her lips into a kiss that stole all thought as his hand traveled between their bodies to her breast, into the dip of her waist, out to her hips and ass.

  He reached around and hooked one of her knees onto his hip. It opened her wider, and her pussy got wetter as his cock settled more firmly into her folds. There was a pulsing vacuum at her center, swollen and aching for him to fill her, the proximity of his rigid staff close enough to be torture. If she shifted just a little, pushed down on him, he would be inside her. She tried it and was met with a sly chuckle as he compensated by lifting up, providing another inch of separation between them.

  “I see what you’re doing,” he said against her mouth.

  “Please,” she said. “It’s been so long.”

  “You’re going to get everything you want,” he said, touching his lips to her jaw, moving to her neck where his tongue flicked against her sensitive skin. “And some things you don’t even know you want yet.”

  He nuzzled her neck, and she reached between their bodies, closed her hand around his cock. He sighed, let her stroke him for a couple seconds before he reached for both of her wrists, stretched them over her head with one of his hands. Then he lengthened his body against hers, let his cock slide back and forth in her folds.

  She moaned, moving her hips with him, both tortured and thrilled by the motion, so close to what she wanted.

  “Hands off, beautiful,” he said, letting go of her hands, moving down her body, flicking his tongue against one erect nipple. “I’m not done.”

  He closed his lips around the nipple and it was suddenly enveloped in the heat of his mouth. It was like putting her cold hands into a fire, and she arched her back, wanting to give him access to all of it. Wanting him to absorb all of her into his warmth.

  He sucked the nipple and pulled back to circle it with his tongue while he massaged her other breast with his free hand. She was soaking wet, her center begging to be completed by him as he moved to the other nipple, gave it the same attention. The cool air on her wet skin was an erotic sting and she closed her eyes while he worked the other breast, her body remembering that this was what it was like with him.

  There was no way to hold onto the rest of the world when he was making love to her. There was no room for it. No room for anything but the onslaught of his mouth and hands, by the slide of his skin against hers. The hardness of his body sinking into the soft planes of her own.

  She gave herself up to it as he moved down her stomach, lingering over her belly button, his hands cupping her back like she was sacred. He nuzzled the tender skin at her sides, kissed the untouched slope of her hips.

  And this she remembered, too: his need to explore, as eager in sex as it was in life. He didn’t just want to fuck her.

  He wanted to know her.

  Every inch. Every hidden corner.

  She gave herself over to him as he moved farther down between her legs, kneeling next to the bed, kissing the inside of her thighs. He spread her legs and she felt his sigh against her sex as he ran a finger through the wet petals of her pussy.

  “My god, you’re beautiful,” he said.

  She felt beautiful. Had always felt beautiful when seen through his eyes. His appreciative appraisal of the most intimate parts of her body was natural and sensual, and her back arched off the bed as he slid his tongue from her perineum all the way up to her clit. A breeze blew in through the open glass door, the ocean air skimming her skin as he closed his tongue over her throbbing seed. The conflicting sensation was overwhelming — cold air and the heat of his mouth and pressure already building inside her demanding release — and she cried out as he sucked, her hips moving in time to his motion.

  Then they were moving together, the lapping and sucking of his tongue coaxing the long-dead sensation of orgasm from her core like no time had passed since she’d been in his capable hands. She was already on the edge when he thrust his fingers inside her, burying his face in her wetness, his lapping tongue somehow both urgent and languid.

  It ripped loose the last vestige of her control, and she was lifted on the wave of her orgasm, the explosion obliterating everything but the light opening up at the center of her body. She shuddered around his fingers, against his mouth, still moving on her, refusing to stop until he’d emptied her of every last tremor.

  But she wasn’t satisfied; she hadn’t had him inside of her, and that was what she wanted above all else.

  She reached for him. “Please…”

  He stood, bending her knees and spreading them wide as he knelt on the edge of the bed. Positioning the head of his cock at her entrance, he issued a guttural command.

  “Say my name, Elle,” he said. “Look at me and say my name.”

  She understood. There was history between them, but this had to be something new. Something untouched by the past.

  “Locke,” she said. “Please… fuck me, Locke. I can’t wait any longer.”

  The words were barely out of her mouth when he drove into her slow and hard. She felt every thick inch of him as he invaded her. Felt him sink little by little through the swollen channel of her sex.

  She cried out when he reached the top, and he stopped, leaning over to kiss her as she stretched for him. His tongue invading her mouth while his cock occupied her, creating an erotic kind of synergy. She was moving against him before he broke their kiss.

  He rose up, hooking her legs around his hips, lifting her ass off the bed as he dragged slowly out of her, hesitating at her entrance before thrusting again. His movements were leisurely, like he had all the time in the world even though his body was coiled tight, a fine sheen of sweat making him look like an oiled god.

  She met him thrust for thrust, pushed against him when he drove into her, lifted when he pulled out. They were working in time, working toward their mutual release just like they’d done in the past, their bodies always and forever perfectly attuned.

  She barely noticed the gradual increase of his pace. It wasn’t until he reached around to make circles on her clit with the thick pad of his thumb that she realized he was moving faster, fucking her harder, his staff somehow bigger, stretching her to the limit as he came closer to his own orgasm.

  His thumb on her clit brought everything to the surface — the pressure building at her center, the friction of his body against hers when his cock hit the top of her channel, the instinctual need to push onto him again.

  “I’m going to come,” she said. “Come with me, Locke.”

  The words seemed to demolish the floodgate that had been holding back his climax, and she understood then that he’d been on the verge all along. That he’d taken his time both because it was his way and because he wanted to make sure she got every ounce of pleasure possible before he took his own.

  He growled, pushing into her so hard she cried out into the room, a gust of ocean air carrying it on the wind as he drove into her over and over again, his thumb still working her clit.

  “Come for me, beautiful.”

  And then she was back in the water, lifted into the air on the strength of a powerful swell, free of gravity.

  Free of everything.

  Her body clamped down on his cock and he groaned as he pushed through her tightening channel, his hands back on her legs, holding her in position as he emptied himself into her. She was still coming, the contractions rocking her body in a seemingly endless string of earthquakes that crumbled the last of her doubts and fears. That left her level and vacant, ready for something new.

  Ready for something new with him.

  He didn't stop moving until her body stopped shaking. They were both gasping, their breath coming fast and hard in the empty room, the ocean air drying the sweat on their skin. He kissed her knees, then bent down to kiss her mouth long and deep.
When he finally lay next to her and pulled her into his arms, he smoothed the hair back from her forehead.

  “Time and distance changes nothing,” he murmured.

  It was true. Nothing had changed.

  Everything had changed.

  20

  Sunlight was just beginning to touch the water beyond the windows when Locke slipped from bed and pulled on his jeans. He paused to look at Elle, sprawled out on her stomach like a child, hair spread like flames across the pillow. He almost couldn’t believe she was real.

  He’d brought her to the house fully expecting her to leave when he told her the truth. He’d been less sure she would turn him into the authorities, but he’d been prepared for it. He would have hired a good attorney and hoped all the legwork he’d done to distance himself from his crimes would hold, but he’d known there was a possibility he would be on his way to jail within the year.

  Instead she was here. In his bed.

  He was almost afraid to leave, afraid she’d disappear. But he forced himself to leave the room, wanting to have coffee ready when she woke up.

  Everything looked different as he made his way into the hall and down the stairs. The house was warmer with her in it, like she was breathing life into it with her very presence. It had always been a beautiful piece of architecture, but now he saw it as a home. He saw himself curled up with Elle on the sofa, a fire crackling in the hearth at Christmas. He saw her laying on the terrace, eyes closed to the sun in the spring, swimming in the cove in summer.

  It felt too good to be true, and a thread of superstitious fear wound through his stomach. As if he was calling out his good fortune, daring it to abandon him.

  He crossed the living room and headed for the kitchen to start the coffee. His movements were automatic, and images of Elle flashed through his mind as he pulled a couple frying pans from the cupboard, set them on the stove.

  Making love to her had been everything he’d remembered — passionate and sensual and spiritual.