by Kery, Beth
“Oh . . . Ian,” she moaned shakily after he’d sucked on her for a minute or so, her muscles tensing again with renewed arousal. He drew on her nipple, but she felt the tug in her womb. He continued to massage her breasts in his large hands, holding the flesh captive while he consumed her, sucking first one nipple, then the other, until the crests were unbearably sensitive, rosy, and glistening and Francesca was crying out once again in stark arousal.
He lifted his head and looked at her face, his nostrils flared. A flush had grown on his cheeks. He placed one hand on her inner thigh. She shuddered and clamped her eyes shut. She’d grown so wet her juices were wetting her thighs. The subtle evidence of her rampant need both shamed and aroused her, the mixed emotions creating a sharp friction inside her.
“Open your eyes,” he demanded, his fingers still moving on her slick skin, amplifying the burn in her clit.
“No,” she whispered.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, lovely.”
She twisted her chin, keeping her eyelids clamped shut. She disagreed.
His fingers paused and she restrained a moan.
“Very well,” she heard him say, his voice rough with desire and frustration. “I can see you want this done and over with. Come onto the bed. I’ll take my pleasure of you and put us both out of our misery.”
Lust rushed through her at his words along with a fresh surge of shame. Damn him. No other man could say something so singularly selfish and make her so aroused. He knew she loved it when he finally let go and sought bliss in her flesh with a single-minded focus. He knew saying that would turn her on.
Standing, he released her from the grip of his thighs. She cracked open her eyelids cautiously. “Get on the bed, belly down, hands above your head. You won’t have to look at me in that position,” he said, his mouth pressed into a grim line.
“Fine,” she replied, equally edgy with anger and arousal. Why should she protest? It was true. She didn’t want to gawp at his savage beauty as he gave himself. It was all an illusion anyway, wasn’t it? He wasn’t giving anything. Not really.
He helped her onto the bed. She lay prone, her bound hands above her head. He gently extricated the pillows from under her forearms. She bit her lip to stifle a moan when he shoved them under her hips, elevating her ass. He parted her legs. She felt the air lick and kiss at her wet sex and thighs.
When he didn’t immediately get on the bed with her, she twisted her face around to peer at him. She wished she hadn’t. He was undressing. Completely. Forget about the fact that they’d been apart for a half a year, the vision of him naked was always compelling. Addictive. Ian usually only removed all of his clothes during the most intimate moments of lovemaking. She often wondered if he did that to make her crave the vision of his naked male glory all that much more.
If he did it for that reason, it worked. In spades.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him as he unbuttoned the white dress shirt and pulled it off his shoulders with a flex of rigid muscle. She went completely still on the bed. It was true that he’d lost weight in the past half year, but he’d never looked more powerful. He must still be partaking of his rigorous exercise. His leanness only served to glove his physique more tightly. His stomach was slightly concave beneath his muscular chest, but the muscles there looked like a ridged, solid wall. His tuxedo pants fell low on his narrow hips. He unfastened them fleetly while he kicked off his shoes. He bent to take off his socks and noticed her staring through strands of her hair. He paused.
If she had any pride, given her previous protest, she would have looked away. As it was, she couldn’t blink, let alone turn away.
He held her stare as he shoved his pants and underwear down his solid, strong thighs. She caught a covetous glimpse of his cock, heavy with arousal, flagrantly erect, the tapering head large, smooth, fleshy . . . mouthwatering. Then he was crawling on the bed behind her, and she could see him no more. She pressed her face into the mattress to muffle her whimper.
He didn’t speak. There was no preamble. He just parted her buttocks firmly with his hand and arrowed his cock into her pussy.
Her lungs deflated in an instant. He began to fuck her powerfully. She gasped, but it was as if her lungs wouldn’t fill . . . like there wasn’t room for both him and air inside her. His cock pounded into her, the friction he created intense. For a few tense, breathless moments, she wanted him to stop. It hurt. No, it didn’t hurt, it felt delicious.
She didn’t know what it felt like. She only knew she was helpless to stop it. He was doing what he’d said he would, taking his pleasure of her. His pelvis smacked against her ass again and again, his cock pummeling her. He was fucking her single-mindedly, but he was doing something else to her as well. He was softening her with this erotic beating into her flesh, weakening her defenses, forcing her to give way, insisting she accept him. She tightened around him, every muscle in her body resisting even as her hips bobbed against him and they crashed together, two storm fronts colliding.
He leaned down over her, his fists pressing into the mattress near her head, still fucking her without pause. She would be sore tomorrow, but right now, it felt so good . . . so bad.
“Francesca,” he grated out after a moment. “Open your eyes.”
When she didn’t respond, only kept her face in the mattress, her entire body a tightly coiled spring, he whisked the majority of her long hair onto one side of her head and shoulders, depriving her of the only cover she had. She made a hissing sound as he put his hand on her chin and gently turned her so that her cheek rested on the mattress. At the same moment, he thrust forcefully. A cry popped out of her lungs and her eyelids sprung open at the deep caress.
“Leave me alone,” she said, wild with arousal, desperate, knowing he was breaking through her defenses.
“As if that’s a possibility.” He grunted savagely, but she couldn’t tell if it was in lust or frustration when she turned and pressed her forehead to the soft sheets. His pushed his fists off the mattress. She sensed him straightening his upper body behind her. He squeezed her ass cheeks into his palms, plumping them together in order to amplify the pressure on his pounding cock, his manner lewd, single-minded. Her bottom still stung from her punishment. His rough handling of the tender flesh amplified the burn in her clit, exciting her. Then he lifted her ass off the pillows. She keened uncontrollably as he served her pussy to his cock, fast and furious, the frantic sound of their bodies smacking together blending with the pound of her heart in her ears.
Her eyes sprang wide. It was too much. She was going to come . . .
She squealed in protest when he halted abruptly, sheathed high and hard and throbbing deep inside her, and set her pelvis back on the pillows. He used his hand to twist her onto her side, one hip still pressed into the mattress. He fell down heavily behind her. The next thing her lust-impaired brain knew, he held her tightly against him, her back against his hard torso, his arms wrapped around her waist tightly, his face pressed against her neck. Her damned hair was spilled everywhere—probably in Ian’s mouth—but he didn’t seem to care or notice. The fronts of his strong, hair-sprinkled thighs pushed on the back of her legs, forcing her to bend, shaping her to him. He resumed fucking her, groaning deep and rough, his breath hot against her skin.
It was disorienting, to go from a relatively impersonal sexual position to one of such intense intimacy. She felt surrounded by him. She didn’t have time to guard herself against the power of his embrace. He slid his hand over her hip to the back of her upper thigh, pushing it higher, giving him freer access to her pussy. He resumed his hold on her waist, gripping her so tightly against him she almost couldn’t breathe. He was a solid wall of muscle behind her, resonating heat into her skin. She instinctively contracted around his cock with her vagina, lowering her bound hands to his hold at her waist, hugging him like she thought she could absorb him, wanting him . . . needing him to neve
r leave.
“Jesus,” he muttered thickly next to her neck. Their four hands rose and fell in unison as he used his hold on her to pump her back and forth on his cock, fucking her ruthlessly. She groaned in a fever of agonized delight. She needed him so much.
He would leave her.
“Tell me,” he said harshly.
Her moan of misery came erratically, punctuated by the harsh staccato rhythm of him crashing into her. His cock swelled impossibly large. He was on the edge. So was she. He captured one of her breasts in his hand, his fingers pressing near her heart. She felt herself cresting. His head moved, his teeth scraping the tender skin of her neck. She knew there was no escape.
And had there ever really been a trap?
Always.
“I love you,” she said fiercely, for what good was there in speaking the truth and whispering it?
He groaned gutturally and began to come. They were so entwined, she could feel it: the convulsions of his penis, the warmth of his semen shooting into her, the tightening of his facial muscles against her neck. His hand moved between her thighs and she quaked, her sharp cry mingling with his rough moan.
She joined him in bliss, and in that moment, it felt neither right nor wrong, just inevitable.
* * *
Minutes later, he rolled her onto her back. She watched him as he smoothed the hair out of her face and off her arms and chest. She looked sublimely beautiful, her face moist with perspiration and drying tears, the anger gone from her eyes, the tension erased from her features. The calm after the storm, he thought . . . and perhaps before another. It didn’t dismay him. Nothing could have in that moment. She had said the words he craved, given him the balm that soothed his bruised spirit. She lifted her hips in compliance when he began to pull the pillows from beneath them. He felt her stare as he unbound her hands and tossed aside his tie.
He took her wrists and opened her arms wide, resting them on the mattress, drinking in her undefended beauty.
“These arms,” he murmured tightly, kissing the tender flesh on the inside of her elbow. How could her arms be so inexplicably beautiful to him? But they were. He cherished every square inch of her. He could never convey to her how much. The round globes of her breasts heaved up and down as he lowered his head and pressed his face to the smooth, pale expanse of her belly. He kissed her, his tongue dipping into her navel, and looked up at her face.
“I worship you,” he said.
He kissed her belly again, his eyes burning when he felt her shudder of emotion vibrate against his lips.
* * *
Francesca moved her hands, cradling his head as he kissed her belly, her fingers burrowing into his thick hair, relishing the sacred, full moment. He lifted his head, and she put out her arms. Her chest ached at the vision of him coming to her. He accepted her embrace, taking her into his. Their flesh seemed to melt together, fuse. As if it had been the sensation her body had been waiting for, an inescapable wave of warmth and heaviness went through her. She fell almost immediately into a deep, exhausted sleep.
* * *
She awoke with a start at the sound of a brisk rap on the door. She opened her eyelids and was blinded by the bright light of sunshine hitting the white sheets.
“Not now,” Ian’s sharp voice penetrated her sleepy disorientation.
She twisted her head around, her eyes widening at what she saw. Ian was behind her on his side, his elbow propping up his upper body. His short, near-black hair was mussed. Whiskers darkened his jaw. His naked glory was made obvious not only by the mere sheet draped low on his hips, but the fact that her ass was pressed snugly against his cock. She wondered what sort of expression she wore, because his mouth tilted into a god-awful-sexy smile.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice sleep-roughed. Delicious. “It was just someone bringing coffee. I sent them away.”
She rubbed her eyes groggily, trying to gather herself. “I could have used it. I feel like I’m waking up after a weeklong sleep.”
He removed a tendril of hair from her cheek, his fingertips lingering to caress. His body stirred against her. She went still in abrupt awareness.
“I know. You were dead to the world when I put the pillow under your head. I’m glad you slept so well,” he murmured. “You needed the rest. I was worried about you.”
Remembered images and sensations from the previous night pummeled her awareness, recollections of her submission to the punishment, of her multiple orgasms as he made love to her with such sweet, ruthless precision, of his total possession . . . of her admission. Deep, satisfied sleep had staved off uncertainty, but it slinked into her awareness now.
Her torso still twisted around, she looked into his gaze cautiously. The early morning light streaming through the sheer curtains seemed to make his cobalt-blue eyes glow. The vision of him filled her consciousness. She blinked.
“I don’t know how you stood it, growing up with all these servants. Didn’t you find it intrusive?” she asked, striving to change the topic from the incendiary one of how his volatile, intimate lovemaking hadn’t only broken her defenses, but also made her sleep like a baby in his arms.
“I found it horribly intrusive when I first came to live here. There was actually more staff then than now. Most of the ones you see here now are temporary, hired for the holiday and visitors,” he said idly, sliding his palm to her sheet-covered hip. He didn’t push her tighter to him, but something about the possessive placement of his hand made her hyperaware of his cock pressing against her ass. More likely she was increasingly focused, however, because he was growing more erect by the second. It felt decadently arousing, lying there in a comfortable, mussed, sun-warmed bed plastered against Ian’s swelling flesh. With a herculean effort, she scooted onto her back and came up on her other hip, facing him this time, their bodies separated by a few inches. She pulled the sheet up to cover her breasts.
“I can imagine,” she said, ignoring his frown at her sudden movement. “You were so independent when you had to take care of your mother as a child. It must have been odd to all of the sudden have people everywhere ready to meet your every whim. Now that I’m here at Belford, I’m starting to appreciate how blatantly bizarre of an alteration it must have been for you.”
His slight scowl remitted when she settled, the soft down pillow pressed between her arm and resting cheek. He must have thought she was going to get up and flee. For a second, she’d thought about it, but as always, the draw of him was too great. She’d always prized those moments in bed with him when he opened up to her, revealing his depths.
“I considered running away,” he said starkly, bracing his head with hand, his bent elbow still on the mattress.
“Where would you have gone?” she murmured.
His expression flattened. “I fantasized about finding my mother’s grave. I couldn’t think about much beyond that.”
Her heart went out to him. She knew that Anne and James had told him that his mother had died when he was a child, hoping to protect his already scarred soul from further witnessing her descent into madness. When Ian had finally discovered the truth about Helen being alive when he was a young man, he hadn’t spoken to his grandparents for a year.
“I can understand how you eventually came around . . . came to love Belford,” she said. “Despite all its grandeur, it’s a beautiful home. Your grandparents have made it that way.”
“Gerard helped,” Ian said. He nodded toward the bedside table behind her. She twisted her chin to look. It was a round table with a lamp. Several silver-framed photos were placed on it. She saw one of a dark-haired, solemn boy standing next to a handsome young man wearing a half grin. Ian and Gerard. They looked to be in a garage and were standing in front of an antique roadster. In another, they both posed next to a motorcycle—the first one they’d rebuilt together, no doubt—and in that one, Ian’s smile was every bit as wide and proud as Gerard
’s.
She sensed him studying her when she turned to face him again. “Has Gerard been coming on to you?” he asked.
She blinked, startled by his direct question. In a split second, a dozen different answers sprang into her head. She was well aware that if she told Ian the truth, it could permanently damage a relationship that by all reports, had been a very positive one for him. The last thing he needed at this point in his life was another reason for misery.
“Like I told you, Gerard’s been very kind to me. Solicitous. In fact, between Anne, James, and him, I feel as if they’ve been treating me like I’ve just recovered from a terrible illness,” she said with a small smile. She met his gaze levelly when he examined her closely. Ian scowled and she had the distinct impression he knew she’d sidestepped his question.
“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been interested in the same woman,” Ian said.
“Really?”
He shrugged negligently. “The women never mattered that much to me, so it never bothered me until now.” Against her will, warmth flooded her at his words. He was admitting he was jealous because it was her. “Gerard was an orphan, too,” Ian said quietly after a moment. She suppressed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t further pursued the topic of Gerard’s romantic interest in her. “He lost his mother and father when he was barely of age. Officially, Gerard chose to be independent, becoming master of his parents’ home. He was at school most of the time, but when he was ‘home,’ he was usually here at Belford, not Chatham. I guess you could say we learned what it meant to be orphans together.”
“And thanks to Anne and James’s support and love, you both survived the trauma,” she said, turning to face him again.
His dark eyebrows made a flicking motion in acknowledgement of her statement, but he seemed distracted. “What is it?” Francesca asked.