Falling for the Forbidden: 10 Full-Length Novels

by Jessica Hawkins

  She clenches her ass. “Are we going to—?” Her glutes squeeze against my probing finger. “No! Not there.” She pants. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to fuck you, Ivory. Tonight. Right now.” I grind against her hip, rubbing my finger between her crack, teasing that tight ring of muscle. I ache to take her there, to fuck every hole in her body.

  Holding her hip in a bruising grip, I reach deeper between her legs, pressing my finger against the tiny pucker of skin.

  A pained keening noise tears from her throat, and her hands fall from the cabinet. “Scriabin.”

  I jolt backward, my pulse racing and hands in the air. “Ivory?”

  Fucking hell, she used her word. She used her fucking word.

  She shakes against a full-body tremor, torso curved over the counter, thighs clenched together, and arms wrapped around her chest. “I c-c-can’t.”

  Frustration pummels through me, angry and vicious. And irrational. I force it back, breathing tightly, then deeply, desperate to understand.

  Relaxing my arms at my sides, I try to soften my voice. “Be specific.”

  “Not my…” She shoves her dress down her legs and turns toward me, eyes glassy and terrified. “Not back there.”

  “Have you ever been touched there?”

  Her face falls, and she curls in on herself.

  Molten rage pours through my veins like lava. I haven’t examined her closely enough to see scarring, but it’s obvious someone sodomized her. Possibly several someones.

  Horrific images cleave through my brain, kicking my heartbeat into a macabre orchestra of violence.

  “No anal.” I clench my shaking hands and take a cautious step forward. “That’s your limit?”

  “I can’t, Emeric.” She backs up and bumps against the counter, her expression pinched in torment. “Please, don’t do this.”

  My stomach drops. She thinks I’d force her?

  “Ivory.” Another step, my voice gravelly with heartache. “I won’t touch you there. I promise.”

  She stares at the doorway, chin quivering and knees twitching. She looks like she’s going to run.

  “Eyes on me,” I say gently and wait for her to obey. “Is that your only limit?”

  Please say yes. I thought for sure she was willing to have sex. How the fuck did I misjudge this?

  “I-I don’t know.”

  My lungs tighten, laboring for air. I stand just out of arm’s reach, respecting her safe zone. But I’m not ready to back down. I’m sure as fuck not giving up.

  She has all the power here, and goddammit, I’ll do whatever is needed to make sure she knows it.

  I keep my voice level but firm. “You have two choices. One. Walk down the hall, sit behind the piano, and wait for me to begin your lesson. Two. Head upstairs to the bedroom, remove your clothes, and wait for me to fuck you.” I steel my gaze. “No anal, Ivory. You have my word.”

  Arms wrapped around her chest, she rubs her biceps, still not looking at me.

  I infuse my tone with conviction. “Whatever you choose, there will be no disappointment or shame. Not from me or you. Understand?”

  “Yes.” A shaky whisper.

  “Go.”

  The second she’s out of sight, I spin toward the counter and grind my fist against the granite. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I should’ve known she didn’t want to be touched there. I shouldn’t have pushed her.

  No, that’s bullshit. If I could just think past my aching cock for a goddamn minute… Deep breath.

  We just made a huge fucking step forward. She used her word and showed me one of her limits. Now I can trust her to use it again. I’ll wait for her for an eternity if I have to.

  The pad of tiny feet draws my attention to the floor. Schubert prances around me and leans his body against my leg, covering my black slacks in orange hair.

  I reach down and scoop him up.

  “She’s going to shut down on me, isn’t she?” I press my lips against his head, holding him against my chest. “Fuck, I want to kill every fucking prick that’s ever touched her.”

  He purrs like a motor and arches his neck for a scratch. Curling my fingers beneath his chin, I oblige. Soon, my pulse evens out, and my muscles loosen.

  “Let’s go find our girl.”

  I place him on the floor and follow him out of the kitchen, through the hearth room, and into the living room. He veers off toward the couches and stretches out on one of the cushions.

  Straight ahead and down the hall is the music room. To the left and toward the—

  A delicate black shoe sits on the rug in the foyer. My pulse jumps.

  I head toward it, loosening the tie around my neck as I gaze up the staircase. The second shoe perches on the curve in the steps.

  She chose the bedroom.

  My cock twitches, and my breaths speed up. I launch forward, racing up the stairs and around the corner.

  The sight of her black dress on the floor in the hallway spurs me faster, building a hungry pressure at the base of my spine. When I reach the bedroom door, I find it shut, the handle adorned with her black lacy bra.

  Christ, she’s turning me inside out. I adjust the rigid ache in my slacks and drag in several calming breaths. Then I open the door.

  Ivory

  The bedroom door swings open, and I release a sigh of relief.

  I perch on the side of the bed, nude and vulnerable, as we stare at one another. Seeing him framed in the doorway and watching me with those stony eyes sweeps my breath away.

  I’m so damn conflicted about why I used my word. How did I let one paralyzing moment of terror override every ounce of trust I have in him?

  Not only did Emeric stop, he didn’t explode into a fit of anger. His patient reaction and dependable control proves my fear of him was unwarranted and weak. Am I so dysfunctional that I can’t have an intimate relationship with a man who would rather die than endanger me?

  His light blue button-up hangs open at the collar, the cobalt tie unknotted and dangling around his neck. The waistcoat is a multi-colored plaid of blue, gray, and black. It would look drab on a clothes rack, but with his sapphire eyes, chiseled jaw, and grungy mess of black hair, he sells it like a trend-setting catalog model.

  Jesus, he’s painfully handsome. But it’s the synergy of his commanding aura and unwavering devotion that makes him particularly effective in stealing my heart.

  Instead of forcing himself in my ass or kicking me out of his life, he gave me a choice. There wasn’t a millisecond of debate in my mind. I won’t ever willingly accept anal sex, but he will never force me. My faith in that made it easy to leave him a trail of clothes.

  Now that he’s here, I don’t know what to say or how to steer us back to the way things were. But I don’t have to do anything.

  He crosses the room with effortless strides, frames my face in his strong hands, and brushes his lips against mine. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” My breath hiccups. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Never apologize for using your word.” He kisses my mouth and eases back to look into my eyes. “Everyone has limits.”

  I jerk my head. “You? What are they?”

  He lowers, squatting between my legs and glides his hands down my neck. “Defecation.”

  “Defe—what?”

  “Scat. Feces. That’s a big fat no.”

  “Oh my God, people do that?”

  “Yes.” He fights a twitchy smile and wins, flattening his lips. “And bestiality. Also my limit.”

  My throat convulses. “How does your mind even go there?”

  “You have to ask?”

  I grin. He’s a perverted, kinky man, and damn if I don’t love that about him. “Good to know you won’t be taking advantage of poor Schubert.”

  He makes a disgusted face. “That was your mind going there.”

  “You started it.”

  He molds his hands around my waist, his thumbs tracing my hipbones. “No sharing. Ever. You’re mine. I�
��m yours. That is my hardest limit.”

  “You’d rather I shit on you than have sex with someone else?”

  “Yes.” His gaze flies to mine, the hardening blue depths cemented with a biting tone. “If another man so much as touches you, my reaction will be murderous. Remember that.”

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  He rises to his feet, his fingers making a descent down the front of his waistcoat, slowly releasing each button as his eyes rake over my body. “Touch yourself.”

  Parting my legs, I slide a hand between my thighs. His vest drops to the floor, and my nipples tighten against the sudden flutter of excitement.

  He removes the tie and unbuttons the shirt in the same unhurried fashion, seemingly content with his view of me. His head tips minutely, lips parting as his gaze follows the roll of my fingers against my clit.

  I stroke softly, watching him watch me, my pulse slurring a smooth legato rhythm through my veins.

  He shrugs out of the shirt sleeves, exposing curved biceps and defined pecs and abs. Then he crouches to remove his shoes and socks, never looking away. “Lie back. Widen your legs.”

  I scoot toward the center, lying sideways on the mattress, and swirl my fingers over my wet folds. The sensitivity of my touch and his uninterrupted attention on me fuels a blazing fire in my core. I’m so attuned to him, to the harmony of his breaths and the subtle twitches in his hands. It comes from a habit of sexual enjoyment of his presence, and it’s solidified in the knowledge that he will never let me down.

  With an economy of movement, he loosens the belt, opens his slacks, and shoves the last of his clothes to the floor. I’ve seen his rock-strong body parts in bits and pieces, but never all of him at once, fully in the buff. Sweet heaven, he gives new meaning to buff.

  His cock rises up, jutting above the columns of his powerful thighs. He doesn’t touch it, doesn’t even acknowledge it as he approaches, eyes locked on mine and expression intense.

  He grips my ankle and circles the mattress, dragging my legs and rotating my position until my head is near the headboard. He stops with my feet at the foot of the bed and leans forward.

  The indentation of his knee on the mattress jump-starts my heart. The predatory look in his eyes stops my breath. He crawls over me, legs on the outsides of mine, prowling on hands and knees and straddling my thighs.

  I expected him to wrench my legs open and shove between them, but he’s proved repeatedly he’s not like the others.

  Hovering over me, he fuses his mouth to mine while his hand roves my body, stroking and fondling my chest, thighs, and pussy. His feverish tongue, heavy exhales, and devilish touches drive me breathlessly insane.

  I tug at his shoulder, attempting to bring him closer. “Will you…lie on top of me? Let me feel your weight?”

  He’s pinned me against a wall, tied me to a piano, and fingered me against the kitchen island, but I’ve never been in this position with him. No matter how many times I’ve imagined it, I know it’ll be unlike anything I’ve experienced.

  With my thighs squeezed together between his, he cups the back of my head in both hands and lowers his long frame on top of me. His eyes search my face as his weight sinks me into the mattress, his chest covering mine in heat and muscle.

  My mouth falls open on a blissful gasp, and he catches it, his tongue sliding and claiming, his lips firm, aggressive, and all mine. The bulky size of him smothers me in security, his strength a shield of protection, and his hands supporting my head as if in supplication.

  We kiss through an endless sonata of heartbeats and moans, our foreheads rolling together and hips grinding greedily. Our bodies rock in a synchronized wave, trapping the steely length of him between us.

  I’m scared out of my ever-loving mind thinking about his wide girth being rammed up inside of me. But I’m ready. I’ve never been so ready for this.

  I flex my quads, trying to open my thighs. Why hasn’t he spread my legs already?

  “Don’t test me, Ivory.” He reaches between us and rubs his fingers along the slippery seam of my pussy. “Where my head’s at right now, I’ll split you in half.”

  In the next breath, he flips us, rolling me on top and folding my legs to straddle his hips.

  “I’m giving this to you. Just this once.” He reaches over his head and grips the laddered rungs of the headboard. “My hands won’t move. I’m going to lie here and hold still while you fuck me.”

  Oh.

  Wow.

  Okay, that’s…different. And really nice.

  Until I gaze down at the huge, long cock rising up in front of me. How does this work? He wants me to…sit on that thing?

  I meet his eyes, shaking my head. “I’ve never…”

  His fingers blanch around the rungs, his expression pained. Is that anger?

  “Never been on top?” he growls.

  “Never.” Nervous energy trickles through me. I grip his shaft with both hands, stroking up and down, reacquainting myself with his size. “I don’t know, Emeric. Can I even fit…?”

  His breath rushes out. “Dammit, Ivory. It’ll fit.” The sinews in his forearms strain with his hold on the headboard. “You’re fucking tormenting me here.”

  Flexing his thighs beneath me, he pins me with a look that is so integral to who he is. The almighty confidence in his eyes tells me to shut up and pay attention because he’s about to share a mind-blowing experience with me. It’s his most powerful expression, one that’s probably gotten him laid, without a single spoken word, more times than I care to think about.

  “That look you’re giving me…” I squeeze my fingers around his cock, enjoying the sound of his strangled breath. “Do you do that when you’re performing on stage?”

  His hips shift beneath me, his voice tortured. “What?”

  “Do you eye fuck women in the audience?”

  “Ivory, get on my dick before I lose my fucking mind.”

  I bend down and place a kiss on the bulbous crown in an affectionate greeting. The next kiss is a plea to be gentle.

  Then I rise on my knees and position him between my legs.

  True to his word, he doesn’t thrust or move his hands. His eyes glow like blue flames as he waits for me to draw him inside.

  I lower onto him, inch by inch, marveling at the stretching sensation, the easy slide, the perfect fit. It’s never this wet, this careful. Fuck, I feel so full. Hungry. Relieved.

  The sound of his guttural groan spurs me faster. When he’s all the way in, I squeeze my inner muscles around him.

  His eyes clamp shut, muscles flexing in his jaw, his body shaking beneath me. I don’t think he’s breathing.

  “Emeric?”

  A throaty grunt is the only response he gives, charging my already overloaded senses with giddiness. And I haven’t even moved yet.

  I lean forward and press my lips to the ridge of his tense chest. “This is it. We’re doing it.”

  His eyes fly open, and he releases a pained laugh. “We’re not doing anything.” His hands tighten around the headboard, his glare hard and demanding. “Fuck my cock, Ivory.”

  I roll my hips, testing the feel of him sliding against my insides and filling me with jolts of static.

  His entire body trembles beneath me. “Faster.”

  With my palms on his chest, I rotate along his shaft, lifting and rocking. The dragging, tickling strokes are unreal. The little shocks of electricity, the panting sounds of our breaths, everything centers around where we’re joined.

  He raises his head, watching me intensely. “Ride it.”

  I do, willingly and with abandon.

  “Fucking grind it.” His hand slips from the headboard, but just as quickly, he adjusts his grip. “Harder, Ivory. Deeper.”

  I let loose, lifting my arms behind my head, closing my eyes, and circling my hips. When I bounce, my breasts sway and the bed frame creaks. When I bear down and rock, my clit catches fire.

  I could come like this. A bona-fide orgasm. With
a cock inside me. Mr. Marceaux’s cock. Hard to ignore the significance of that.

  “Ah, fuck.” The headboard groans in his grip. “Look at you.”

  I open my eyes and collide with his, a smile pulling at my cheeks. “I’m fucking my teacher.”

  “Jesus Christ, Ivory.” His biceps flex above his head, his thighs hardening beneath me. “Give me your mouth.”

  I slide up his chest and thrust my hips, delighting in the feeling of the new angle. When I reach his lips, his tongue seeks mine, twirling and tasting.

  He snaps his teeth at me, his muscles bunching and twitching. “Your sloppy cunt is dripping all over me.”

  His filthy mouth strengthens the brewing tide inside me. I sweep my hands over his biceps and cup his face, the scratch of his stubble scraping my palms. He deepens the kiss, the strong stretch of his jaw as erotic as the sinful way he glides his tongue.

  I miss his hands on me, though, and the bite of his belt, his painful pleasure. I don’t like his silence, either. I ache for his growly orders commanding my every move. But he seems incapable of talking all of a sudden. With his body so rigid and hard, I suspect it’s taking a heavy dose of concentration to not move his hips or let go of the rungs.

  No more torturing.

  With my hands on his face, I kiss him fiercely, passionately, while working my pussy up and down his length, searching for the spot. When I find it, all of my nerves, cells, and thoughts rush to my womb, gathering, pressurizing, and exploding through my body in a pounding series of percussions.

  My mouth opens in a soundless scream, my gaze locked on his eyes. His lips part with me, his pupils dilate, and his hands fly to the back of my head. Then he’s kissing me mercilessly, hammering his hips, and spiraling me through another orgasm.

  He rolls us, hands on my face, his mouth and breaths consuming mine. Our tongues battle, licking and lashing as his weight crushes my chest and his cock fills me up. Over and over, he slams his hips with wicked-hard thrusts. I reach down, put my hands on the hard muscle of his ass for the first time, and hold on.

  My God, it’s a perfect ass. He’s perfect everywhere. The cinnamon on his tongue. The dark bass notes in his voice. The musical talent in his hands. The sight of him in jeans and t-shirts, ties and waistcoats, and nothing at all. I’ll never get enough.