But then she’d said that it wasn’t about sex, that she could get that from anyone, and well … If that hadn’t been a challenge he didn’t know what was, and he couldn’t let it stand.
She couldn’t get this from anyone else and she had to understand that. He had to prove it to her. And he had. Pretty conclusively he’d thought.
She needed him and only him.
Van didn’t question the territorial urge that rose inside him, the primitive desire to hammer his point home and underline it in blazing red. The primal need to make her see that there was no point denying him, no point holding out against him.
That she was his, pure and simple.
Why did she need all this love bullshit when she had him and the pleasure he could give her? She was such a little sensualist, she didn’t need anything else, surely?
He straightened, lifting his hands to the buttons of his shirt and ripping them open, shrugging out of the cotton and letting it fall. ‘You will marry me, Chloe,” he said. “And I’ll make you come like that every night.” He got rid of his shoes then unfastened his pants, pulling down the zipper, his cock so fucking hard it almost hurt. “You won’t ever need anything else, I promise you.”
She simply stared at him, currents and tides shifting in the darkness of her eyes, watching as he shoved his pants and underwear down, and stepped out of them, open hunger tightening her features.
Yeah, she needed him all right, so why she’d been so hell-bent on denying him, he didn’t know.
Getting out his wallet, he pulled a condom packet from it, tore it open, and rolled the latex over his dick.
Then he reached for her, turning her onto her front then bringing her down so she was kneeling on the floor between him and the couch, pressing her forward over the cushions.
Need for her was like the beat of his pulse, steady and relentless, an inexorable pull, but he didn’t want her silence or her stillness. He wanted her soft, husky voice telling him she needed him. Telling him that only he could make her feel this way, that it was only him she craved.
He would give her all of it. All of it and more. Make her forget about the hard, painful thing called love that he had no intention of giving her—of giving anyone. Make her desperate for the pleasure that he could instead.
She lay still, bent over the couch cushions, her arms lying on the cream linen, black hair all thick and glossy over her shoulders. So beautiful she made everything inside him tighten.
He knelt behind her, reaching forward to slide his arms around her, gathering her to him so her spine was pressed against the length of his torso. She felt so soft, so hot, and yet so fragile. Christ, he wanted to eat her alive.
Flexing his hips, he eased his aching dick against the softness of her ass, loving the give of her flesh as he did so.
“Talk to me, pretty.” He nuzzled against her neck, giving her a feel of his teeth against her skin, nipping at her, tasting her skin, hungry for something he didn’t have words for. “Tell me how much you want me.”
“I want you.” She gave in to him with no hesitation this time. “I want you, Van. So much.”
The words should have soothed the hot, possessive thing inside him, should have made him feel better, and yet for some reason they didn’t. They only made it feel even hotter, even more possessive.
He slid his hands up to cup her beautiful tits, teasing her nipples with his thumbs, and she stiffened. “Tell me you need me.” He pressed his mouth to the side of her neck then bit down a little. “Tell me there’s no one else for you but me.”
She arched back against him, lifting her breasts into his palms. “I need you,” she said huskily. “Oh God … Van. There’s no one else but you.’
Again, it should have been enough. Yet it wasn’t.
The possessiveness deepened, threaded through with a kind of desperation, a searching hunger that had him easing her forward and putting his hand on the back of her neck, pushing her head down onto the couch cushions, holding her still so she couldn’t protest and couldn’t escape. So she would know how completely she was at his mercy, in his power.
But she didn’t resist. She merely turned her head to the side so her cheek rested against the cream linen, accepting him. Her black hair was tumbling down her back, her skin even paler than the upholstery of the couch, her spine an elegant curve.
He had the sudden, intense feeling that she should be fighting him the way she normally did, that she should be pushing back against him, doing something, not simply giving in like this. Not doing everything she was told.
His heartbeat began to ramp up, the scent of her skin and her hair clouding his senses, the feel of her against his fingertips stinging like a burn.
He lifted a hand, stroking it down her spine, feeling her small, fragile bones and the satin of her skin, watching as she shuddered beneath his touch.
This was what he wanted, her on her knees and naked in front of him, telling him exactly what he wanted to hear. So why wasn’t it enough?
The possessiveness growled deep inside.
“You’ll marry me, won’t you?” He couldn’t make it sound like anything less like a demand, though he kept his touch on her back light.
Her lashes had fallen closed, lying thick and soft on her cheekbones. “Yes.” It was little more than a whisper. “I will.”
Again, it should have made him feel triumphant and satisfied. In control. In charge. Yet it felt more like something was slipping through his fingers. Something very, very precious.
“Chloe,” he said hoarsely, though he didn’t know quite why. “Chloe…” He slid his arms around her, the soft curve of her ass pressing against the hard ridge of his cock, as if pulling her closer would bridge the weird sense of distance he felt opening up between them.
She was so warm, the thick fan of lashes on her cheeks fluttering, and she gasped as he slid his fingers down her stomach, cupping her pussy in his palm.
Christ, she was so wet, so hot. And all for him.
His fingers almost shook as he stroked them through her slick folds, feeling her legs quiver as he did so. She was slippery, her clit hard as a button as he brushed his fingers over it, her hips jerking in response.
Yeah, this was all exactly as he’d wanted. So why the fuck did he keep feeling as if there was distance between them? As if the more he told her she was his, the less she actually was?
Why does that matter?
Maybe it didn’t. Maybe all that mattered was that he close that distance any way he could.
He took his hand away from between her legs and gripped his cock, shifting so he could rub the head of his dick all through the slick folds of her pussy and over that hard little clit, making her squirm and gasp and pant beneath him.
Making her burn like he was burning, making her as desperate as he was.
Only when she was trembling so hard it was as if she was going to come apart, did he grip her hips and position himself. Then he eased the head of his cock inside her, the feel of her pussy stretching to admit him then squeezing down hard on him making them both groan.
Ah, fuck, this was good. She was damn hot. She was going to kill him.
Chloe’s hands were spread out on the couch cushions, her fingers clutching onto the fabric, her eyes closed tight. Her hips flexed, urging him deeper, but he didn’t move, holding himself back.
He was going to take this slow, he was going to blow her fucking mind.
She gave a groan. “Van … please…”
Ignoring her, he leaned forward, spreading one arm out so it rested on the couch cushions alongside hers while sliding the other around her waist to anchor her against him. He covered her entirely so that there was nothing between them, not even air.
Then he began to move, drawing out then sliding back in, taking it slow and deep, relishing the tight clasp of her pussy around him, the scent of her shampoo, soap and feminine musk soaking the air around him.
She quivered, her hips trying to keep pace with his. “Oh �
�� God…”
It sounded desperate. Fuck, he was desperate too.
He lifted one hand to the back of her neck and swept aside her hair, pressing his mouth to her vulnerable nape, tasting her skin.
There was no distance now and nothing between them, yet he kept his arm like an iron bar around her waist, holding her hot little body close as he moved faster, deeper. Because it still felt like it wasn’t enough, that there could be more, he just had to get closer.
She was making soft, desperate sounds, shoving herself back onto him, arching her back as if that would increase the contact somehow. She’d dropped one hand onto his thigh, using it to brace herself, her fingers digging into muscle. He fucking loved that. Loved how she clung to him, loved how she twisted and strained beneath him, desperate for whatever he gave her.
How could he give this up? How could he let her go?
He couldn’t. He couldn’t ever.
“Van…” she pleaded hoarsely. “Van … please…”
“It’s okay, pretty,” he murmured. “I know. I’m here.” Keeping her pinned tightly against him, he slid his free hand around and down between her thighs, finding her clit. Making her buck and jerk and shake as he stroked her, as he continued to thrust deep inside her.
He’d make her come so hard she’d forget everything but this pleasure. Everything but the need to have it over and over again. Everything but him.
“Oh, God.” she whispered. “Oh God, Van…”
He pinched her clit, driving into her as deep as he could go, leaning over her and watching her deeply flushed face against the cushions, the pleasure beginning to do its work on him too.
Holy fucking Christ, he wanted this to last forever.
Chloe gave a little sob. “I love you,” she said.
And came.
CHAPTER TWENTY
She hadn’t meant to say it, the words just slipped out. She simply hadn’t been able to keep them inside any longer. All he had to do was touch her and she’d cave, crumble like a sandcastle before a wave, swamped by pleasure, by the feel of his body over hers and his hands touching her. By his heat, the rain and forest scent of him, the way he moved inside her, the way he covered her.
It was impossible to try to keep out a man like Sullivan Tate. He took what he wanted, and what he wanted was her. And she couldn’t resist him. It was futile.
She needed too much, just like she always had. Needed what he was giving her, all that warmth and sensuality, all the passion that had been missing from her life. The passion she didn’t know if she had the strength to give up.
Even though she’d sworn to herself she wouldn’t let herself be so desperate for someone again, she couldn’t help it. She loved him, and if he wanted her to marry him, then she’d do it.
Maybe it didn’t matter if he didn’t love her. Maybe he was right, that they didn’t need love. They had this and maybe this was enough. She’d managed well enough without the connection to Noah she’d longed for, so why shouldn’t she be able to do the same with Van?
The aftershocks of her orgasm were pulsing through her, so it took her a little while to realize that he wasn’t moving. She panted, feeling the pressure of his cock buried deep inside her, the intense heat of his muscled body at her back.
Oh God, had he heard her?
He didn’t say anything and after a while, he began to move again, his hips pulling back, his cock slowly drawing out of her before slamming back in again, making her clutch the couch cushions as a hot stab of pleasure echoed through her.
She shivered. He was going to make her come again, wasn’t he?
His massive body was a hard, hot wall at her back, his arm around her waist like steel, keeping her pinned against him. She shut her eyes, her breathing accelerating, her body shaking as his rhythm picked up.
He moved harder, the sound of his flesh meeting hers loud in the room, and sure enough the helpless, aching pleasure began to wind tighter and tighter again, making her moan against the fabric of the cushions.
It was as if he was on a mission to give her as much pleasure as he could, and God help her, she knew how single-minded he was when it came to completing his missions. He let nothing stand in his way.
It felt so good. He felt so good. And when he moved, putting one hand over hers where it clutched at the couch and sliding the other between her thighs again, it felt even better. He began to stroke her clit, timing it with his thrusts, and she was flying over the edge a second time, even before she’d had a chance to think about it, sobbing as the pleasure exploded through her.
And he didn’t stop, he kept driving himself into her, over and over again, his fingers sliding all over and around her sex, building her up yet again.
“I can’t give you anything,” he murmured, hot and rough in her ear. “I can’t give you anything but this, understand?” He drew out, thrust in. “But that’s all you’ll need, pretty.” Another withdrawal, another hard thrust. “I’ll make sure you’ll never know the difference.”
Oh, Jesus, he had heard her.
Her throat constricted and a small, fierce part of her wanted to tell him that was wrong, that she’d know the difference, that he was an arrogant son of a bitch to think he could tell her what she did and didn’t need. But she had no breath left, her voice too cracked and hoarse to explain.
All she could do was whisper “Yes” against the cushions as his hands and his cock began to work their magic on her again, another orgasm on the cusp of exploding inside her. And she screamed “Yes” when it hit, shaking as it began to tear her apart, sobbing the word over and over as she lost herself in the storm.
Dimly she felt him behind her, moving faster and faster, getting wild, losing control, his hands over both of hers now, their fingers interlaced. Then a hoarse roar in her ear, his body stiffening, his fingers clenching as the orgasm came for him too.
She didn’t move as he slumped against her, his body covering hers completely like a big, hot blanket. Making her feel safe, as if she could lie here beneath him forever and everything would be okay.
As if he was right, and she didn’t need love. All she needed was him.
Soon enough, though, he moved away, his withdrawal from her feeling like a loss, the air across her bare back making her shiver. Behind her she could hear the rustle of clothing and the sound of him moving out of the room.
She swallowed, her mouth dry. Her knees hurt too, and she was cold, and when she finally forced herself to her feet, her muscles ached. Her sex throbbed, feeling raw, and somehow her heart was raw too, tender and painful in her chest.
Bending to pick up her robe, she found her hands were shaking.
“Let me do that.” Van’s deep voice came from behind her, the sound of it like a shock of cold water over blistered skin, and then he was helping her back into the robe, turning her around to face him as he wrapped it around her and tied it close.
“I thought you’d gone,” she said thickly, her legs feeling wobbly.
“Just getting rid of the condom.” He scooped her up in his arms, took a couple of steps to the couch, and sat her down on it. Then he turned away, bending to pick up his own clothes, dressing himself in a series of short, efficient movements.
She watched him, an uncomfortable, unsettled silence filling the room.
Was there something wrong? He wasn’t looking at her, his face averted as he began to do up his shirt, his gaze directed at his hands.
“Shall … we go upstairs?” she asked haltingly. “I mean … I don’t mind. Though maybe I could have something to eat before we do anything else. I kind of missed breakfast.”
His hands dropped from the buttons and suddenly he looked at her, the intensity in his green-gold eyes taking her breath away. “Why did you say that?”
“Why did I say what?”
“That you loved me.”
She could feel her cheeks heat. She hadn’t meant to say it, in fact those old, forgotten instincts had her fighting hard not to, to not reveal herse
lf so completely. But now he was here, standing in front of her, an intense look on his beautiful face, demanding to know why, and … she couldn’t lie. Not about this.
She meant it. She’d meant it with every breath in her. And even though he’d already made it clear he wasn’t going to give it back to her, she couldn’t deny it, not to him and not to herself. Her days of pretending were over.
Chloe held his gaze. “Because I do.”
“Why?” It was barked like an order, a muscle ticking in the side of his jaw.
“Why shouldn’t I love you?” She lifted her chin. “You’re the reason I didn’t die of loneliness out at the ranch, Van. You’re the reason I realized it wasn’t my fault Dad treated me the way he did.” Her voice firmed. “You listened to me in a way no one else ever has. You made me feel important. Like I mattered to someone.”
He stood there, saying nothing, staring at her, and she couldn’t read the expression on his face. “I never told anyone the truth,” he said harshly, abruptly. “Not my men, not my brothers, not Dad. No one.”
She blinked. What on earth was he talking about? “The truth? The truth about what?”
“The truth about Sofia.”
“Sofia?”
“The woman I was supposed to protect in Columbia. The woman who died.”
There was something in his voice that made her heart skip a beat and sent a chill whispering over her skin. “What truth?”
“It was my fault she died.” His tone was curiously blank. “I killed her.”
“But you said it was a stray bullet—”
“The bullet was mine.”
The chill gripping her deepened. “What?”
“We were on the run for three days, in the jungle, with mercenaries after us. It was in the middle of the night and she was on watch because I hadn’t slept for two days. She woke me up, told me that there were people nearby, that she’d heard them, so I told her to go find a place to hide. That I’d deal with the people then come find her, and she wasn’t to move until I did.” His hands slowly closed into fists at his sides, the look in his eyes burning with a cold, green light. “It was dark, but I managed to take the guys on our tail out. Then I went to find her, except she didn’t answer when I called her name. I ended up searching for about an hour or so before I realized that what I thought was one of the mercenaries was her. She was supposed to stay put but I guess she must have gotten scared or something and tried to run.” He paused. “Like I said. It was dark and I’d had no sleep, and all I saw were shadows in the jungle. But I shot her, Chloe. I shot her thinking she was one of them.”
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