“Now…” She leaned forward to nip at his delectable bottom lip. She was so thrown by his last statement that she had to distract herself. Those bright, sparkly feelings? Well, they were bursting all over the place like the fireworks over Navy Pier on the Fourth of July. And if she’d thought she was emotionally vulnerable to him before, it didn’t compare to how exposed she felt now. “You’ve been set straight on today’s events, you’ve been fed, we’re on a bed, so what do you say we put that condom you stole from Angel to good use?”
Chapter 22
Vixen…
That was the look Emily was going for as she bit her bottom lip and waggled her eyebrows. But Christian saw the uncertainty in her eyes.
He’d really thrown her for a loop when he told her he thought she’d make an excellent mother. And even though it’d gutted him to hear her say she planned to become artificially inseminated, especially since he could quite easily imagine a little girl with his eyes—they were better suited for a girl—his chin dimple, and Emily’s dark, wavy hair, he couldn’t deny the truth of his statement.
She would make an excellent mother. She’d be strict yet kind. Consistent yet open to the occasional bending of the rules. And most importantly, she would be absolutely ferocious in her love for her children. She would stand against the world for them, lay down her life for them, make bloody well certain they never went a day without knowing they were her everything.
She would be the mother she never had. She would be the mother he never had.
If he hadn’t already loved her with every fiber of his being, imagining her as a mother would have sent him falling ass over tits. And it killed him that she wanted him to be a part of her children’s lives, that she thought him worthy of the honor.
It also gave him hope that eventually, with time, she’d come to realize she didn’t need a sperm donor. All she needed was him.
“Christian?” There was a question in her eyes. He’d been silent too long. “If you’re not up for it, I underst—”
He caught her sweet mouth in a kiss meant not only to silent her words, but also her thoughts. Not up for it? Was she mad?
As always happened anytime their lips touched, he was completely overwhelmed by her. Pressing her into the mattress, he cupped her face and kissed her with everything he had. Trying to convey everything he could not say aloud with the caress of his lips, the stroke of his tongue.
When he finally pulled away, they were both fighting for air. “Not up for it, eh?” He quirked a brow, grabbed her hand, and guided it down to the strain of his cock against the fly of his jeans. “Darling, since the first time I saw you walk through the doors of BKI, I’ve been up for it.”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and grinned up at him. Then she curled her delicate fingers around his cock and squeezed. It was enough to have his eyes crossing. A groan rumbled from the back of his throat.
“We have to be quiet,” he instructed, pinning her with a knowing look.
“I can be quiet.”
“Mmm,” he said skeptically. The woman was a wildcat in the throes of passion. She screamed her pleasure at the top of her lungs.
“I can,” she insisted, her chest rising and falling with breaths quickened by anticipation.
She continued to stroke him. Which would never do. Two more minutes of attention from her busy, talented hand, and he’d go off in his drawers.
Grabbing her wrist, he forced her fingers free of him. His silly cock wept at the loss of friction, but he silently promised the silly bugger the reward would be worth the wait.
“I’m going to take your clothes off now, Emily,” he told her, not recognizing his own voice. It had dropped three octaves, going low and growly with desire. Not waiting for her acquiescence—the hungry, eager look in her eyes was all the agreement he needed—he whipped her sweatshirt over her head.
Delighted, he watched as her hair spilled out and spread across the stark white pillow. Even in the dim light of the sleeping cabin, it shined with silky health. Usually, she kept it secured in a ponytail or a sloppy bun atop her head. But when she let it down…heaven help him.
Picking up a lock, he held it to his nose and inhaled that sweet, exotic scent that was uniquely her. He didn’t know why he confessed what he did then. It simply slipped out of him. “I’ve been using your shampoo in the shower.”
She was pressing a finger into the dimple in his chin, but that had her feathering her fingers through his hair. “You have? I thought that bottle was getting empty faster than usual.”
“But I haven’t been washing my hair with it.”
“No?” Her brow puckered. “Then what have you been doing with… Oh!”
A dark blush stole onto her cheeks, and he couldn’t help his wicked grin. “If I live to be a thousand years old, the smell of your shampoo will make me hard.”
“Kinky.” She giggled, her breaths coming faster. She fancied the thought of him lathering up his hands and having a wank.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he promised, claiming her mouth in another kiss as he undid her bra and slipped it from her shoulders.
Pulling back, he eyed the treasures he’d uncovered. “Ah, Emily. You have the prettiest pink nipples in the whole world. I can’t get enough of them.”
He bent to take one tender peak into his mouth, enchanted when it furled tighter. She hissed, her hands stabbing into his hair to hold him to her. When he tongued the turgid little nub, she moaned his name, turning to throw a leg over his hip so she could grind herself against his hardness.
“I have a confession too,” she whispered when he kissed his way to her other breast.
“What’s that, darling?” He closed his mouth over her neglected nipple and caressed it the way she liked. Slowly, with the flat of his tongue.
“I poured a drop of your cologne onto a washcloth,” she said, panting. “And then laid it beside me in bed while I used my vibrator.”
That had him releasing her nipple. It made a popping sound when it slid past the suction of his lips. “You touched yourself and thought of me?”
A sultry grin tilted her lips. “You aren’t the only one who’s been up for it since the minute I walked through BKI’s doors.”
He groaned, letting his head fall against her naked shoulder. The thought of her lying in bed, pleasuring herself…
Dear God.
“I want you to introduce me to your vibrator once we’re home.” He lifted his chin to catch her stare. “I need to know what I’m up against. Take the measure of my competition.”
“Believe me”—she reached between them to stroke him again—“there’s no comparison. You’ve got it beat by a mile.”
He let her have her way for as long as he could stand it, maybe ten seconds, before he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away. Finding her other wrist, he manacled them in one hand and pressed them into the pillow above her head.
“I can’t have you touching me.” He reached for his belt, quickly undoing it and pulling it from the loops. “I’m too close to the edge already.”
“But—”
“No buts.” He cut her off, circling his belt around her wrists and cinching it tight.
She pouted prettily, but he could see the excitement in her eyes.
“Now, keep your hands above your head,” he instructed, scooting down the bed to attack the laces on her boots. They dropped to the floor within seconds of each other—thunk, thunk—and then her socks, leggings, and panties joined them in a heap.
“Please,” she begged quietly, writhing on the bed, gloriously, unabashedly naked. “Christian, I don’t want to go slow.”
“I hear you, darling,” he assured her. They’d taken care of foreplay back at the manor. Joining their bodies together now was as necessary as breathing.
Reaching over his head, he pulled off his sweat
er. Toeing out of his boots, he undid the buttons on his fly and then shucked his drawers and jeans all in one go. His socks joined the pile of clothes on the floor as he knelt on the edge of the bed, grabbed her knees, and spread her legs wide.
She was pink and plump and so deliciously bare that his cock jerked and a hot drop of pre-ejaculate slipped over his swollen head. She saw it and dropped her hands to touch.
“Ah, ah,” he scolded, grabbing the loose end of his belt the second before her fingers found him. He lowered himself atop her, pulling her arms back above her head. His heart thudded with joy and impatience. “No touching.”
“But I want to touch.” Her breath was hot and sweet, still smelling of peanut butter and jelly as it feathered over his lips.
“Later,” he promised her, loving the feel of her thighs beside his hips. Loving the feel of her soft breasts cushioning his chest. Loving her.
He claimed her mouth in a harsh, thorough kiss as he ripped open the condom he’d slid from the pocket of his jeans. Fisting the latex down his length, he felt his stomach muscles contract at the delicious friction. He was close. Too close.
Emily wasn’t helping matters by mewling and writhing and returning his kiss with so much enthusiasm that the control in which he took so much pride threatened to shatter.
Breaking the sweet, suctioned seal of their mouths, he pressed up on his elbows and stared down into her passion-glazed eyes. That he could turn the indomitable Emily Scott into a soft, pliant thing filled with want made him ridiculously satisfied and maybe a touch smug.
“Are you ready?” He framed her pretty face with his hands.
“I’ve been ready,” she panted. “Told you that.”
“Let’s make sure, shall we?”
Reaching between them, he slid two fingers down her silken cleft to find that, indeed, she was slick and swollen and prepared to receive him. When he thumbed over her distended clitoris, she moaned. Pushing one finger deep inside, he was pleased to feel her body suck and grab at him.
Yes. She was most definitely ready.
Gently sliding out his finger, he shushed her when she grumbled her displeasure. “Patience, darling. I’ve got what you need.”
Grabbing the base of his aching cock, he angled it toward her waiting entrance. Then he paused, drawing out the moment, building the anticipation for the instant he would finally, once and for all, claim the woman he loved…
* * *
Emily held her breath as Christian pushed slowly, so inexorably slowly inside her.
Had she mentioned he was a rather large man? Girthy. Meaty. Each inch into her tightness was a struggle to gain. His jaw was locked down so hard it looked like it could take a hit from a wrecking ball and come out the winner.
“Relax,” he grunted. He’d barely made an inch or two of headway.
She nodded, but relaxing was impossible when he was looming above her like a dark angel. When he was pressing into her inch by thick, glorious, preposterous inch.
She was stretched tight. Pleasure unlike anything she had experience before bordered on pain.
This’ll never work! she thought frantically, her fingers curling around the trailing end of his belt, her nails biting into the leather.
Growling his frustration, he lowered his head and engulfed her nipple in the heat of his mouth. She’d had her chin tipped down, watching the place where they were joined, but that had her head falling back against the pillow, her eyes fluttering shut.
He had the most wicked, wanton inferno of a mouth. It sucked. It laved. It nipped until she was squirming against him, trying to take him deeper, to force him farther so that he would fill the aching, hollow place inside her.
“Be still,” he growled around her nipple.
And he thought she was bossy?
“Can’t,” she panted, lifting her legs and pressing her feet into his ass, urging him forward.
Releasing her breast, he cradled her face between his big, callused hands. He looked at her so tenderly. That tenderness was only slightly overshadowed by the frustration that had the muscle ticking beneath his left eye. “You have to relax.”
She shook her head against the pillow. “Can’t do that either. Please, Christian. Please just—”
He shushed her, taking a few shallow strokes, swiveling his hips to help soothe straining muscles. Then he shoved forward in one long, glorious glide. When she felt the hot weight of his testicles press against the curve of her ass, she knew he was seated to the hilt.
She cried out in pleasure, in pain, and he placed a hand over her mouth, holding still inside her, so desperately large, so hopelessly hard. She could feel the pulse of him, the beat of his heart echoing in the steely column of flesh filling her to the brim.
She’d done it. She’d taken him. It was heaven. It was hell. It hurt so good.
Only when he’d assured himself that her loud mouth was under control—she hoped to God the noise from the jet engines had drowned out her shout—did he remove his hand and replace it with his lips.
For long minutes, he didn’t move, simply allowed her to get used to having him inside her, to let her clenched muscles relax. He smoothed out every wrinkle, touched places she’d never been touched. And eventually, slowly, all her discomfort was overtaken by need.
The need for movement.
The need for friction.
The need for something to assuage the deep, throbbing tension coiled so tightly inside.
“Oh, Christian,” she breathed against his mouth, arching her hips into him. “I need—”
She didn’t have to say more. He knew what she needed and began to move. It was a subtle retreat that had his hot, hard cock strafing nerves that cried out with joy and then screamed for more, more, more!
As he slowly rocked forward, the tip of him pressing forcefully against the entrance to her womb, he lifted his head and held her gaze. Possession glinted in his eyes. A promise of pleasures yet to come.
“Quiet,” he warned as he set a rhythm. Slow at first. Testing her. Stretching her. Exciting flesh that gripped him with greedy abandon.
There was no air to breathe. She didn’t care. All she cared about was the man above her. The man inside her. She wanted…she needed to touch him. To hold him. Without a doubt, this was the hottest sex she’d ever had. But it also felt undeniably intimate. Which scared her a little. And excited her a lot.
“Please untie my hands.” The plea was out of her mouth before she realized she’d meant to say it. “I want to touch you.”
Reaching up with one hand, he undid the buckle and tossed his belt aside.
Free from her restraints, she traced the hard bulge of his shoulders, let her fingers trail down the groove his back muscles created of his spine, and stopped at the hard, puckered scar on his back where the round he’d taken to the gut during the shoot-out at the Iraqi roadblock had gone through his body.
When she lightly followed its dimension with her fingertips, he trembled and stopped moving above her. Instead, he dropped his lips to her neck to place a hot, openmouthed kiss against her pulse point.
He’d suffered so much in his life. Too much. And yet it hadn’t broken him or hardened him. Through it all, he had managed to stay tough yet tender, strong yet sweet.
Yes, sweet. Because as surly and grumpy and gruff as he could be, the truth was he’d never treated her with anything less than gentleness. No matter how she’d teased him or wheedled him, he’d never made her feel disrespected or dismissed.
All those bright, sparkly feelings coalesced and fused inside her. She felt the boom of their atomic explosion deep in her chest. Tears pricked traitorously behind her eyes.
It was too much. He was too much.
“Emily,” he whispered, pushing up on his forearms. His bright eyes cut though the gloom of the sleeping compartment like laser beams, and the white of
the bandage against his black tattoos stood out in fierce contrast. “I—”
He cut himself off.
“What?” she prompted, turning to kiss the scar on the inside of his forearm, hoping her lips eased the pain that had stayed with him all these years.
He groaned, his eyelids fluttering shut. When he opened them again, she saw something she didn’t recognize, some strange emotion shining back at her. “Nothing,” he whispered, shaking his head.
She would have pressed him further, but she was too preoccupied with the need for him to move. He had to start moving again. Nothing had ever felt so delicious as when he was moving above her, within her.
He claimed her mouth in a kiss that turned her thoughts formless. They became nothing more than golden, glorious blobs that pulsed like drumbeats. And then… Oh, and then he began to thrust again. Slow at first. Then building the momentum.
His tongue surged into her mouth in rhythm to the beat of his body. Her hands curled around the hard, firm globes of his ass as his hips pistoned in long, purposeful jabs that pushed her pleasure ever higher.
Cries built in the back of her throat and were caught in the heat of his mouth. She grabbed his shoulders, her nails biting into his tough, tattooed flesh, and held on for dear life. He grunted her name over and over again, his voice guttural, barely human, and in complete contrast to his usual cultured, controlled words.
And then it happened. He grabbed her knee, pulling her leg up high against his flank, changing the angle of his thrusts. The pull and push of his rigid flesh became too much. Her sheath tightened as her heart swelled.
No, no, no. Not her heart. It couldn’t be her heart. It had to be—
He shortened his strokes, quickened his hips, and shocked her into taking the plunge. Suddenly, she was weightless and falling, pleasure unlike anything she had ever known exploding through her in a series of bright, incandescent blasts.
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