by Jane Porter
And then his hand was between her thighs, cupping her mound, the heel of his palm pressing against her, filling her with hot sharp darts of sensation, and his mouth was taking hers again, all heat and honey and mind-drugging pleasure.
She’d wanted him that first night they’d met, and oh, she wanted him again now. Maybe even more because she knew how good he felt, his body buried deep in hers, making her body come to life with each maddening thrust, the slow deep strokes making her hope and want and feel, and she’d cling to him just as she had then, and for those moments they were joined, there was nothing else she needed...
And then his head lifted and his heavy-lidded green-gold gaze searched hers. “You want me.”
It was impossible to deny when her arms were now wrapped tightly around his neck. “Yes.”
“You need me.”
Her body was on fire. “Yes.”
“But you don’t like me, you don’t trust me and you won’t marry me.”
“We don’t know each other. We’re just...good in bed.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “But it’s a start.”
“We can’t base a marriage on sex!”
His broad shoulders shifted and yet his eyes bored into hers. “There are plenty of couples who don’t even have that.”
A lump filled her throat. She loved the feel of him against her, the weight of his muscular body and the heat of his chest where it rested on hers and she dug her fingers into the short, crisp strands of hair at his nape and tugged. “I’m tired of being grateful for small mercies.”
“Sometimes all we get are small blessings.”
Her heart did a painful thump. “I want more.” It hurt to speak but she forced herself to add, “I refuse to settle for less.”
And then after a long moment where she felt as if he was staring deep into her soul, his head dropped and he was kissing her again, his hand sliding around to unfasten the hook on her bra and peeling it away. His lips captured an exposed nipple, and her breath caught in her throat as he licked the tip, making it wet and then moving to the other nipple. The combination of warm wet mouth and then cool air made her belly clench and her thighs press tight. She tugged on his hair, holding him to her breast, as he began to suckle harder.
It was impossible to silence her husky groan of pleasure, impossible to not lift her hips to find his. She needed more from him. She needed all of him.
She’d gone years—three years—without his touch...without any touch from any man...and yet now, together like this, she felt as if she’d shatter if she didn’t have him tonight.
He was peeling off her panties, dragging the scrap of satin down her bare legs and then tugging off his own T-shirt and joggers.
His erection sprang free and her gaze went to his torso with the sculpted muscle, the hard taut abdomen, the corded thighs and of course, the thick, long shaft at full attention.
The air caught in her throat as she took him in.
He was beautiful.
Her first. Maybe her last.
It didn’t make sense and yet in some ways, it was exactly as it should be. She’d lost her head over him, giving him not just her virginity but her heart.
And she had given him her heart.
She’d fallen for him hard, so hard, and she’d imagined that he’d cared for her, thinking it was impossible to make love the way they had without feelings being involved...
She’d been sure there were feelings, the lovemaking so intense it’d felt somehow as if they were soul mates. Perfect and perfectly made for each other.
And now, here they were, three years older and wiser and yet she still craved the feel of his mouth and the taste of him and the feel of him...
“Look at you, such a bold thing,” he drawled, shifting over her, his knees pushing between hers, making room for him between her thighs. “Getting an eyeful, are you?”
Her lips curved faintly. “There’s a lot to look at.”
“Disappointed?”
“You know you’ve got the...goods.”
“Small blessings, mo chroi.”
“I wouldn’t say small in this case.” She reached out and touched his rigid length. He was warm and silken and hard all at the same time. She heard his sharp inhale as she stroked the length of him so she did it again. He pulsed in her palm, straining against her. Just the feel of him made her ache on the inside. “Definitely not small.”
His eyes gleamed as he lowered himself to kiss the valley between her breasts and then down her rib cage to her belly. He’d slipped a hand between her thighs, parting them wider and giving him access to her delicate skin and tender pink folds.
Logan sucked in a breath as he found her, gently exploring her sex, and she was ready for him, already so wet. Her eyes closed as she felt his hands moving, touching, stirring her up, making her shiver.
She was ready for him, so wet, and she could feel him slipping a teasing finger over her dampness and then tracing the softness, lightly dragging the moisture up over silken skin to her sensitive nub. He knew just how to touch her and the pressure of his finger against her clit made her heart pound. Sparks of light filled her head while honey poured through her veins...
He kissed her taut, tense belly as he stroked her, and then he kissed down her abdomen, until he was parting her inner lips to lick the tender clit. She gasped as his tongue flicked across her, making her go hot and cold. The pleasure of his mouth on her was so intense it was almost painful. Her toes curled and she buried her hand in his hair, her breath coming faster, shorter as he pressed fingers into her core, finding that invisible spot that heightened sensation. He thrust deeper into her, stroking that spot as he sucked on her nub and did it again and again so that she couldn’t hang on to a single rational thought, her body no longer her body but his to play with and control.
Logan dragged in great gulps of air as he brought her closer and closer to orgasm. She dug one heel into the bed, trying to resist, doing her best to hold off from climaxing, in part because she wasn’t ready for something so intense, but also because it felt so amazing she wasn’t ready for it to end. But Rowan wasn’t about to let her escape. He was far too clever with his fingers, and he knew how to control her with his mouth and teeth and tongue, and then the tip of his tongue flicked over her so slowly that she broke, the orgasm so intense that she almost screamed, but caught herself in time. Tears filled her eyes instead.
Hell.
He took her to heaven and then dropped her into hell.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She shouldn’t want him when he’d wounded her so deeply.
And then he was stretching next to her, his large powerful body pulling her close, and he kissed her, deeply, and even though he’d yet to bury his body inside her, she knew he was staking claim. His hands cupped her face, his mouth drank her in.
Mine, his fierce carnal kiss seemed to say. You belong to me.
But then he was drawing back, and he studied the tears slipping from her eyes. “What hurts?” he asked.
She looked up into his eyes. It was hard to breathe when it felt as if a concrete block rested on her chest. It took her forever to answer. “My heart.”
He held her gaze for another long moment and then his head dropped and his lips brushed hers. “Hearts heal.” And then, kissing her, he shifted his weight, his hips wedged between her thighs.
She felt the thick smooth head of his shaft against her, pressing at her entrance and it felt good. He felt good.
She hated that.
She wished she could tell him to get lost, to go screw himself, to leave her alone but she didn’t want that. She didn’t want him anywhere but here, against her, with her.
“You make me want to hate you,” she choked even as his thick rounded tip just pressed ins
ide her body. She was wet and he was so warm and smooth and even though the tip was just barely inside her, intense pleasure rippled through her. It was the most exquisite sensation, him with her.
“You hate me because you like it so much,” he answered, nipping at her neck, finding more nerves, creating more pleasure.
He was right. She shouldn’t welcome his touch when she didn’t like him, but separating sensation and reason was impossible when he was close to her. Something happened when he was near...something so intense it was like a chemical reaction.
He was a drug.
Potent. Dangerous.
Like now.
He was there at her entrance, the tip just barely inside her. He didn’t thrust deeper. He didn’t even move his body. And yet her body was going wild, squeezing him, holding him, desperate to keep him with her, in her.
“So hate me,” he murmured, slipping in just another inch, if that. “I don’t mind.”
Her body pulsed. She struggled to get air into her lungs. Her skin felt so hot that she wanted to rip it off.
“You love this,” she gritted, her nails raking his shoulders.
“I love that I can make you feel so good.”
“If you really wanted me to feel good, you’d do something.”
“I think you’re feeling really good right now.”
She didn’t know about that. Her body felt wild. Her inner muscles were convulsing, squeezing the thick rounded tip of his shaft, again and again. She’d never felt anything like this and she couldn’t figure out if she loved it or hated it, so hard to know what she wanted when everything within her was so turned on.
“It’s not enough,” she said breathlessly.
“What would you like then?”
“You know.”
And he did know, because he did it just then, thrusting hard into her body, seating himself deeply.
She nearly groaned out loud. This...this was what she wanted. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she held him tightly to her, her eyes burning and her throat aching because she felt overwhelming emotion...
She’d missed him somehow.
She had.
Even though he’d broken her heart, she’d missed him and this...
And the tears seeped from beneath her lashes, as she struggled to contain the emotion and the pain.
“Don’t cry, mo chroi,” he said, shifting his weight to his forearms to pull out and then thrust in again, slowly, deeply. “It’s not bad to feel good. Let me make you feel good.”
Her head knew everything about this was dangerous. Everything would just fall apart later but right now she couldn’t think clearly. She had no defenses against this...against him. He made her come alive. He made her feel. Her spine tingled. Her skin prickled.
“Make me feel good then,” she whispered, giving in.
He began to move, burying himself deeply just to draw back out, his length so warm inside of her. Each thrust brushed against that sensitive spot within her, and each thrust put pressure on her clit, so that he stroked nerve endings inside and outside and there was no way to resist the tension coiling within her. It was just a matter of time before she’d come again.
It was just a matter of time before he’d make her shatter again.
His tempo increased, and his body thrust harder, faster, and she clung tighter, answering each thrust with a lift of her hips, pressing up against him to create the most tension and friction.
He growled his pleasure, and from his quickening tempo, she knew he was close to coming but he held back for her, determined to give to her, and she wanted to hold back just to defy him...it seemed so important to defy him...but his hand moved between them and he was stroking her clit and there was no resisting him. She climaxed just seconds before he did and he bore down on her, driving into her, filling her with his seed.
It was only then that her little voice whispered, This is how one gets pregnant...
Of course.
A great way to trap her was to put another baby into her womb. Give them another life to protect.
She didn’t want to cry now. She wanted to hit him. Fight him.
“You may have made me pregnant,” she said hoarsely as he shifted his weight, settling onto his side on the mattress next to her.
“Yes,” he answered, pulled her onto her side so that he could hold her close to his chest, his long legs tangling with hers.
She stiffened. “That’s not a good thing.”
“Jax would like a brother or a sister.”
“How can you say that?” She struggled to sit up but he didn’t let her escape. “You don’t even know her!”
He shrugged, his arms like iron bands. “All kids benefit from a sibling.”
And then when he said no more, she glanced back at him and his eyes were closed, his long lashes resting on his high cheekbones. His even breathing told her he was already asleep.
She told herself she’d never be able to sleep like this. She told herself it would be impossible to relax. How could she doze off when her mind was racing? And yet somehow, minutes later, she was asleep, still captive in Rowan’s muscular arms.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ROWAN LAY AWAKE, Logan sleeping at his side. He’d been awake for the past hour, listening to her breathe and thinking about the night.
It’d been years since he’d felt so much hunger and need, years since he’d wanted a woman the way he wanted Logan tonight.
Just remembering the lovemaking made him hard all over again. He’d found such erotic satisfaction in the shape of her, the softness of her skin, the scent of her body, the intensity of her orgasms.
He loved the taste of her and the urgency of her cries as she climaxed.
He hadn’t felt this way about a woman since...
The March 31 when he’d first bedded Logan Lane.
The corner of his mouth pulled and he lightly stroked her hair where it spilled across his chest.
She wanted things he couldn’t give her—romance, love—but he could give her other things, important things...stability, security, permanence.
He wasn’t going anywhere. He wouldn’t abandon her. He’d never betray their daughter, either.
And just because he couldn’t give love, that didn’t mean their relationship had to be empty or cold. This physical connection was hot. There was no reason they couldn’t enjoy the heat and pleasure. They should take pleasure in each other. There would be no other.
Marriage was a commitment. He would be committed. Love wasn’t necessary. In fact, love was a negative. It added pain and unnecessary complications. They didn’t need the emotion. He didn’t need it, and she’d be fine without it, too.
* * *
Logan woke and for a moment she didn’t know where she was.
The bed was strange. Huge and imposing with its monster antique four-poster frame—and yet the white sheets were so soft and smooth they felt delicious against her skin.
Stretching, her body felt tender. Between her thighs it felt very tender.
And then she remembered it all. Rowan’s mouth on her. His cock filling her. His expertise that made her come once, and then again.
And in the next moment she remembered Jax and she glanced at the wall of monitors to check the camera in Jax’s room, but the screens were dark. The monitors were turned off.
Logan flung herself from bed, panicked. She grabbed the nearest piece of clothing—Rowan’s T-shirt—pulled it over her head and raced back to her room. The curtains were open, sunlight poured through the tall, narrow windows, the sky beyond a hopeful blue.
Jax’s bed in her closet bedroom was empty.
Logan tried to calm herself, knowing that in this place nothing bad would happen to Jax. The Irish nanny, Orla, probably had her. T
hey were undoubtedly playing fairy-something somewhere, but until Logan saw Jax, and knew without a doubt that Jax was safe, Logan couldn’t relax.
She stepped into shorts and dashed from her room, running down the stairs by two.
There were no bodyguards at the foot of the stairs today. The huge stone entry was empty. She went to Rowan’s study. That was empty, too.
Where was he? Where was everyone? Had Rowan taken Jax and gone? Leaving her here?
She retraced her steps, returning to the impressive staircase but turning left instead of right and kept going until she reached the castle’s kitchen. It was a cavernous vaulted space made of stone and dramatic arches. The huge commercial oven was tucked into what once must have been a medieval hearth, and a bank of tall, sleek stainless-steel refrigerators took up another wall. The kitchen was warm and smelled of yeast and warm bread. A woman had been bent over in front of the wood-topped island and now straightened. Startled by the appearance of Logan, she plunked her mixing bowl of rising dough on the island and wiped her hands clean on a nearby dish towel. “Hello. Can I help you with something?”
“My daughter,” Logan said urgently. “I can’t find her.”
“Your little one is with Mr. Argyros.” She turned to the stove, and pulled out a tray of golden scones and then another and placed them on top of the stove. “You’ll find them outside in the garden.” The cook nodded toward the garden beyond the kitchen door. “You can go that way. It’s quickest.”
“Thank you.”
The air was cool and the gravel path hurt her feet. She should have worn shoes but Logan wasn’t going back until she found Jax. She hurried down the path, trying not to shiver, telling herself there was no need to be afraid, but what if Jax was scared and Rowan wasn’t patient? What if Jax was in one of her toddler moods—
She stopped short as she rounded the corner.
There between the hedges and the castle’s kitchen herb garden was a little round table with matching painted chairs. A delicate lace cloth covered the pale blue wooden table and in one chair sat Jax, a tiny crown on top of her head, and in the other sat Rowan, looking beastly big in his pixie-sized chair. He was holding a miniature china cup and Jax was reaching for her cup and beaming up at him as if she was a real princess and Rowan her prince.
