Been Loving You Too Long (DuChamps Dynasty)

by Donavan, Seraphina

  “Perfect,” he repeated. His voice was roughened with desire.

  It elicited an answering shiver from her and, unconsciously, she stepped closer to him. That subtle movement pressed her breasts against his bare chest.

  Skin to skin, the spark between them ignited again. Her nipples hardened and she could feel the thrum of desire beating an incessant tattoo. “Vincent, touch me. I want your hands on me.”

  He tugged her closer still, until their lips met, until the weight of her full breasts were crushed against his chest. His hands roamed her back, savoring the silken texture of her skin, the soft and supple flesh beneath his fingertips. Mapping the indention of her waist and the lush flare of her hips, he seemed to want to go slow, to make it last. Sliding his palms up and over her ribs, he brushed his knuckles lightly against the undersides of her breasts.

  When she shuddered in response, he smiled against her lips, and then stepped back. Taking her hand, he led her towards the bed.

  She reclined against the pillows in the classic pose of a seductress, her dark hair spread out on the pillow. Her sensuality seemed part of her, innate and without guile, and it made her so very different from many of the women of his acquaintance.

  “I’ve wanted you for so long,” Vincent said, lying down beside her. His hands moved once again to her breasts, kneading the tender flesh. “There are a million reasons why this shouldn’t happen, but I just don’t give a damn.” With the pads of his thumbs, he lightly brushed her nipples.

  Her response was a soft, shuddering sigh and the arching of her back, which lifted her breasts more fully into his grasp.

  Still teasing one nipple with his thumb, he closed his lips over the other. Laving the hardened bud with his tongue, he savored the taste of her skin, sounds of pleasure escaped her lips. When she was moaning, clutching his shoulders so tightly that her nails bit into his skin, he scored the sensitive nub with his teeth.

  She became mindless beneath him, her thighs parting in invitation, her hips arching up, seeking.

  Ophelia was on fire. The rush and heat of their earlier coupling had provided its own pleasure, but this slow burn that he’d begun was driving her to the brink and beyond. She felt empty inside, as if she wouldn’t be whole until he was inside her again. Aching for him, she couldn’t stop touching him. Her hands coasted over his shoulders, his back, and down to the waistband of his pants.

  Forcing enough of her attention away from her sensitive nipples, the exquisite torment of his skilled fingers and mouth, she managed to free the button and lower the zipper of his pants.

  His cock was already thick and hard, a single drop of pearly liquid glistening at the tip.

  Closing her hand around him, she dragged her thumb over the bead that had gathered and circled it delicately. His answering groan prompted her to be bolder. “I want to taste you.”

  “Next time,” he said. “I have only so much control, Ophelia.” He continued to lave her breasts, to tease and torment her budded nipples with his mouth, as his hand slid over her belly to the damp curls that shielded her sex. His fingertips grazed lightly over her slit, before parting the slick folds and delving deeper, exploring her welcoming heat.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned. “That feels so good.”

  “I love how wet you are for me...tight and hot. The sounds you make when the pleasure becomes so intense, it drives me wild,” he admitted. Even as he said it, he moved his hand, withdrawing slightly only to plunge in again, deeper than before. His thumb brushed against the hooded bud of her clit and she shuddered beneath him.

  Her head fell back against the pillows, her lips parting on a soft moan, her face contorted with pleasure.

  Repeating the motion, he began to speak again, whispering all the things he wanted to do to her, all the things he wanted to make her feel.

  She was mindless with passion. Her hips were bucking, seeking, and her breathing was ragged with need. “Please, Vincent—I need you inside me. Filling me.”

  Moving between her thighs, Vincent pressed his cock against her entrance, and with gentle pressure, rocked into her.

  The scalding heat of her clasping around him seemed to be the sweetest torment to him. Circling his hips, he drove deeper until he was fully seated inside her. Grasping her thighs, he pulled them up, hitching them higher on his hips, changing the angle slightly, allowing him to sink even deeper, until his balls rested against the lush curve of her bottom.

  One thrust and she was quivering. Withdrawing, he thrust again and she seemed to be shattering around him. He gritted his teeth, as if fighting for control.

  The soft cries of her pleasure echoed in the room,

  When the last spasms in her body receded, he began anew. Each thrust was shallow, a slight movement, building the sensation.

  She opened her eyes, looking into his, their gazes locked as tightly as their bodies. The intimacy was complete, almost unbearable. Ophelia couldn’t look away from him, from the raw need that etched his features. Feeling him moving inside her, stretching and filling her, it was exquisite.

  The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain. Every nerve ending in her body had been set ablaze. Sliding her hands over his back, down to the firm globes of his behind, she clasped him to her, undulating her hips against him. A muscle ticked in his jaw and she knew that his control was hanging by a thread.

  She didn’t want him to be controlled. She wanted him to be primal, to be carried away by the need just as she was. Lifting her hips against him, she began to clench her inner muscles, creating a counter rhythm to his thrusts, tightening as he plunged in and contracting as he withdrew.

  His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thighs, holding her as he pumped into her.

  There would be bruises in the morning, and she would savor every one of them because they would remind her of the hot look in his eyes and the exquisite sensation of having him inside her. Tensing in anticipation, she clasped him deeply inside her and felt the first rush of heat as he found his release.

  The waves began again, deep in her core, then radiating outward, as the pleasure washed through her. Each hot spurt of his seed deep inside her triggered an answering rush of pleasure in her. Her name escaped his lips on a harsh groan and she shivered in response. That slight movement had her gasping.

  She was so sensitive her body so aroused and over stimulated, that even the slightest movement, the slightest touch, was almost too much.

  It was as if he knew—understood that it was too much. His hands stroked over her body, soothing rather than arousing, easing her down from the peak, just as their labored breathing ebbed into a more gentle rhythm.

  Neither of them spoke.

  He made no move to withdraw from her, and her hands stroked his back in a lazy rhythm.

  For the moment, they were both content and by tacit agreement, neither the past nor the future existed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Vincent stood at the window staring out at the darkened street below. He drew in a deep breath and expelled it from between clenched teeth. It had been the nightmare that woke him, the same one that always came. Of course, it had been coming more frequently of late.

  It didn’t take a shrink to know why. Losing Thomas was bound to bring up memories of losing his parents. He could recall that day so well, so clearly, it was almost like stepping back in time.

  Sitting in the backseat, listening to Justin cry. He could still feel Kaitlyn’s hand in his, cold and trembling. There’d been other sounds, angry shouts and accusations. It had been his mother who begged to let them out of the car, to just stop.

  For once, his father had listened.

  They’d stood there on the sidewalk watching as the argument raged on. He’d been ten years old, with a toddler wrapped around him and Kaitlyn huddled against his side.

  Even then he’d wanted to run. He’d wanted to let go of his sister and his brother and he’d wanted to turn and run from everything happening in front of him. But he hadn’t. He’d st
ood there and watched as their world simply ended.

  He was still running, he thought. Getting out of that bed, putting distance between himself and Ophelia now was the right thing to do. Laying there beside her, feeling the weight of her body against his, all warm skin and soft curves, the panic set in.

  Unable to do anything else, he’d climbed out of the bed and put as much distance between them as he could. But he already craved her again. It wasn’t simply sex. The need to be close to her, to feel the softness and warmth, wasn’t something he could afford.

  In a moment of weakness, he’d given in to the temptation he’d been fighting for years, but it changed nothing between them. If nothing else, the intensity of his response to her only proved to him that he’d been right all along.

  Ophelia deserved to be happy and she deserved to be with someone who could give her everything she wanted and deserved, but that would never be him.

  He knew the instant she awoke. The rustling of sheets and the slight change in her breathing was all it took. He was that attuned to her, that obsessed with her, he thought accusingly.

  Turning to face the bed, he watched her sit up, her tousled hair falling over her shoulders and a sleepy smile curving her lips—she looked beautiful.

  Steeling himself, he knew what he needed to do. There was no future for them and he wouldn’t hurt her anymore than he had to, by letting her think that there could be. With his face set in hard lines, he said coolly and aloofly, “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “You didn’t...not really. Is everything alright?”

  He could hear the faint puzzled tone in her voice and he glanced out into the street again, half his face hidden by shadow. “It’s fine. We should get you home before it gets any later though.” Those hadn’t been words he’d intended to say. He wanted to tell her that she deserved more than him—better. She deserved someone who didn’t have the kind of darkness in him that he did.

  Now, he was behaving like a jackass and he knew it, but stopping it seemed to be just as far beyond his control as anything else he’d done that night.

  Even in the dim light that filtered in through the window, he could see her response. The hurt and confusion on her face made him cringe. His gut twisted at the thought that he was hurting her, but he reasoned that doing it now, rather than later, would be for the best.

  “Are you kicking me out?” she asked.

  “I’m not kicking you out,” he replied calmly, though in fact, he was. “I’m just mitigating the fall out of a bad decision.” The minute the words escaped his mouth, he regretted them. But it was too late to call them back, and if he wanted to put an insurmountable distance between them, they would do the trick.

  ~~****~~

  Ophelia’s breath seized in her lungs. It was almost like a slap. It wasn’t as if she’d expected a happily ever after ending. She didn’t believe in fairy tales and she certainly knew that Vincent was no prince charming. But she hadn’t expected to be thrown out of his bed in the middle of the night.

  “Of course,” she replied, her voice slightly clipped, the words as brittle as glass. Pushing the sheets back, she rose and retrieved what was left of her clothing. She had no idea where her torn underwear had wound up, but she wasn’t going to embarrass herself further by digging in the dark for them.

  Fastening her bra, she slipped her dress back on over her head. The zipper was proving stubborn, but when she felt the weight of his presence behind her and the gentle brush of his hands on her back as he tried to assist her, fury washed through her. “I don’t need your help!” she snapped, and then quickly moved away. It wasn’t simply that it hurt. She was humiliated.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?” she asked. “Sorry for breaking your damned rules or sorry for tossing me out of your bed in the middle of the night like some drunken mistake?”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “I’m sorry that it can’t be what you want.”

  The shoe she’d picked up flew from her hand, sailing in his direction. “Don’t you dare put that on me! I never asked a thing from you! I never made assumptions about what would or wouldn’t be between us—the only one doing that is you!”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded, picking up one shoe while dodging the other.

  “You are so full of yourself, Vincent! What makes you so damned sure that I wanted more than what you’ve already given me?”

  He didn’t answer, which was just as well. Anything he said would be wrong at that point. “Let me get my keys and I’ll drive you home.”

  “I’ll take a cab!” Shouting was something she rarely did, but it felt good at that moment, better than just playing the good girl and going along with whatever he said. The very notion made her seethe even more.

  “No, you won’t. It’s dangerous.”

  She whirled on him then. “Right now I’m dangerous! You don’t get to treat me like a whore and then play the gentleman in the same breath. I’ll take the goddamned taxi!”

  ~~****~~

  Vincent placed the shoes on the bed and, with a sigh, walked out of the room. He had wounded her pride and she always had that in abundance. But it would keep things from going any further. If she hated him, there would be no more temptation to resist. It would be easier for both of them that way, he reasoned

  No false hopes. No disappointments down the road. It was safer for her that way.

  He paused in the foyer, listening to the click of her heels on the stairs as she stormed down. “Let me drive you home. It will take forever to get a taxi here at this time of night.”

  “I’ve already called one and it’s on the way. You’ve done quite enough already, thank you.” Some of the heat had left her voice and she sounded somewhat reasonable.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Ophelia, but a relationship isn’t something I can even consider right now.”

  “Please spare me the, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ routine. I know it’s you, Vincent. It’s glaringly apparent right now that it’s you—if you want to be a coward, fine. Be one. Just don’t expect me not to call you on it. I’ll wait out front for the taxi. I could use the air.”

  He watched her storm out. The reverberation of the door as it slammed behind her was painfully loud in the almost empty house. He reminded himself again of all the reasons that her anger was a good thing for him.

  Retreating to the study, he poured another glass of bourbon and sat down at the desk. The glass sat there, taunting him, but he didn’t drink it. He simply stared into space and wondered how the hell things had gotten so fucked up.

  “What the hell did you do?”

  Hearing his sister’s strident voice, Vincent wished that he’d gone back upstairs. It wouldn’t have mattered. Kaitlyn didn’t respect anyone’s boundaries. “You’re home early,” he intoned sarcastically. “Get thrown out of the clubs again?”

  “No. I was tired. But apparently, Miss Goody Two Shoes knows how to party. Did you not listen to a word I said last week, Vincent? Really!”

  “Don’t.” The single word was infused with a wealth of meaning and warning.

  “Don’t butt into your business? Don’t take you to task for being a selfish asshole and thinking with your dick?”

  “Whatever happened between Ophelia and myself is none of your damned business.”

  Kaitlyn crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Look, I know you’re crazy about her, and anyone with eyes knows she’s crazy about you. The only two people in this house who never seemed to figure that out was the two of you!”

  “Leave it alone!”

  “No. I won’t leave it alone. She goes tearing out of here at three o’clock in the morning, crying and you’re sitting in the dark looking at a glass of bourbon like it holds the secrets of the universe! Leaving it to the two of you is obviously not a reasonable option! Just admit it, already!”

  “Admit what?”

  “Admit that you’re in love with her!”

&n
bsp; He rose quickly and with one swipe of his hand sent the items on the desk crashing to the floor. “Love doesn’t exist. It’s a fairy tale that people use to pretty up jealousy and obsession. If anyone should know that, it ought to be you!”

  Kaitlyn jumped, but didn’t back down. She’d never seen her brother lose his temper. Not once in their life, not since they’d come to Thomas’ home, had he ever truly let go. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You love me, and god knows I’m a pain in the ass. You loved Thomas and he was incorrigible. You love Justin and he moves through our lives like a shadow...A week ago you said Ophelia was a part of this family too.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “You’re not like him, you know? You’re nothing like our father.”

  It was as if she knew what was going on inside his mind, poking around in his head the same way that damned fortune teller had.

  At his sharp look, she sighed. “Isn’t that what this is really all about?”

  Vincent didn’t respond for the longest time. When he did speak, his voice was pitched low. “I’m just like him. That’s what everyone says. All of his old friends, the people who worked for him. Claude even said it last week, just as I had my fist drawn back to hit him.”

  “Everyone wants to hit Claude! He’s an asshole! Thomas never said you were like him—and he never believed it. Neither do I. You may look like him, Vincent, but that’s where the similarity ends.”

  He shook his head and continued to stare out the window into the darkness. “Go to bed, Kaitlyn. It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

  Kaitlyn looked like she wanted to shake him, to make him see things her way. But he’d always been able to out stubborn her. Some things weren’t worth the risk and, to his mind, hurting Ophelia any more than he already had definitely fell into that category.