Rising Stars & It Started With… Collections. Кейт Хьюит
Читать онлайн книгу.
he probably was, though it was a far different pain from what she was experiencing.
“We’ll take it slowly,” he said, and her heart swelled with feeling.
He put his hand between them, found her. Sweet, singing need began to hum in her body again as he stroked her. Softly, sweetly, as if he had all the time in the world. As if there was no dawn and no sunset, no appointments, no pressures. As if she was the world and he her servant within it.
It took longer to hit the peak this time, but she did, her body opening to him as he took the opportunity to slide farther inside her.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Kiss me,” she said.
He did, his mouth so warm and giving that she lost herself in the kiss once more. She could feel him moving again, and though her body tightened a bit at the intrusion, the pain was far less than it had been.
She didn’t know how long they lay entangled like that, but finally Veronica tilted her hips up and took him the rest of the way inside. She could feel him throbbing deep in her body, could feel the tight control he wielded over his needs as he held himself so still.
“Poor Raj,” she whispered. “What a project I’ve turned into for you.”
“You aren’t a project,” he said fiercely. Protectively.
She loved the conviction in his tone, loved how honorable he truly was. The feelings swirling in her heart and soul were beginning to confuse her. Frighten her. Deliberately, she shoved them away.
“Make love to me,” she said.
He began to move so slowly once more, until she was a mass of tight nerve endings and shuddering tension. Until she was begging him to take her faster. He took his time obliging her, but when she didn’t shrink from him, when she didn’t cry out or flinch in pain, he turned up the intensity.
Again and again, he took her higher, their bodies straining together, sweating, skin sliding on skin. Exquisite. Torturous.
The pain was still there, but so slight she hardly noticed. The pleasure was far, far stronger.
And then it crested until she cried out, her entire body shuddering beneath him, wanting still more but unable to last a moment longer. His control was so exquisite, so perfect, that she knew when he gave himself permission to follow her into the abyss. He lifted her to him, his body pumping into hers one last time before he was still.
He propped himself up, careful not to crush her. In the darkness, she could still make out his features. Could see the troubled expression he couldn’t mask.
“Thank you,” she said, because it was all she could think to say.
“Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”
“I’m fine.”
Physically, that was true. Emotionally was another story. So many emotions crashing in on her. She’d made love with him, and though she didn’t regret it at all, the weight of the feelings she’d been carrying for so many months—wondering if she were damaged somehow, if she would ever feel as if she were whole again, if she would ever be able to be with a man without dissembling—was immense.
“You don’t sound fine,” he said. And then he rolled over and took her with him until she sprawled half on his body and half off.
“It’s a bit overwhelming,” she admitted.
“I get that a lot,” he said smugly, and she knew he was trying to make her laugh.
It worked, damn him. “Arrogant bastard.”
His fingers stroked along her spine. “Seriously,” he said after a few moments. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she said on a sigh. “I am.”
It was not his finest moment. Raj lay awake long after Veronica had dozed off and contemplated the mess he’d made. What the hell had he done?
He’d never, ever slept with someone he was guarding. It had been wrong to do so, and yet he’d been powerless to resist her request.
Hell, he hadn’t wanted to resist. Since the moment he’d seen her from the bar of the hotel, he’d wanted this woman with the kind of craving that abhorred him. The kind of craving that drug addicts used to justify their excesses.
That thought did not cheer him in the least.
But she’d been all gorgeous, sexy femininity, with an alluring laugh and a come-hither look that fooled every man she bestowed it upon. He’d known better than to fall for it, yet he had.
Beneath the facade, she was amazing. Serious, smart, funny and sad. Sadder than any woman he’d ever known, with the exception of his mother. He hated that sadness, wanted to take it away from her forever.
He pressed a hand to his chest. There was a dull ache there, the kind of ache he’d gotten whenever he’d come home from school to find his mother high again.
Whenever he’d been able to go to school, that is. He’d missed most of his middle school years with all the moving they’d done. How he’d ever gotten into—and graduated from—high school was as much a mystery to him as anyone.
That he was even thinking of those days right now was not a good sign.
He considered slipping from the bed and returning to the living area, where he’d been on the computer when she’d opened the window and triggered the silent alarm he’d set, but the bed was warm and she was soft and sleeping. Her head lay on his chest, her silky platinum hair a shiny tangle that he itched to shove his fingers into.
He would not move, would not risk waking her when she was sleeping so soundly—especially when she’d told him she didn’t usually sleep very well.
Eventually, he fell into a light doze, his mind filled with thoughts of her—of the soft cries she’d made as he’d taken her, of the way her body opened to him, moved with him, the way she’d found her pleasure and cried out his name.
Beneath the surface, he was troubled. Troubled because she’d trusted him. She’d flat-out told him earlier that she wanted someone who would love her, who would give her a family, and though he knew he wasn’t that man—couldn’t ever be that man—he’d accepted her trust and taken her body because he was too weak to say no.
Because she’d gutted him with her trust and her need and he’d been powerless.
A few hours later, in the dim light of dawn, he felt her stir. Her hand slipped along his chest, her fingers spreading wide, as if she were learning him by touch. Her mouth pressed against his skin, and his body hardened instantly.
He should have gone back to his bed on the couch, but it was too late. He knew, even as her fingers found him, wrapped around him, that he was not pushing her away.
He should, he definitely should—but he couldn’t. Instead, he lay there, let her stroke him, purr against his skin. He groaned her name when she climbed on top of him and took him inside her inch by slow inch.
She was so warm, so wet, and he closed his eyes, let himself feel the pleasure of her fingers splayed against his chest as she rode him slowly, so slowly he thought he would die of anticipation.
“Raj,” she said. “Oh, Raj.”
Once more, she broke his control. He threaded his fingers in her hair, pulled her down to him, kissed her thoroughly, his tongue sliding against hers, his lips molding hers as she began to make little noises in her throat that drove him insane.
He flipped her over, slid so deeply into her body that they both groaned with the pleasure.
“Don’t stop,” she said, as if sensing that he was at war with himself. “Please don’t stop.”
He didn’t. Not for a very long time.