The Price of Honour. Emilie Rose
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He ached with the need to drive inside her and race toward the release she had denied him for too long. The temptation to do so and take care of her afterward flitted across his mind. But non. That was not his way.
Instead he drew a sobering breath and slicked his finger upward, using her womanly lubricant to tease her while he gently scraped a nipple with his teeth then sucked.
She whimpered his name, clenched her fingers in his hair and bowed her back, offering him a pale feast. A tremor shook her body as he divided his attention between the puckered tips begging for attention. The aroma of her arousal filled the air. He wanted to taste her, but he was precariously close to the edge, and he wanted to make her wait until she was incoherent with need.
Rising, he ripped back the covers, then lifted her into his arms and set her onto the bed. He made quick work of her boots and remaining clothing then his own, pausing only long enough to toss the condom from his pocket on the nightstand.
The sight of her ivory curves spread across the burgundy sheets mesmerized him. Megan possessed an athlete’s body, leanly muscled, but softened by her feminine attributes. Her strength was quite a turn-on.
“You are beautiful.”
“You make me feel beautiful. Come here.” She raised a hand and bent her knee, inviting him into her bed, into her body.
One frayed fiber of self-control remained. He settled on the mattress at her feet and captured a slender arch in his palm. Her eyes widened and her lips parted. She squirmed, knowing what was coming.
Megan’s feet, legs and hands were her primary methods of communication with her horses. Over the years, they had become hypersensitive to any nuance. He lifted her foot to his mouth, kissing her big toe, her instep. He rasped his bristly chin on her skin then flicked his tongue over the arch. She shuddered, as he had known she would.
He hid his smile against the tender skin behind her ankle then worked his way up the inside of her calf, pressing her legs apart as he ascended. Megan’s fingers fisted in the sheets and her breathing quickened. He savored the satiny skin cloaking firm, tensed muscles and nipped at the soft pad of flesh inside her thighs that she hated. She twisted impatiently. The aroma of her arousal made him dizzy with hunger. He flicked his tongue along the crease of her leg.
She flexed her hips, silently begging him to pleasure her, but he ignored her request—for now—and focused on planting teasing kisses, licks and nips along her bikini line and over her tummy. He swirled his tongue in her navel, and watched goose bumps rise on her skin. Her curls tickled his cheek.
To hell with it. He had hungered for her taste for weeks. He would not deny himself any longer. He cupped her buttocks and flicked her swollen bud with his tongue, slowly at first, then more rapidly. He groaned at the delicious taste of her.
She bucked her hips off the bed. “Oh, Xavier. That feels … so good.”
He stroked her in the way he knew would drive her to the edge until her legs quivered. He waited until she hovered on the brink before lifting his head and kissing her thigh. She squeaked a disappointed protest.
“Are you in a hurry, chérie?”
“Yes. Yes. It’s been so long. I haven’t … since you … Please.”
That she had not had a release since leaving his bed pleased him inordinately.
“Please what, Megan?” He licked her once, twice, enjoying each flinch and gasp of delight, then stopped again.
She pulled the pillow from beneath her head and whacked him with it. Her playfulness between the sheets was yet another reason he could not let her go. Not yet. Megan was both his lover and his playmate, and on days when work drove him to the precipice of insanity, she never failed to pull him back and make him smile.
But the desire on her face now, the white teeth digging into her bottom lip, and her passion-filled eyes told the truth. She ached as badly as he and the time for play was over.
“I need you. Now,” she pleaded. He liked to hear her beg for him. The growling demand of the last word turned him on.
“Need me how? Like this?” He slid his fingers inside her, drawing out a low, sexy whimper.
“Oh, yes.”
“Or this?” He bent to suck her into his mouth while pumping his fingers.
“Yes,” she hissed as her orgasm undulated through her.
He rode each jerk of her climax with his hand and mouth, drawing out as much pleasure as he possibly could. The rhythmic clench of her body around his fingers drove him precariously close to losing control. It had been a long time since he had allowed himself release. Doing so without Megan had been less than satisfying and therefore pointless.
The moment her spasms ended, he dove for the condom, rolled it on and hooked his hands behind her knees. “Look at me as I take you, Megan.”
Her heavy lids lifted and her dazed eyes met his. “I want you inside me, Xavier. Hurry.”
Gritting his teeth against the searing need urging him to race hard and fast to satisfaction, he eased into her slick channel and sank deep into her. The blaze intensified as he withdrew and returned again and again, setting a steady, controlled pace that he hoped would prolong his ecstasy.
But Megan had other ideas. Her hands grasped his shoulders, pulling his torso closer to hers. Her nails lightly scored trails down his chest, bumping over his nipples and fanning his hunger like bellows. She arched off the bed and planted a wet kiss on his neck, then her tongue outlined the shape of his ear and dipped inside with hot, wet plunges that mirrored his thrusts.
Hunger blasted through him like a furnace. He countered it by focusing on continuing to torment her, but then the pressure swelled inside him and he knew he could not delay any longer.
“Come for me,” he ordered, his voice more growl than words as he swiveled his hips against the tender spot that would set her off. Almost instantly her breath caught and her fingers dug into his back. Climax burst through her. The first contraction of her body hit him like a Molotov cocktail. Wave after wave of release reverberated through him until he had nothing left.
No strength in his arms. No air in his lungs. He collapsed to his elbows, momentarily savoring her damp torso against his, then he slowly rolled to her side. The ceiling fan stirred the air, cooling and drying his skin.
No. He would not give up Megan until his vows required they part.
She grabbed his hand, pulled it across her body and rested it on her smooth stomach. He forced his weighted eyelids open and found her eyes on him. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again, but she said nothing.
He understood her speechlessness. His climax had been as stupefying as hers apparently had been. “Come home with me, Megan.”
“I’ll come as soon as you end your engagement.”
His muscles went rigid, his contentment shattered. “I have told you I cannot.”
Her face blanched. She threw his hand aside and bolted upright in the bed. Her eyes turned from soft and sated to wounded and betrayed.
“It will never be this good with her.”
“I know that, mon amante.”
Her lips quivered and she nipped the bottom one between her teeth. But she didn’t cry. No, his Megan had too much pride for tears—yet another quality he admired about her. She did not indulge in the emotional drama most women employed to get their way.
“Do you really believe you can turn off what we have like a tap? That the feelings will stop just because you order them to?”
He expelled a frustrated breath. Apparently they had not made as much progress as he’d believed. “I assure you it will not be easy. But it must be this way.”
She climbed from the bed, stalked across the room and through an open door out of sight.