She loved him.
As the realization fell upon her, she clutched him in a tight embrace, holding him to her as if she could keep him here forever. Atop her, believing in her, being the man she needed him to be.
It was not too late. She could tell him no. She could leave his bed, his chamber, his house, before she did irreparable damage to him. To them both. But the weakness in her would not allow her to make any decision save one.
“I am yours, Leo.”
He groaned. His fingers came between them, sliding through her folds. She was so slick, the sounds of him toying with her were wet and luscious in the chamber. The sweet perfume of her was redolent in the air. Her hip hooked around his waist naturally, bringing them closer. He kissed her cheek, her jaw, reaching her lips at last. Their mouths fused, open and hungry. She tasted herself on his tongue.
Round and round circled his fingers, the pressure and the pace enough to make her explode in no time. She reached her pinnacle, jerking against his knowing caresses. Tremors shook through her, the passion white-hot. Her eyes closed, and she moaned into his mouth, never having broken the kiss. More moisture dripped from her, coating his fingers, and this time, he did not stop playing with her as he had before. This time, he continued, finding her channel. He stroked her there, running his knowing touch over the dip where he was made to seat himself.
He broke the kiss, gazing down at her, breathing harshly. “I need you.”
She stared into his gaze. “Yes.”
And then, his fingers were replaced by the head of his cock. It was larger, warmer, smoother than she had expected. Firm and bold, brushing over her entrance. Her hips undulated, seeking what only he could give her. Seeking him. He gave her what she wanted, easing in slowly. Just the tip of him, and she was stretched wide. The sensation was strange yet good. He pressed deeper, sliding inside, and she felt tight, hot, as if she might burst.
He stilled. “Have I hurt you?” His voice was as strained as his expression.
“No.” She caught his beloved face in her hands. “You could never hurt me.”
ButIcould hurtyou. Iwillhurt you.
Nay.She would not think of that now. Not in this moment of divine connection. She had never felt closer to another.
His hips rocked, and he drove himself inside her farther. “Christ, banshee. You feel like heaven. So tight and wet and…fuck.”
She liked his vulgar word. Liked the way he was losing his rigid grip upon his control. She wanted him to lose it entirely. Guided by instinct, she moved beneath him, her inner muscles clenching, bringing him inside. “All the way, Leo. I want you inside me so deep.”
It was the only prompt he needed.
With a cry, he thrust. The barrier of her maidenhead was rent, and she knew a sting of pain as it gave way. But then, his fingers were right there on her flesh, flicking over her swollen bud, chasing away the hurt. All she felt was full, so full of him.
“Did it hurt, love?” He kissed her. “Tell me if I should stop.”
She kissed him back. “Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”
He began moving inside her, and everything changed. In and out, slow and steady and deep he drove. As one, they arched and flexed, gave and took. Her body was ready, and when the next climax claimed her, it was violent and potent. She clenched on his cock, and he thrust deeper as she exploded around him, her flesh pulsing with the force of her release.
He rode her with long, slow strokes, kissing her, loving her with his body and his lips at once. And then, he stiffened, and inside her she felt the warm, hot rush of his seed, filling her, marking her as his.
She held him to her as the last waves of his release subsided, wondering how she could ever bear to leave him now.
Cinniúint.Fate.
He was hers.
Chapter Fifteen
Leo slept theslumber of the dead.
When he woke again, it was with no notion of how much time had passed. For a beat, he did not even possess a recollection of where he was or how he had found himself there. His sleep, ordinarily plagued by nightmares, had been oddly dreamless, and it took him a beat to recall he was at Blayton House in London. In his own chamber. That earlier that morning, he had made a decision which would either prove his gravest mistake or his ultimate redemption.
Sunlight splashed around the edges of the window dressings. The time of day could be late morning or afternoon, as the curtains were layered for the times when he needed to fall into bed during daylight hours and sleep, following days without it.
His body was replete with the deep sense of bliss that always visited him after a thorough fucking. And this morning had been nothing if not thorough. It had also been life-changing, in more than one sense. He had consummated his marriage. Had experienced the most decadent, soul-searing rush of physical release he had ever known. Both of these things would be cause for celebration in ordinary circumstances.
These were not, however, ordinary circumstances.
