The moment we were inside, he locked it.
My eyes darted, taking in plasterwork of swooping birds of prey, the deep red carpet, leather-gilded walls, and priceless furniture that out-shadowed any antique my family had back in London. His room was masculine, almostmedieval, yet there was a tranquillity about it, too.
I trembled as Jethro came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my front. His lips kissed the diamonds around my throat, drifting to my collarbone. How did he feel about my collar now? Did he have a strange love-hate relationship with the beautiful jewellery like I did?
I swayed backward, pressing myself into him.
His hot breath cascaded over my shoulder. “There aren’t any cameras in here.”
“Oh...” My heart rate skyrocketed.
Jethro’s hand cupped my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers. “I can do whatever I want to you.”
Once upon a time, that would’ve been a terrifying threat. Now, I knew him. Now, I trusted him.
I moaned as he palmed my other breast. “You can?”
“I can do whatever I need.”
“And what do you need?”
His teeth sunk into the flesh between my neck and shoulder, his tongue stealing the sting. “I can be completely myself. I can take everything you have to give.”
Words deserted me as he spun me around and captured my lips.
His taste slipped down my throat. His eagerness wrapped around my heart.
We only kissed for a moment.
But it felt as if we kissed forever.
Sliding, licking, tasting.
He swept me away from this dimension, guiding me to a different one—a more spiritual one where our hearts beat to the same rhythm and our desire thickened with every breath.
Walking me backward, his arms swooped down and hoisted me off my feet. I gasped at his power, kissing him harder. Instinctually, I wrapped my legs around his hips. He groaned as my pussy pressed against his straining erection.
Still kissing, he headed forward. Arms bunched, lips slippery, he marched me to the bed.
Then I was falling.
And he was falling with me.
The soft mattress cushioned me, while the hard demand of Jethro landed on top, squashing me with fervent need.
My lungs deflated; a small vertigo wave tried to steal the magic of the moment.
He chuckled. “I’ve gone dizzy from switching from vertical to horizontal.”
In that second, I loved him so much I might burst. “Now you know how I feel most days.”
He pulled back, brushing hair from my face. “Is it terrible? To have your brain work against you all the time?”
His question was so much deeper than just enquiring about my imbalance deficiency. It was a probe into how I coped—a mutual understanding of what it was like to have a condition rule your life. “I manage.”
“You manage better than me.”
I cupped his cheek. “Everyone has complications. Some harder thanothers.”
