“I want you,” he said, pulling his lips away just far enough that he could talk. It wasn’t a lie, even if it wasn’t the thought that had filled his mind. “I need you.”
She nodded, brushing her nose along the side of his as she did so. “You need me? I need you. You were shot, you could have died and—” Her breath hitched and she kissed him again, deeper this time, her fingers pressing against his jawline. “I need you.”
They stood together and he grasped her hand, leading her from the room to find one of the bedchambers. But as they walked up the stairs together, fingers laced, he fought against the desire in his chest. Not just to make love to her. But to allow himself to love her for all the rest of his days.
He would have to restrain himself if he didn’t want to lose control of this entire situation.
Chapter 22
There were two bedchambers upstairs, both made up for guests. The first was smaller than the other, and Imogen had frowned at the narrow bed. But the second…well, it was obviously the master, made for exactly every fantasy she wished to play out with this man she loved and had nearly lost.
The big bed faced a large window. Its curtain was drawn back and late afternoon sunlight filtered in, casting a golden glow on the turned-back sheets on the bed.
He closed the door behind them after they entered and turned the key to lock it. He leaned back, his shirt still fluttered open to give her a peek-a-boo glimpse at his chest, and her heart throbbed with love and desire in a potent mix.
For a moment, she saw the emotion in his eyes, on his face. His own fear at what they had gone through, at what they had nearly lost. But he shook them away. He hardened his expression, his face darkened to that look of pure desire, command, control. She shivered, for she knew what it would bring to her body and soul when he touched her in this state. She knew he would take her pleasure, demand even more until she was weak and mewling his name.
Only now she saw that act for what it was. Not just a way to pleasure, but to distance. He didn’t want to feel the pang of fear or loss. He didn’t want to experience any connection they’d built or mourn the lack of connection he had to his siblings.
He was using desire and dominance to keep all that at bay.
He came across the room toward her, stripping his shirt away with every step. His arms wrapped around her, hard and heavy and his mouth claimed hers. She lifted into him, her body craving him even as her heart screamed out for more. More than pleasure. More than orgasms and lust. More than protection given out of a sense of obligation.
She wanted his heart.
His tongue drove into her, and for a moment that deeper yearning faded. He would take her and it would soften the edges of the fear today. She could surrender to his demands and both of them could remain in the comfort zone of sexual connection.
He pressed her back against the edge of the bed and then caught her hips, spinning her so her back was to him, so she was bent partly over. He stripped her dress open with one hand, tracing the path of the parted buttons with his lips and searing a heated path through her thin chemise beneath. When he tugged and brought both down to flutter at her feet, she gripped the coverlet tighter and found herself spreading her legs, offering him exactly what he wished to take.
He made a little growl behind her, possessive, animalistic. She peeked over her shoulder at him and watched as he shucked his trousers away. The hard curve of his cock told her how much he wanted her. But the brief expression of desperation that crossed his face when he looked at her reminded her he also wanted something else. He wanted to build a wall, even if it was with pleasure.
But she loved him, so she couldn’t let him. She wouldn’t. When he curled his body around hers, she slowly turned beneath him, facing him and meeting his eyes evenly. He had the same stern, focused, heated expression as he’d ever had when he looked at her. The one that turned her knees to jelly and made her hands shake with desire.
But she saw something different now. In those dark eyes she saw pain. He was having a harder and harder time hiding it from her. She reached up to touch his face as she saw it, smoothing her fingers along his harsh jawline, hands tickled by his beard.
“Don’t,” he growled, and his mouth found hers. He pushed her hands away, inching her back on the bed, flattening her wrists against the mattress.
She didn’t seek escape. In fact, the heavy weight of him holding her down, stealing her control, was arousing in ways she couldn’t have put into words. This man was built for pleasure, certainly. Built to give her pleasure, even as he never asked for anything in return.
She wanted to give it. But he wasn’t allowing that as he held her down, so instead she tilted her head. Their lips were inches apart as he pushed her legs open and positioned himself at her entrance. He drove into her in one long thrust and she caught his mouth at the same time. He took and she gentled her kiss in return. She sucked on his tongue, she explored as he plundered.
And just as she’d hoped, her tenderness changed him. Slowly, he eased his drive, softened above her. His grip on her wrists loosened, his fingers came into her hair instead and he let out a low, quiet moan. Of pleasure or pain, of all of it mixed, she couldn’t be certain. All she could do was swallow it down, as if she could dissolve it as he passed it to her.
He pulled back, staring down at her in the quiet of the room. He was fighting. Fighting the hardness, fighting the way he’d trained himself never to let someone close again. She knew why. But it didn’t matter. That was the past.
“No,” he whispered, that desperation lacing his tone just as it had relaxed his expression.
She ignored him and lifted against him from beneath. Gentle, pulsing movements that made her pleasure mount but also set a pace much different than any other time he’d made love to her.
“Imogen,” he whispered, her name a plea and a demand all at once. He thrust hard again, and she gasped as she lifted to meet him. Then she cupped his backside with both hands and ground him against her in a smooth, gentle circle.
She came from the friction of his pelvis against hers. He watched her as she jolted beneath him, fingers smoothing over his back as she whimpered his name again and again.
“Please,” she murmured as the ripples of undeniable pleasure faded.
He caught her mouth and kissed her again, deeper, longer, softer. He caught her hips and they moved together, rising and falling in a patient, gentle rhythm. There was no more fight, no more dominance, there was nothing left but her and him and everything between them that remained unsaid.
If he had been good at commanding her experience, at drawing her passion from her, he was even better at just…loving her. He lifted her all the way onto the bed, rolling to his back, guiding her thrusts with a hand on her hips as the other one cupped her head and angled her for a kiss that seemed to merge their souls.
