That would be enough for the night. It had to be.
Jane was fighting a losing battle in Ripley’s arms. In her life as a lightskirt, she’d always had tactics and techniques to keep herself from becoming too attached to any man. Ways to separate herself, never give everything. But with this man?
Well, she’d never been able to do it. From the first time they’d talked to the first time they’d made love she’d felt her defenses chipping away. And now they were almost gone entirely, finally stripped bare by his raw confession that he loved her.
She felt that love even now as he let his hands smooth over her with such gentle care. Such easy pleasure. He swept her up and she gasped with surprise, breaking their kiss. He carried her like a bridegroom might have over to his bed. She was put to mind of the night she’d come here to ask for help with Nora. He’d carried her to his rooms then, too, but for a far less pleasurable purpose. Though his care for her, his gentle protection when she couldn’t bear her own weight, that had been just as impactful.
Tonight, though, he set her on his bed, dragging his fingers along the lines of her body as he released her. She opened her arms and legs to him, beckoning him to join her, but he didn’t. For a moment he just stood over her, outlined in firelight, and looked at her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Memorizing this moment. You spread out in my bed, like I’ve imagined so many times since that first moment I saw you.”
She sat up a little on her elbows, arched her back a tiny bit. If there was one thing she knew, it was how to fulfill a man’s fantasy. Doing it for this man was nothing but pleasure.
“Have you memorized it enough?” she asked. He nodded and she smiled as she reached for his hand, drew him down toward her. “Good, because I doubt the only thing you imagined was staring at me all night.”
He covered her and they relaxed back together. His weight on her was heaven, pressing her into the soft coverlet, a reminder of all his strength, his power, his control.
It made those moments when she stole all that all the more meaningful.
Somehow she expected him to just take her. She was ready for him, after all. The moment he touched her, she was always ready, slick with wanting, trembling with need. But he didn’t. He went back to kissing her, just as gently and thoroughly as he had in the kitchen. She tangled one hand into his thick hair and with the other she traced the muscles of his back as she allowed herself to sink into the pleasure of just kissing this man. She felt the hardness of his cock pressing heavy against her thigh, and yet there was still no rush to him.
Once again, she was reminded of both how different he was from any other man in her life, and also of how deeply and powerfully she loved him. That he loved her in return was both pleasure and pain.
“Don’t think,” he whispered against her lips.
She shivered at the idea that he could tell she was doing just that. That he knew her so well. She pulled back a little and smiled at him, wicked. But not because she wanted to use that wickedness as a wall, only because he inspired it.
“Then do all those things you do so well to make me stop thinking,” she said softly.
He flashed a grin down at her, his chuckle racing up her spine and making her body grip like it was seeking his.
“With great pleasure,” he murmured, kissed her once more and then guided his lips down her neck.
He sucked and nipped, taking his time, savoring her. She pushed away all her worries about him, about her sister, about the pain surely to come and separate them. She focused entirely on this moment, this man, this pleasure.
It was easy when he provided so much. He had learned her in the desperate, passionate time they had shared recently. He took that knowledge now and put it to good use. When he sucked one nipple, she arched beneath him with a little cry. He smiled against her, she felt the shift of his lips, and that made it even better. Her pleasure was his pleasure and that was the most erotic thing she’d ever felt.
So much so that she wished to share it.
She lifted beneath him, cupping his cheek, tilting his face away from her skin so that he looked at her. That moment nearly brought her to tears. The firelight hit him just so, outlining all the imperfections of his scar, the crookedness of his nose, all the things that made him so damned beautiful. She caught her breath and said, “I want to give you the same pleasure you give me.”
He chuckled. “Can’t give over control for even a moment, eh?”
“I’ve given you plenty of control for plenty of moments,” she corrected. “Why don’t we surrender control together?”
He arched that scarred brow. “What do you have in mind?”
“Come up here. Lie on the pillows.” She scooted to the side and let him do just that. She rolled into him, kissing him, lazy at first and then with more purpose. She almost forgot what she wanted to do as she was swept away on the waves of him. But then she forced herself back to the moment. She pulled away and smiled at his grumpy frown before she began to inch down his body, just as he had with hers.
He watched her, hands pressed against his sides, like he was trying to keep himself from taking over. She smiled as she flicked her tongue over a nipple. He gasped in response, just as she always did when he did the same. But she didn’t linger long. She slid farther down, tracing the muscles of his stomach, the ridge of his hip. And then she arrived at the very impressive cock. She caught him in hand and stroked once, twice.
His back bowed and he let out a great moan. The power of that was wickedly addictive and there was a moment when she wanted nothing more than to suck him dry and then crow in triumph that she could best a champion. But she didn’t. She’d promised mutual surrender and she intended to have it.
Once she figured out how to best manage it, that was. He was so much taller than she was now that she was leaning over him, she realized what she had in mind would be difficult to align. Then the fix hit her.
“Will you slide up on the bed a little?”
