She held her hands on his shoulders, using them for leverage as she thrust him deep into her body. Her face was only a few inches from his. Her breasts bounced against his chest. She held his gaze as she clenched around him, drawing him in with slow little pulls.
He’d wanted to show her that this was only lust; instead it had become the most incredible, intimate moment of his life.
He felt it again. That hard pull. That dragging under. That sensation of drowning in a whirlpool of something he didn’t understand.
He was falling. Lost in sensation and the promise in her eyes. He couldn’t seem to get close enough.
He slid his arm around her waist and kissed her fiercely, succumbing for a moment before suddenly jerking away.
Furious at himself, at her for doing this to him, he held her hips still. “Enough,” he growled harshly. This position was too intimate.
The sudden curtailment of pleasure brought a confused look to her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“I want you on your knees so I can take you from behind.”
He hated himself even as he said it. He was skating too close to what had happened with her husband and knew it. The base demand. Treating her more like a whore than a woman to be cherished.
Her eyes widened, and the look on her face cut him to the quick.
He’d gone too far. He knew he’d gone to far.
She would never forgive him for this. Maybe it was what he wanted. It would be better this way. Acid ate in his chest, settling low in his belly. It felt so wrong, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
Tell me no. Slap me like I deserve.
“Well?” he threw down the gauntlet.
Part of him wanted her to put a stop to this. The other part feared she would.
“Am I supposed to run away now? Is this supposed to scare me off? You have no idea.” She shook her head. “Why are you doing this, Lachlan? Why are you acting so mean?”
“Iammean. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
She held his gaze. She looked at him with compassion and something else. Something that made his heart flip over in his chest. “Aye, I’ve figured it out.”
The understanding in her voice only made him angrier. “Do you want to fuck or not?” he snapped.
The vulgarity had no effect on her. She lifted her chin. “Is that what you want?”
He heard the challenge in her voice and knew what she was asking: Is thatallyou want? She wanted more from him. He gritted his teeth. “Aye.”
Neither one of them believed it.
She shook her head as if he were a child who’d disappointed her. And hell if he didn’t feel like it.
She lifted herself off him and stood. She was going to leave. He held his breath, a heartbeat away from stopping her. From calling her back. From drawing her against him and showing her all the gentleness and tenderness that she deserved. That he wanted to give her, damn it, but didn’t know how.
He should have known better. Bella MacDuff was a fighter.
Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground, spreading out the plaid near the fire. Then, holding his gaze the entire time, she positioned herself on her hands and knees. His heart stopped beating. Not from the mouthwatering display of her sleek backside—although it was spectacular—but from the trust shining in her eyes. Trust he didn’t want, damn it, and sure as hell didn’t deserve.
He couldn’t breathe through the tightness in his lungs. She was so beautiful and defiant. Daring him to treat her like this. Daring him to denyher.
Bella watched him struggle, knowing he was scared. Knowing that he was battling himself, not her, and fighting what she offered with everything he had. He lashed back the way he always did, finding the weakness and going in for the kill.
Did he honestly think he could get to her like this? She’d been played by the master of cruelty and domination and endured far worse than Lachlan could ever manage.
She hated that he used the pain of her past against her. But even more, she hated that he was taking what they had and trying to turn it into something base and meaningless.
