As his hardness began to fill her, he hugged her legs, keeping her still for the careful pulse of his hips. The shallow, testing strokes sent delicious spikes of heat through her whole body, making her shake and groan.
“Good?”
“So good.” She bit her lip and clutched the edge of the desk again, holding herself still for a deeper thrust that told them both she was more than ready.
“Now, my pretty wife.” He caressed all around where he was penetrating her, awakening her into a fresh flood of heat and yearning. “I want every last person in Paris to hear you scream my name when you come.”
They did.
* * *
I confused sex and love before.
Had it been sex like that? Because Axel could see how it rewired the brain.
That was a disturbing thought, mostly because he didn’t care to think of her with her ex, giving that other man even a fraction of her extraordinary passion.
His animosity wasn’t jealousy, precisely. It was a deeper, more justified contempt toward someone who had taken advantage of her when she’d been struggling with grief, tricking her into financially supporting him.
Was he any better, though? Axel wasn’t bankrupting her, he reminded himself. Quite the opposite. And he wasn’t lying to her about how he felt, either.
He still found himself brooding on whether he was treating her fairly. What more could she want, though?
I don’t love you. How could I?
And why in hell would he feel a compulsion to give her more than he already had?
Because that sex had been outstanding.
After defiling the desk, he’d carried her in here to tear up the bed. She was magnificent. Strong and flexible, and she had a stamina and sexual appetite to match his own. Her sensuality ran deep enough to bury him. She wasn’t afraid to push back. Or demand.
Ringing cries of ecstasy from her had been as satisfying as his own incredible orgasms. It had been spectacular. Euphoric. He wanted to envelop her and hide her from the world.Mine.But he also wanted to worship her. Celebrate her.
He reminded himself that he was breaking a long fast. The physical relief and sexual triumph from that alone was profound. But he instinctually knew sex wouldn’t have been this intense with any other woman. What was it about Joy? Purely chemistry? Or was he drunk on the way their marriage had given him the upper hand with Otto?
That was a prickly thought, but there was some truth to it. Certain exultant emotions were riveted into this act that he didn’t care to examine right now, because his battle with Otto wasn’t finished. Axel was merely enjoying a moment of respite while he gathered his forces for his next move.
Joy was a key member of his assault. That was why Axel was so eager to spoil her, he reasoned. He wanted this marriage to appear watertight.
Wasthattransactional? Manipulative? Perhaps. But throughout his life he’d been taught that he could get what he wanted if he provided what others needed, whether that was food, labor, technical skill or other resources. That was how he’d climbed the ladder at Vorstoben. He’d met Otto’s need for a leader with business acumen and management skills. In return, he’d gained the secure, comfortable lifestyle he wanted. When his desire had shifted to wanting autonomy, Otto had appeared to offer that as well, while needing Axel to marry his daughter.
Axel was a transactional person, but woe betide the person who tried to cheat him once they’d agreed on a price. He would get Vorstoben or an equivalent repayment of the time he’d put into it. That was nonnegotiable.
Not that marrying Joy felt like a high price right now.
He sent a look of consternation across to her angelic face, relaxed in sleep.
No, he knew what was really bothering him. She had accused him of being hot and cold, and he was. He preferred his walls and autonomy, but he wasn’t a heartless bastard. He couldn’t completely shut down on her after she’d given herself so generously to him.
This was why he’d been okay with marrying Mira—he didn’t like bumpy emotions or the ability to bruise someone’s feelings. He didn’t like that hurting Joy was now a conduit to harming himself. She had become as much a liability as asset.
He needed distance from those barbed thoughts and her.
He left the bed. As he snapped his briefs into place, she drew in a sharp breath and blinked, brushing her hair off her face.
“What time is it?” she asked with soft urgency, picking up her head.
“Six thirty.”
