I internally winced. “I’m sorry.”
“You already said that,” another accusation. I didn’t miss the anger in her voice. She swiped at her tears, turning away to pick up the paintbrush that had thankfully fallen on the tarp under the ladder.
I studied the large portrait of me in a charcoal jacket and black shirt, sitting at the desk in my study. One hand cupped over the other, my chin rested on the knuckles, with my eyes riveted on something outside my window. The likeness was uncanny, the detail flawless. I was in awe of this woman’s gift. “I can’t believe you painted that from memory alone,” I couldn’t keep the admiration out of my voice. Her talent was ingenious.
“Do you remember that moment?” She dumped the brush in a cup, grabbed a rag and wiped her hands. “Ido,” it came out in a tight whisper.
Of course, I did. How could I not? It was the day I told her to leave. I’d been sitting at my desk staring out the window, my heart and head at war while I waited for her. Now, I realized she’d stood at the door, studying me, perhaps committing me to memory like I’d done to her every single time I laid eyes on her.
“I do,” I said softly.
“What are you doing here?” Her blue-green fixed on mine, I noticed the subtle movement of her hand, gently palming her stomach. I just found out about her pregnancy, and instead of annoyance, I was shocked by her instinct to protect her unborn child.
From me.
I wasn’t sure what hurt more. Her question or that action. Regardless, both pained me more than I thought it would, the answer evading my mouth for obvious reasons. “I wanted to see how you were doing,” I said.
Running my gaze, the length of her body, I appreciated the firmer fullness of her curves and breasts beneath the pink tank top. The defined shape of her thighs and calves, heightened by that white skirt, choked my resilience. Only one thing stopped me from fucking her against the wall behind her, over the table to her side, or with her hands tied to the curtain rail I caught in my periphery. Her being pregnant. The desire to watch the pleasure of pain ignite her body and absolve the tortured months of absence shortened the space between us. Yet that life growing inside her surpassed every single need to lose myself in her scent, to possess her body and own her orgasms like I’d done so often.
Confusion wrapping her brow in a frown, she narrowed her eyes at me. A silent argument between lovers, that mysterious force sparking the unconcealed lust between us. I watched her naturally pink lips open and close a few times until she startled me with, “I’m sure you know by now that I hate lies.” She turned away, busying herself with the paint.
Once again, I found myself in uncharted waters with this woman. Unbeknownst to her, she made me the weakest man to grace the Winthrop halls, reminding me how everything flipped on its head since she fell into my arms at Blackhall. Regardless, here I stood, so fucking disorganized and so damned possessed by her I wouldn’t change a thing about it.
“Fuck it.” My heart kicked me into gear.
Stepping forward, I curved an arm around her waist and swung her into me, crashing my mouth to hers. She froze, the gasp shooting from her lips, surging through me and urging me to kiss her like I owned her. A second later, I heard the items fall from her hands before her fingers slipped into my hair.
I took the ownership I craved. My arms tightened around her, her body fitted perfectly against mine as if she were molded just for me. I seduced her mouth until our moans merged, filling the air, my ears, my heart. I slid my hands from her waist to cup her arse and lifted. Her legs wrapped around me, her energy matching mine, lick for lick, the taste of her scorching my tongue, an infinite essence deadly to my restraint. Her whimpers, the rub of her body against mine, the grasp of her fingers as she tugged the hair at the back of my head, they all melded, provoking the starving Dom grappling with control to scour every inch of this woman with my teeth, my tongue, my mouth, my hands, my cock.
Still, it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy my need for her.
“Xavier,” she whispered between ragged pants as I released her mouth and set her down on her feet. Her eyes lifted to mine, arousal filling those beautiful dual irises brimming with an open invitation to take. She reached between us, and I bit back a groan when her hand grazed my crotch, her fingers unbuttoning my trousers.
I had two choices. Stop her or give her what I needed. “Ella, we—”
She slipped her hand inside my trousers, fingertips brushing against the head of my cock as she wrapped her hand around the shaft, already thick with need.
I grasped her throat without thinking, forcing her back against the wall at her rear. She might be reticent with others, but when it came to me, she didn’t deny my dark lust. She fucking demanded it. “Don’t, Ella. We need to talk.”
She sucked in a breath, her lips swollen from my kiss, a temptation all on its own. “Don’t pretend you don’t want me, Xavier,” she flirted, her smile mischievous. Fuck, I was responsible for that, I’d given her the power to own her sensuality, and I fucking craved it. “Don’t pretend you’re herejustto talk, that you’re not addicted to me as I am to you.” She reached deeper, stroking the length of my cock until her fingers cupped my balls, squeezing.
A ferocious desire to take her right now, to lift her against this wall and bring her wet little pussy down on my cock, hard and fucking fast, blinded me to the reason I was here.
“Because I don’t want to talk, and I don’t want foreplay. I want you to fuck me hard and fast like you own my body. Because you do,” the not-so-subtle invitation, voicing my need, tore through my resolve. My mouth crashed against hers once more. The kiss was aggressive, demanding, and filled with a desperate war to control.
Knowing I was only fooling myself by holding back, I slipped a hand under her skirt and snapped her knickers with one quick tug. Our lips still locked, her hands made quick work of my shirt buttons before she was urging it off my shoulders and then pushing down my trousers until it slid to my ankles. I broke the kiss, tugged her tank top over her head while stepping out of my trousers. Her skirt fell a second later. Lifting her against me, I carried her to the sofa and sat with her on my lap. She wasted no time, sinking her wet pussy down on my painfully hard cock.
Our groans loud and harsh, we both trembled, hanging over that precipice of exploding from how tightly we fitted together. “Christ, love, I’ll never get tired of how your pussy is always ready for me.” She hummed her agreement. I circled one of her nipples, my suction tight as I sucked and bit down on that brown bud. She whimpered, twisting the hair at the back of my head, forcing my mouth tighter to her breast. I licked and sucked one, then the other. “Ride my cock, Ella.” I gripped her arse and rolled my hips, coaxing her to move.
“Oh, God, that feels so good,” she exhaled, breathing labored.
Smiling, I rolled my hips again, feeling her clench around my thickening shaft. Her hands fell to my shoulders, and her lips found mine. The kiss didn’t falter as her pussy clamped around my rigid girth and she began moving, or when I fisted her ponytail, shoving her closer, tasting every corner of her sweet mouth, her rocking movements engulfed me. My body shuddered with hers, my heart pounding in my chest.
Then she grabbed the edge of the seat behind me, caging me with my arms, and lifted herself before slamming back down, allowing my hard length to impale her.
“Jesus,” my moan collided with hers, a dirty tune of unashamed need we both craved. She did it again, forcing me to breathe to control my need to come before her hips, swaying back and forth, she rode me hard, tightening the tension curling at my spine. “Faster,” I coaxed, biting her bottom lip and sucking it into my mouth. Then I slid my hands under her thighs, lifted her, and fucked her hard, my rhythm in sync with our ragged pants.
“Oh, God, yes,” she moaned, her head tilting back. “Right there, Xavier.”
