“Are there rules about that sort of thing? I’ve always wondered.”
“It was a common practice for a married couple to retain separate chambers.”
She grunted, making her feelings clear.
“Is it love you would marry for, my lady?” It felt so right addressing her as such. He moved up behind her, cupped her shoulders, and ran his hands down her arms until his fingers intertwined with hers. This was a bad idea. He laid his lips at the low side of her neck and caressed her with a damp kiss. “You shouldn’t allow me such liberties.”
“I shouldn’t.” But she tilted her head, allowing him to suckle gently. Damned if he didn’t want to mark her for all time. She brought their hands up and pressed them to her breasts, her moans mingling with his. He slid one hand down over her abdomen to the hem of her dress. Then he spread his fingers over another scrap of lace he envisioned as part of a matched set. A hot, telling dampness singed his fingers.
“Alistar.” His name whispered from her lips was an irresistible nectar he could no longer fight.
Spinning her about, he pulled the stretchy dress over her head and tossed it away. Her lingerie was indeed matched. Lace of a soft, satiny blush of color. She was all he had dreamed about in the few short days he’d known her. With one finger, he pulled a strap from her shoulder, exposing one breast, the nipple a taut bud of dusky rose.
He thought his erection would burst through the serrated zipper of his jeans. He tested the tip with his tongue and stood back to watch it draw tighter. The essence of lust permeated the room. His fingers moved to her back. He flicked the fasteners of her bra, setting her breasts free. They were dimly speckled, high and smooth, as he moved his mouth over one, then the other, leaving him vaguely aware of her nails digging into his shoulders. He was alive.
“God, Peyton. I want you. So very much.”
She stepped back, breaking their contact. Of course she did. It was the smart thing to do.
His breaths came fast, shallow, audible—the only sound in the room. He was staggered by the pain of not touching her. She took another step back. He dropped to the floor on his hands and knees, his head drooped. A second later, a scrap of lace landed between his hands. He snatched it up to his nose and breathed deeply. His eyes raised from delicate, pink-painted toenails, up toned legs, to her quim, and stopped, mesmerized by the sight before him. How long had it been since he’d had a woman?
His brain was mush. He crawled forward, rose to his knees, grabbed her buttocks with both hands, and kissed her mound. He spread the top with his tongue and pressed against the hidden nub, and her stance grew precarious. Maintaining his hold, he licked his way up the taut muscles of her abdomen until he was standing. Then he lifted her from her feet, strode to the bed, and tossed her in the middle, stripping away his own clothes, then licked his way up her body.
He didn’t have a condom. God damn. He fell to his back beside her. “No fucking condom.”
Cool fingers stroked his length, and he thought he’d died. “I don’t care. I haven’t been with anyone in years.”
The insanity must have taken hold. He cared. He had to care. He couldn’t remember why, but it was important.
A second later, her lips whispered against the foreskin of his penis. He almost jumped through his skin. He threaded his hand through the tangled curls at the back of her head. Her lips parted, taking in the crown, then her tongue twirled over the tip and he gasped. Her mouth plopped off, and his hips raised, chasing the magnetic attraction he craved. She turned her head, laying it over his thighs, gazing up at him with her sultry gaze that took on some of the soft lavender accents of the spread beneath them. She moved forward and ran her tongue over the base, sucking gently at his scrotum. “Isn’t it bad enough to know I’m to be certified tomorrow?” he rasped out.
She was suddenly up and over him, straddling his hips, her anger a scalding fury as she blinked back rapid-fire tears. “That isn’t funny. This isn’t funny.” She started clambering off him.
Stunned, Alistar’s palms landed at her hips, holding her in place. The heat from her center plucked at him. “I’m sorry, darling. Please.” He skimmed his hand up her sides, splaying them on her back. “I’m sorry,” he said again, pressing her chest to his, bringing her mouth closer. “I’m sorry.”
Her lips covered his. Their kiss was edged with desperation. She shifted just so, and he slipped inside, sheathed to the hilt. He throbbed within her. “Oh, God. If you move—”
She moved, and he was lost. He flipped her to her back, and in three strokes, he felt her pulse against him. A violent roar rumbled up his chest. He yanked out of her heat and spilled himself over her stomach.
“Geez. I-I don’t know what to say,” she panted.
He couldn’t talk. After a moment, he forced himself from the bed and went into the adjoining bath and turned on the hot tap. He dipped a cloth and wrung it out.
“Are you okay?” she called out.
He moved back into the room. “I should be asking you that.” He swiped the cloth over her abdomen.
“I’m fine.” She rose to sitting, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. Thank God he’d remembered to pull out of her body at the last second; it had been a near thing. “I’m just fine,” she whispered.
Ten
A
listar disengaged himself from Peyton and disappeared again into the bathroom. He was upset with her, she could tell. She’d pushed him to his limit against a will he strongly believed in. She hadn’t done it on purpose. At least she didn’t think she had.
She adored him, but she didn’t know what she could do to make him feel better. Something to take his mind off the oncoming disaster. He came back in the room and picked up his briefs and pants. Panic seized her. He was going to leave, disappear to sulk. She might never see him again. “The journal.”
“What?” He shrugged into his underwear.
