Triumph brought no calm, just a new level of urgency. “Hold on to something.”
He grasped her hips, lifted, and somehow made himself wait while she scrambled to wrap a hand around the armrest. A second later he drove into her. No polish. No sophistication. She’d stripped those attributes from him the second he’d seen her lying on the chaise, uncovered and unguarded. Her sharp inhale could have meant anything…shock, pain, gratitude? The question formed on his lips, but came out as a groan when she arched up to meet his thrust, digging her heels into his calves for leverage. Her body clamped around him, her inner muscles quivered in reaction.
More, was all he could think, and he drew back to go again.
She made a small sound of distress at the slight withdrawal. “Don’t stop.”
“Nothing short of the apocalypse could stop me now.” He reinforced his grip on her hips and unleashed a series of rapid thrusts—more instinct than technique.
Her head lolled on the cushion. Her breasts bounced from the collision of their bodies. Tendrils of damp hair clung to her face and chest. This. This he’d missed their first time. The opportunity to see her eyes glaze, her cheeks flush, and her mouth drop open. The chance to watch her stomach tighten and her hips flex as she strained to meet every thrust. He wanted to frame her face in his hands, lean in and kiss her parted lips. He wanted to caress her breasts. Feel the scrape of her tight nipple on his tongue. But all he could do was grip her ass tighter, and adjust the angle to allow her a quick, greedy grind at the base of his cock every time he sank deep.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Sweat burned his eyes. Pressure built at the small of his back and sank into his balls. Warning signs from his nervous system. He slowed, and gave her longer, deeper strokes because he was determined to get her there first. She drove a fist into the cushion for additional leverage, and lifted her hips as high as she could, attempting to maximize the duration and intensity of every precious grind. He gritted his teeth and let her do her best.
Long lashes lowered as she concentrated on the internal chase. Some twisted part of his ego raged against being blocked out, used like a convenient tool to get the job done. A nameless, faceless tool. Just like you’re using her, the cool, detached voice in his head fired back, but it wasn’t true. Not this time. It had to be her, and there was nothing convenient about it. By the time this week was over, she would be out of his system, damn it. They’d both walk away—or crawl away—fucked out, wrung out, and utterly satisfied. No more thoughts of her hijacking his head and distracting him from his priorities.
But at this moment? At this moment he craved the same admission from her. He was what she needed. Him, specifically. Not simply some readily available clit-pleaser she could use to make up for months of lackluster sex with a worthless prick like Barrington. Or worse, a substitute. Behind those closed eyes was she picturing Barrington? She’d mistaken him for Paul the first time, but damn if he’d play the stand-in twice.
Fuck no. Maybe he had lost his mind, but he was going to hear her say his name. He tightened his hold on her hips and pulled nearly all the way out, clenching his jaw against her body’s frantic attempts to hold on to him.
Her groan came first, and then her eyes flew open and darted around, seeking a justification for the interruption. Finally they settled on him. Two dark mirrors.
“I warned you the next time you spread your legs for me, I wouldn’t be a gentleman. Did you expect a gentleman, Chelsea?”
Chapter Thirteen
Did she expect…? Chelsea struggled to focus on his words, but the orgasm he dangled just out of her reach prevented her from making any sense of them. Her thoughts whirled. Her body screamed for relief. She couldn’t participate in a conversation. Not now. She managed a head shake, but apparently he considered that an unsatisfactory response, because he eased out another inch. Instinct had her tightening already strained muscles in a useless attempt to keep him in place.
He said something, but she couldn’t hear well over the pathetic moans coming from somewhere nearby. She held her breath to quiet the chaos in her head, and realized the pathetic moaner had been her.
“Did you expect a gentleman?” he repeated. Turquoise eyes stared down at her, through her, as if he could lure the proper response out of her with the power of his gaze alone.
Trouble was, she honestly didn’t know what he wanted to hear, and she was in no condition for this game. “I don’t kn— No!” The word came quickly as he pulled out a bit more.
He stopped, thank God, and she nearly burst into tears.
“No, what?”
“No, I don’t want a gentleman?” Please be the right answer. She prayed the response got him moving again before she lost her mind.
“Make no mistake, you’re not getting a gentleman. Do you remember what else I told you?”
“I can’t think about this now. I need—”
“I need you to answer the question. Maybe this will refresh your memory.” Before she could guess what his version of a memory refresh might entail, he pinched the base of the condom and pulled out completely. Her cry of frustration died in her throat because the next instant he flipped her over onto her elbows and knees.
A wide hand splayed over the base of her spine. Though she couldn’t see his face anymore, she imagined his hot stare roaming over her. Trembles started somewhere in her knees, and migrated all the way up to her arms. Could he see her shaking? Feel her entire body shuddering with need?
“I told you we’d play by my rules, and I’d be very exacting.” Something big and blunt took a slow journey down the cleft of her ass. “Is the conversation coming back to you now?”
No. “Yes…” She lowered her chest to the cushion and raised her hips, biting her lip to keep from begging when he lined himself up flush against her threshold.
“Are you ready to continue?” He teased her opening, and she became a slave to instinct, rocking backward with as much force as she could manage, and absolutely no grace. Luckily, his reflexes were as good as they’d been last time around, in the closet, and he steadied her with a hand under her abdomen.
“Much as I appreciate the demanding woman you keep hidden beneath that polite demeanor, Miss Wayne, I’m afraid she’s not in charge. I am.”
He was toying with her, but his voice lacked genuine amusement, and something about the hard quality warned her his frustration might well be self-directed, but heat stormed into her cheeks anyway. An impulse to shove him away and haul her desperate, horny, and highly compromised ass into a cold shower shot through her, and she went so far as to raise herself up onto her arms, but then he moved—just enough to remind every raw, tingling nerve ending what he could do to her—and all thoughts of stalking off evaporated. She wasn’t going anywhere. The mortifying truth was she’d say whatever he wanted, do whatever he demanded, as long as he put her out of this misery.
The hand at her stomach smoothed down and caressed her thigh, gently massaging the taut muscles. “I know what you need, and I’ll satisfy you until you’re hoarse with gratitude.”
Both the words and touch reassured her. He’d put an end to this torture. Soon…
“All you have to do is say the magic words.”
Oh, God. So much for soon. Resigned to her fate, she stopped fighting the slope of the chaise and rested her forehead on her crossed wrists. The position offered more comfort than remaining braced on her arms, but conveyed an element of surrender she found impossible to ignore.
“Magic words,” he prompted.
Heat swept into her cheeks again, but she told herself it was just blood rushing to her head. “Please.”
“Please, what?” The question came out a harsh, almost angry whisper.
“I don’t know…please tell me what to say, and I’ll say it. I promise. Just tell me…” Desperation put a quiver in her voice, and she broke off. He must have heard, though, because he showed a measure of mercy, and gave her another inch. Fingertips trailed up her thigh and brushed her sex. She cried out.