If he would let her orgasm. If he would just stroke a little harder, a little faster.
“Ah bébé, tha’ sweet pussy likes it slow and easy, eh?”
She shook her head. It was as though the dark, predatory male inside him had suddenly been loosed, had been given freedom.
His gaze was sharper, hotter. His lips were hungrier. His cock teased and cajoled and shafted inside her with irregular thrusts that had her trying to scream his name with the burning need. Trying, because she didn’t have the energy to do more than reach for orgasm, to withstand the unbearable pleasure tearing through her.
“Kell. Please.” She arched in his arms as she felt sudden space at her back, felt him moving her.
She expected the bed. She didn’t expect the floor. He sank to the carpet, coming over her, his erection still buried inside her as he stripped off first his pants, then her dress.
The material was jerked over her head, taffeta and silk rustling as he tossed it aside, leaving her clad in nothing but the black stockings and high heels she had worn with the dress.
“Fuck. Yes.” Satisfaction thrummed through his voice as he leaned back on his knees, drawing her legs over his thighs before his hands clenched at her hips.
Hard. Her hips jerked as he plunged inside her hard. Deep. Once.
“Oh God, you’ll kill me, Kell,” she whimpered, her hands reaching for his wrists as he held her hips in place.
“I’ll love you, chère.” His expression was erotic, filled with a heavy sensuality and male pleasure that pierced her womb.
“Will you love me?” she gasped breathlessly, staring back at him, feeling not just the need for the steadily rising pleasure, the heavy thrusts of his cock, or the touch of his hands. But the touch of something far less defined. The touch of his heart.
“Ah chère.” He came in closer, bending over her then, his hands gripping her hands to anchor them to the floor as his lips touched hers. His tongue stroked over them. “Don’ you know? You own my soul, how could I help but love you?”
Three hard, furious thrusts of his hips followed his words, splintering the pleasure inside her as she began to chant his name, to fly, to fracture with ecstasy.
And still he was hard inside her. Brutally hard. His cock throbbed inside her as her inner muscles clenched around him with a force that had her straining back from the bruising pressure.
“Hold still, sweet sugar,” he groaned, rearing back once again, holding her hips in place as he pierced her to the hilt.
She whimpered. Pleading, desperate sounds as tremors raked over her nerve endings, pleasure tearing her apart as the orgasm seemed never-ending.
If he would just hold still long enough. If he would stop those slow, gentle pushes against her, stroking her internally, building her pleasure again even as the final pulses of her orgasm eased.
She was rising again. She cried out, her voice trembling at the feel of the pleasure rising inside her.
“There, chère. Let it have you.” His large hand settled on her stomach, fingers outstretched, pressing against the flexing muscles as her head thrashed on the floor, her nails digging into the carpet, clawing at it as she fought to anchor herself amid the sensations beginning to tear through her once again.
Let it have her? It was destroying her. She could feel the fire whipping through her body again, tightening her muscles as he began to move again.
r /> This time, there was rhythm to his thrusts. A hard pounding as he buried his cock inside her with each desperate lunge. His expression intent, his eyes darkening, muscles tightening.
Emily arched beneath him again, pleasure overtaking her, throwing her into another brutal orgasm as a hard male groan echoed around her, and the feel of his cock pulsing violently inside her as his release swept over him had his name gasping from her lips.
She was clenched so tight around him that she could feel the flex of his cock. The jerk of his balls against her rear, the throb of his erection inside her, and the sound of her name pulled from his lips.
“Chère. Sweet, sweet Emily . . .”
Eighteen
EMILY WAS DRAPED OVER HIS chest hours later, exhaustion making her a limp damp weight as his arms surrounded her. The dark flames of her hair cascaded over his chest as her soft breaths tickled the hair on his chest.
He glanced at the clock beside the bed and winced. Two hours. Two hours filled with the tight grip of her pussy and the soft cries that tore from her lips each time he touched her.
But there were things to complete this evening. Plans to be made before they headed back to Georgia. The team would separate again in the morning and Kell wanted to make certain he had all the information involved before he left.
As he lay there, the memory of his grandparents wavered through his memory. His Mamère, so slight and frail now. She had once ruled the Beaulaine mansion with a steel hand. Or she had thought she had. Until his maman had married the Krieger heir and systematically begun to pull that power around herself.