He grasped her wrist. ‘Arrête, Cara. You are killing me,’ he said as he lifted her fingers to his mouth and kissed them. The sight was so erotic her breath seized in her lungs. How could she be this turned on and not dissolve into a puddle?
Releasing her hand, he dipped his head. ‘Take off your shorts, ma petite,’ he said, the gruff endearment caressing her senses. ‘I cannot wait much longer to be inside you.’
She fumbled, her fingers trembling, and couldn’t seem to get the buttons free.
Brushing her hands away, he knelt in front of her and released the fastenings to draw the rough denim down her legs. She stepped out of her shorts, placing her hand on his shoulder to keep her balance, so shaky now she knew she needed to get to the bed before she collapsed.
But, before she had a chance to move, he stood and lifted her easily into his arms. She knew she wasn’t particularly light but she felt fragile and even precious as he placed her gently on the bed.
He loomed over her, his broad shoulders cutting out the light, his lips finding hers again, the kisses more demanding now, more insistent. The atmosphere changed. Not tender and seeking, but urgent and relentless.
He cupped her sex, his fingers exploring the slick swollen folds. She bucked against his touch, the pleasure becoming raw and jagged as two blunt fingers pressed inside her. The tight needy flesh stretched, making the throbbing ache pound so hard in her veins she thought she might pass out.
And then his thumb found the very centre of her struggle, gliding over the hot, wet nub, circling and flicking until she was riding his hand, holding onto his shoulders for purchase.
‘Yes...yes!’ she sobbed, unable to control the pleasure battering her body.
‘Come for me, Cara,’ he commanded and her body obeyed, the coil at her centre tightening to pain and then releasing in a shattered gush of sensation.
She opened her eyes to find him watching her. She was dazed, disorientated, the waves still ebbing through her as the pleasure rippled throughout her body, startling in its intensity.
She’d pleasured herself before, but it had never felt this good, this right, this devastating.
He looked dazed too, but then the shadows cleared to be replaced with a fierce, desperate need. He grasped her hips, angling her pelvis as the large head of his penis probed, demanding entry.
‘Open for me,’ he said. And again she obeyed instinctively, hooking her legs around his waist, opening herself fully for the onslaught, so desperate now to feel the thick length inside her she was ready to beg.
He surged deep in one hard thrust.
The pleasure turned instantly to rending pain, the heavy weight tearing her fragile tissue.
She stiffened, biting into her lip, her nails scoring his back to contain the shocked cry which would give her away.
But she knew it was already too late when he stilled. His face was rigid with shock, his gaze sharp with accusation as it locked on hers.
‘Es-tu vierge?’ he said, his English deserting him.
Are you a virgin?
She turned away from his probing gaze, wanting to lie but unable to get the words out with his erection still lodged so deep inside her she felt conquered, owned.
He grasped her chin and forced her gaze back to his.
‘Tell me, how is this possible?’
Maxim couldn’t focus, he could hardly talk, her body clasped so tight around him it was like a vice. A hot, sweet, unbearably pleasurable vice, about to tip him over the edge. He wanted to move, to dig deeper, to find the place that would make her moan and beg again. But he resisted the urge to thrust into the tight, wet warmth. And forced his mind to engage.
The guilty shadow in her eyes told a shocking story.
Her innocence, her inexperience, that strange feeling of something not being right that had assailed him as soon as he had brought her upstairs. The blush suffusing her ripe body, the shocked gasp as his lips closed over her nipple and suckled, the jolt of adrenaline as her fingers fumbled with her shorts. He’d assumed it was all an act, a beguiling, artless act that had captivated him even though he knew it couldn’t be real. And now to find it was all true?
He shuddered, still lodged inside her.
She didn’t speak, didn’t answer his accusation, her eyes glassy with shock, but there was only one explanation. The marriage had been a sham. A trick in more ways than one.
He should withdraw. But he could still feel the pulse of her pleasure, the tight clasp of her body milking him, and the relentless need hammered at the base of his spine.
‘Am I hurting you?’ he asked, unable to withdraw, not caring any more about her reasons, her complicity in his father’s scheme.