The second the material left me, I could feel the string of arousal from my sex as it clung to the bottom of my panties. It stretched until it snapped, hitting the heat between my legs when it bounced back. His eyes remained on me so he didn’t see, but he would feel it in a second.
Instead of hitting the bed, he took me to the couch, pinning me in the corner. His jeans dropped to his thighs, and he positioned my body to slide inside. It was a smooth entry, so smooth that the pleasure was detailed across his handsome face. It was accompanied by a moan, a sexy and deep one.
I was pinned against the back of the couch with one leg over the back, and he fucked me deep and close, his face directly in front of mine, his hot breaths washing over me, the hint of red wine on his lips.
My arms locked on to him, holding on for dear life because I didn’t want to let go. Everything felt so good. The closeness. The strength of his body as it dominated mine. The way he looked at me like I was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He made me feel like a woman. Made me feel like a lover, not a whore. “Cauldron…” I said his name without him having to ask. I dug my nails into his skin to leave my mark, to claim him as mine because I didn’t want another woman to ever have him. I never wanted to share this man.
His face moved into my neck as he gave a moan, as if it took all his strength not to let go. His struggle only spurred me on because it was so sexy to watch his weakness, watch him fight to fulfill my pleasure first. “Fuck…this pussy.” His deep voice was right at my ear, deep and powerful, sexy with its innate command.
My teeth sank into his shoulder as I released, a flood of tears burning my eyes before they streaked down my cheeks. My nails pierced his flesh. I gripped his dick so tightly I probably bruised it. The greatest pleasure hit me like a ton of bricks. It was my job to make him writhe, but he was the one who gave me the best sex of my life.
It took less than a few seconds for him to follow me, to pump me with his seed. His thrusts came to a standstill, and we clung to each other on the couch, our hot breaths bouncing off each other’s skin.
Instead of feeling him pull away from me, I was lifted from the couch with my legs straddling his hips. He carried me to the bed and laid me down, his jeans and boxers still around his thighs. He cherished my body with a few kisses before he pulled up his pants and turned to leave.
I didn’t know what came over me, but it came hard and fast. “Don’t go.”
He turned back to me, part of his chest and shoulders blotchy and red from his arousal.
“Please.” Every night, I was left alone in this bed. Silence accompanied me all throughout the night. Sometimes I reached for him beside me, but all I felt were cold sheets. This man had all of me, but I still had very little of him.
He stared for a moment longer before he dropped his jeans and came to the bed.
I couldn’t believe it.
He got under the sheets beside me.
I stared at him for a moment, unable to believe this was real, and then I pressed my body into his, draped my arm over his stomach, cradled my head into his shoulder.
He didn’t pull away.
His hardness was more comfortable than the soft mattress and French linen sheets. My eyes closed, comforted by his heat and his smell. He didn’t touch me, but he let me touch him, and that felt like a win.
TWENTY-TWO
CAULDRON
The second she fell asleep, I slipped from her grasp and left the bedroom.
It was like lying on a bed of needles. It’d been a long day and I was ready for bed, but all I did was lie there with my eyes wide open. I stared at the crown molding around the ceiling, listening to her breath as I waited for her to drift off.
I woke up bright and early the next morning and took care of my workout. It was the only way I knew how to start my day, by straining my muscles and getting the endorphins going. It was another sunny day in a French paradise, but my anger burned just beneath the surface of my exterior.
It was always there.
“Mr. Beaufort?”
I returned the bar to the rack and wiped my face with the towel. “What is it, Hugo?”
He stood there in his butler’s tuxedo, his arms behind his back, his features slightly strained like he had bad news. “Is this a bad time—”