Page 68 of Claiming Genevieve

My hand fists in the thin silk of her dress, pulling it upwards as I feverishly undo my belt with my other hand. “Don’t worry,taibhseach,” I growl, freeing my throbbing cock with one hasty motion. “I won’t kiss you. I won’t do anything you’ve told me is off limits. But the one thing Icando is fuck you, Genevieve, and you never said anything about there being restrictions onwhere.”

“Rowan—” She gasps, letting out a small yelp of surprise as I grasp the side of her calf, hooking it around my hip as I step between her thighs. “I?—”

“You don’t need to do anything, lass,” I murmur, reaching down to hook my fingers in the soft lace of her panties as I tug them to one side. “Except come on my cock.”

The feeling of her soft folds against my fingers as I pull her panties aside is the closest I’ve come to getting to touch her intimately with anything other than my dick. It’s pushing a boundary, and it’s all the more thrilling for that—especially when I feel the slick heat of her arousal on my fingertips as I tug the lace away.

A jolt of heat ripples down my spine, and I grasp my cock, angling it between her thighs before she can say another word. I don’t hesitate, thrusting into her the moment that I feel her damp folds part around my swollen cockhead, driving into her all the way to the hilt as she lets out a startled cry.

“Fuck, yes—” I groan, my muscles tensing with the sensation of her wet heat enveloping my straining flesh. She feels so fucking good, like wet silk gripping me from base to tip, and I pull out until only my swollen, sensitive head is rubbing just inside her, feeling her clench automatically around me before I thrust in again, hard. “Take my cock,taibhseach. Take every fucking inch.”

I thrust again, and Genevieve sinks her teeth into her lip, her gaze defiantly meeting mine. The table shifts with each hard slap of my hips against her body, the china rattling, and I see her jaw flex, see how hard she’s fighting making any sound at all.

“It doesn’t have to be this hard, lass,” I murmur, the fog of need momentarily lifting as I see the stubborn expression on her face. “You could take pleasure in it, too.”

She shakes her head in one sharp movement, turning her face away, and it takes everything in me not to reach out and grip her chin, forcing her to look at me again. I want her eyes on me when she comes, want her to admit how much she wants this, too, but that seems like a desire that I’ll never have fulfilled.

One of many, when it comes to her.

Her hands grip the edge of the table, clinging to it as I thrust into her again and again, the sensation of her perfect, tight cunt too much to bear. I’m so close to the edge that I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to hold back, and at this angle, I can’t put pressure on her clit the way I’d like to. The sight of her on the edge of the table like this—her hair around her face and the shoulder of her cardigan sliding down, exposing her slender, pale shoulder—is driving me insane.

I make the mistake of looking down, and I’m gripped by the sight of her panties wrapped around my fingers, held to one side, her swollen pink flesh stretched tight around my thick, hard length. I see her arousal glistening on my skin, and my orgasm hits me before I can stop it—the thick vein at the top of my cock pulsing rapidly as my balls tighten and I start to come.

I groan through clenched teeth, my head falling back as I fill her with my cum, impossibly hard, throbbing with a pleasure that makes my knees nearly buckle. I feel like I can’t breathe for a moment, overwhelmed with sensation, and then I feel Genevieve’s hands on my chest, pushing me away again.

I stumble back, letting go of her panties, and she reaches down, tugging them back into place in one swift movement. I realize, then, that she didn’t come. There’s the shine of victory on her face, as if she’s achieved something, and she slides down from the table, her face a perfect, expressionless mask.

“I’m going to have dinner in my room,” she says calmly, walking away from me toward the doors, as if I didn’t just come inside of her. “I’ll be there if you decide you want to fuck me again, Rowan. It is what we agreed to, after all.”

She flings the doors open, striding out as gracefully as I’ve ever seen her, and I stand there staring after her, quickly tucking myself back in and fixing my clothing.

I haven’t done anything wrong. So why do I suddenly feel as if I’ve somehow hurt my wife?

25

GENEVIEVE

Rowan doesn’t come to my room. I ask one of the maids to bring dinner up to me, saying I have a headache, and eat there, taking a hot bath afterward and trying to do anything other than think about what happened in the dining room.

If I’m being completely honest, I know I’m being unfair to him. He didn’t do anything wrong—we’ve agreed that during this week, the priority is getting me pregnant. But what just happened didn’t feel like rote sex for the purpose of having a baby. It felt like Rowan pushing as close as he could to the line of what I’d allow, using a technicality to test my boundaries.

He wants more. I know he does. And I know I’m denying us both by refusing.

I justcan’t.

I expect him to come up and want me again, but he doesn’t. Instead, I go to sleep alone, a strange, restless ache in my chest that I’m afraid to examine too closely.

The week passes. We have sex at least once a day, often more—and Rowan doesn’t push the boundaries again. Instead, he either comes to my room in the morning or takes me up to the master bedroom at night—or both—and he doesn’t try to do anything but fuck me. And I nearly always come, no matter how I try to ignore how good it feels or how hard I try to repress it.

But with every time, it becomes less and less satisfying. Not because it doesn’t feel good—Rowan’s cock is utter perfection, almost too big, but in a way that feels better than any other man ever has, and he’s sculpted like a fucking god—but because I wantmore. It feels like a tease, a temptation, a reminder that if I just gave in, if I stopped being so afraid, if I accepted that I could enjoy him for a little while and then let him go, I could have the best sex of my entire life with my husband.

The last night before the week is up, Rowan seems particularly detached. For the first time, he seems completely distant from me, stripping off my clothes and sliding into me as if his mind is somewhere else. He fucks me with an almost precise rhythm, ignoring me entirely, before coming with a low groan and sliding out of me, striding into the bathroom without another word. He doesn’t come back out, and when I hear the shower turn on, I retreat back to my bedroom, feeling as if I’m fighting back tears for reasons I don’t understand.

Maybe this will be it,I tell myself.I’ll get pregnant, and we won’t do this for another month. Everything back in New York will be fixed, and we’ll go home, and then Rowan and I will just ignore each other until the baby is born and it’s time to sign the divorce papers.

That’s what we agreed to. It’s what I should want. I don’t understand why, as I shower and slide into bed, that same thought rattling around in my head, that my chest aches as if I’m losing something all over again.

When my period is two days late, I ask Rory to take me into town. I buy a box of pregnancy tests, stashing them away in my bathroom, and the next morning, I set my alarm for well before it’s time to go down for breakfast and slip into the bathroom, my heart hammering against my ribs as I take the slim box out of the cabinet where I left it.

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