Page 72 of Kept to Kill
She cried out as he buried himself in her to the hilt and then he stilled, propping himself up on his hands over her. In his eyes, she could see a mixture of awe and something else she couldn’t name.
She felt embarrassed and wanted to look away, but he wouldn’t let her.
‘Have you ever done this before?’ she whispered. She thought he might laugh at her, but he remained somber.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Not with a maid.’
She swallowed hard, biting her lip to keep it from quivering, all at once feeling as if she might cry, though she didn’t know why. An unexpected tenderness appeared in his expression.
‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Already wishing you’d left when you had the chance?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I thought you hated me and now … I don’t know.’
‘I don’t hate you,’ he said.
He kissed her again slowly as he pulled out of her, and she took a breath as he eased himself back in again, her channel conforming to his size, though it felt uncomfortable still. But she found if she thought about the hurt that Mal enjoyed inflicting on her, it made her pulse beat wildly and made what Quin was doing feel more enjoyable.
Each thrust began to make her keen in pleasure, made her clench and tingle.
‘You like that,’ he whispered, and she nodded. He drove into her harder, making her brace herself against the headboard so that she didn’t hit her head upon it with the force his body moved against hers.
‘On your knees,’ he ordered, pulling out of her, and when she turned to do as he bid, he pushed her down on her haunches.
She cried out as he entered her from behind, grasping her hips, and he moved harder, faster. He didn’t hurt her, not really, but his actions were animalistic, carnal – as if he could no longer hold back his need for her body. She whimpered and moaned with every thrust as he filled her completely. He spread her legs wider, giving him more access to her. His hand reached around to the bud that longed for his touch. He was not gentle as he began to play with her as if she were an instrument, and considering the noises he was eliciting from her, perhaps that was somewhere near the truth.
The pleasure that had been building cascaded through her so intensely that she found she could not make a sound, her breath frozen in her chest. Her mouth open, she struggled through the sensations his body was giving hers.
And then he grabbed her hips and dragged her to him. One. Final. Hard. Thrust. He emptied himself inside her with a howl that sounded more wolf than man.
He rolled off Lily to lie beside her, breathing heavily. She watched him, wondering what would happen now. Would he make her leave? Would he turn on her now that she had given him what he had wanted, what they’d both wanted?
In truth, she was afraid that he would pull away from her. He said he didn’t hate her, but that meant little. She’d asked for no assurances and he’d given her none. Perhaps she should simply be glad that they had been able to give each other some moment of respite and pleasure. Perhaps that was all any of them could hope for.
She made to get up, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.
‘Stay here,’ he growled and got off the bed, walking over to the washbasin on the other side of the room.
He came back to the bed a moment later with a small square of damp muslin. In slow, methodical movements, he drew it between her thighs, his ministrations gentling as she gasped.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
He said nothing, continuing his attentions until he had wiped away all traces of his seed before lying down beside her.
‘What happens now?’ she asked.
‘Sleep,’ he said, drawing the coverlet over her.
‘In here with you?’
‘Yes.’
He took her in his arms, cuddling her, and she realized her fingers were drifting over the muscles of his chest, his broad shoulders and his thick arms, tracing that intricate tattoo he bore. Somehow, this felt even more intimate. She felt a tear slip from her closed eyelid. She hoped he didn’t notice. But then she felt his fingertip follow the tear’s trail. She didn’t look at him.
‘Do you regret it already?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she murmured. ‘It’s just that I’ve never had this. I’ve never felt this before.’
‘You’ve never been held.’ It was a statement, not a question.
