Page 48 of Courting Trouble
He took only moments to breathe, to marvel at the magic that was sliding home. Only this moment, this need, existed. The past melted away, the future was a nebulous unknown.
She was here. Now. And all that mattered was the next hitching breath, the next caress, kiss, and thrust.
His grasp on her became covetous and unrelenting as he drove ceaselessly upwards. Titus gloried in the movements of her. The ripples of impact two people could have upon one another as they ground their flesh together until their very bones felt the force of it.
Sex for him had always been a nocturnal endeavor, and he marveled at the afternoon light gilding her pale skin, at the color decorating her chest and flaring in her cheeks. The flush of roses in her lips. The little abrasions his afternoon stubble had made against the soft skin of her mouth and cheeks.
Someday he’d leave those marks on the insides of her thighs.
The very thought brought a release threatening to gather behind his spine.
She was like a goddess above him. A Valkyrie. Battle-scarred and demanding, lifting his soul from the fray to take him to his reward.
Unable to contain his pleasure, he shifted his hand to thrum at the moist little bead where her nerves met and sang. He stroked it in soft contrast to his hard thrusts, a gentle caress against the fury and frenzy.
A ragged sound ripped from her, spurring him on, faster, deeper, harder, as she arched and trembled, her strong legs keeping perfect rhythm with him. He collected her yips and sighs like a man without hope, locking them inside of his memory.
“Come for me, Nora,” he ordered.
She fell forward and he caught her waist as she bit into his shoulder, just below where the collar of his open shirt rested. She shuddered and shook, her body folding in on itself as the fingers of her right hand threaded into the hair at his nape and curled into a fist.
The pain sent a lightning bolt straight to his sex as her intimate flesh pulled and released, contracting around him like a satin vise.
He didn’t want this. Not yet. Not now. He wasn’t ready for it to be over.
But the more he fought it, the faster and more tempestuous the storm became. Her cries of pleasure were his ultimate undoing. The articulation of her sleek body arched like a bridge over his, undulating in a rhythmic dance. For a man so moved by the mysteries of the human body, she remained an anatomical marvel. Immaculate beauty poured over a spine of steel and a heart of stone.
Or was it glass?
One he was beginning to wonder might have been just as broken as his all along.
One who’d never stopped wanting him back.
Why?The question became the metronome to his burst of increasing speed.Why? Why? Why?
His climax blinded him with a flash of lightning, and his resulting roars were the answering thunder as wave after wave of clenching pleasure poured from his body into hers. He was a being of both desperation and rapture, locking her hips down against his so he might allow the gentle pulses of her sex to milk the last vestiges of his own release from him.
This would never be enough, he realized as his abdominals clenched and released their last, his muscles twitching and trembling as they were finally relieved of their prison of pleasure. He wouldneverbe deep enough inside of her. Would never tire of holding her against him. Never want to be rid of her rose garden scent and husky, resonant voice.
Forever seemed suddenly insufficient.
And tomorrow wasn’t yet decided.
He cupped the back of her head, pulling her down so her forehead could rest against his. They shared a few intimate breaths, allowing the storm to pass and the waves to still until they stood, each existed in a calm shaft of sunlight. He luxuriated in the feel of her exhales stirring at his overheated skin.
He thought he’d feel better. Sated and sleepy. Like a starving man after overindulging in a decadent meal.
He didn’t.
Instead, he’d unlocked some sort of bottomless abyss that could only be filled by uninterrupted access to her.
Was he becoming like her husband? Obsessive and calculating?
No. He would never. But he certainly had decisions to make. About what kind of man he was, or would be.
“Nora,” he exhaled her name from lungs still struggling to find their equilibrium. “If there’s anything between us, I want it to be the truth, not the past. We should… talk.”
“Don’t,” she sighed, stopping his lips before tracing their outline with a soft and languorous fingertip. “Let us talk tomorrow. Let tonight be about us. About this. Let me show you what you mean to me.”
