Page 56 of Captured in Love
“You need to rest,” he decides, lifting me as if I weigh nothing. “You’ve had—”
Instead of letting him lower me to the bed, I clasp my hands behind his neck and cling to him. “No.”
A flash of hunger flits across his face, there and gone again. He clenches his jaw and stares to the side, his nostrils flaring. He’s trying so hard to be good, to let me recover, to tame his own need.
But that’s not what I want from him now.
“Kiss me,” I whisper. “We’re alive, we made it through, and I need you to kiss me and tell me—”
He shuts me up with a kiss, searing in its intensity. His strong hands land on my hips, and he squeezes, bringing me closer. Holding on, I kiss him back, desperate to show him how much I want this.
But he doesn’t take the kiss further, doesn’t flip me over to the bed. So instead, I push at his shoulders until he realizes what I want and lies back against the thin pillow. I climb over him, marveling at his perfect body.
The hard planes of his chest. The coarse hair on his legs, rough against my skin. His expression, all narrow-eyed focus and hunger.
I let my towel slide off to the floor and straddle Raphaël’s hips on the narrow single bed. His hands come up to my waist, and he draws slow circles on my belly with his thumbs, his movements deliberate and controlled, but he’s hard underneath me. His thick erection strains up, and I move, sliding against him.
He hisses a breath through his teeth, and his grip on me tightens.
Yes.
My damp hair falls around my face like a curtain, brushing his shoulders, and then I lean down to press a soft kiss to his lips. His eyes drift shut as I drag my tongue over his lower lip, and he moves his hips almost imperceptibly, deepening our connection. The head of his cock brushes my clit, and my lips part on a gasp. I’m wet, the sliding motions teasing but not enough, not nearly enough.
Raphaël palms the back of my head and kisses me for real, his tongue invading my mouth, sensual and hot. “Witch,” he murmurs in my ear, then licks the spot on the side of my neck that has me shuddering above him.
I mutter the protection spell, and he reaches down between us. But instead of taking his cock, readying it for me to sink down on it, he grazes his fingers over my clit, rolling his fingertips over the tender spot. Sensation shimmers through my nerve endings, and I can’t wait any longer. I grasp Raphaël’s hard length and guide it home. His body goes rigid as I sink lower, and his fingers tighten on my hip.
I love the stretch of his thick cock inside me. The head rubs over my inner walls, sparking new, darker pleasure. I work my hips, lifting slightly, then bearing down again so my skin meets his. It’s that last moment of calm before the storm, and I know it won’t take me long to climax, to drive us over that edge, but I pause, savoring our connection.
Raphaël stares up at me, his sensual lips slightly parted, his breath coming in short bursts.
“I love you,” I say.
I said it down in the ancient dragon cavern, but it was a rushed confession born out of fear and urgency. I want him to hear it now, when we’re safe, when he knows that nothing coerced me to say those three words.
I don’t give him time to say it back. There’s a little nugget of tension inside my chest, worry that he might feel pressured to utter the words without returning the sentiment, even though Iknowhe’s in love with me. But we’re all fools in love, and I’d rather not hear the confession from him than have it ring false in any way.
Bracing my hands on Raphaël’s chest, I lift my hips, then slam them down again. I set a fast rhythm, wanting to burn away the awkwardness with passion, to lose myself in sensation before any true feelings bubble up too close to the surface.
Raphaël lets me take the lead, his attention on me. He returns my kisses, follows my rhythm with his movements, and runs his hands up my sides to thumb and pinch my nipples. My orgasm builds slowly, a tight ball of light in my belly, ready to explode. I close my eyes, throw my head back in pleasure, and slip my hand down to my clit to roll my fingers over it.
Suddenly, I’m being flipped on my back, and I snap my eyes open to find Raphaël above me, our connection broken. His gaze is still human but darker than I’ve seen it since that day in Paris when we cornered him in his gallery. I start to rise on my elbows, concerned, but he looms over me, and I let myself settle back on the pillow.
He takes my hips in his hands, lifting them effortlessly, and nudges my knees apart. Then he lines himself up and slides into me on a slow thrust, sinking in right to the hilt.
“Raphaël!” I gasp, the name half plea, half question.
He withdraws, then slams in again, and the force of his movement is enough to rock me up the bed. I brace myself on the cabin wall behind me, even as my body trembles with imminent release.
“I wanted you to end me,” Raphaël forces out through gritted teeth.
He sets a slow, relentless rhythm, fucking me deep, and it’s delicious but not enough to send me flying.
“What?” I gasp, my mind so focused on the pleasure I have trouble following his words.
I reach down again to tease my clit, but he grabs my wrist and pins it to the bed above my head.
“No,” he growls.
