Page 171 of Morally Black Betrothal
A muscle in his jaw ticked, but he remained silent.
“You don’t need me to make you better. You don’t need me to do anything but love you. And I do. I love you just like you love me. Exactly as you are.”
The fear in his eyes ebbed but didn’t totally disappear. “Even with my black heart?”
I pulled him down so that his forehead touched mine. “Your heart has never been anything but full of color to me.”
Several breaths passed as he seemed to digest my words. Then he kissed me again. Soon we were pawing at each other’s clothes, stripping them away until we were both shirtless and breathless in each other’s arms.
“Never done this before.” He licked down my chest, then buried his face between my breasts with a satisfied sigh. “Not with anyone. But Christ, angel, it feels like…” He stood up again, then took one of my hands and guided it down to the steely length evident through his pants. “Sometimes it feels like you own me.”
Heat flooded my cheeks, but I didn’t pull away. Instead, I squeezed and stroked, enjoyed the tortured expression as his eyes fluttered closed.
“Please,” he whispered. “I’m yours. Do you understand?”
I wondered later if it was the first time Brendan had ever begged.
He’d never felt this way before?
Well, neither had I.
This wasn’t just lust between us, though God knew we had plenty of that. This was something deeper. Brendan said he was mine, and I wanted to melt into him like butter into bread.
My legs parted as I tugged at his belt, then undid his trousers. His breath grew ragged, his jaw clenched, but he didn’t stop me when I pulled down the zipper, slipped my hand around his erection, and pulled him free.
He caught my wrist. “Wait, angel.” It sounded like it took everything for him to say it. “I need to protect you.”
I shivered. Who but him had ever needed to guard my safety, my happiness, like it was his own?
He fished a square of foil from his pocket and pressed it into my hand, then waited as I rolled it over him with shaking hands.
“Come here,” I said. “I want you.”
“You have me, angel. Every fuckin’ inch.”
His eyes held mine as he pushed inside. The stretch seared, then melted into fullness that just about broke me.
“How do you feel this good?” he mumbled as he seated himself fully. “How do youalwaysfeel this fuckin’ good?”
I couldn’t reply. I clung to him, barely able to remember my own name, let alone answer questions like that.
He began to move, full of the praise I needed, telling me I was so good for taking him like I did, how tight I was, how perfect.
He was measured but uncertain, like an apple balanced on a knife’s edge. “You need it, baby? You need it like this?”
“Yes.Harder.”
But he wouldn’t let himself break. Not yet.
I took a handful of his thick, dark hair and tugged. “Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need to let go.”
He froze, then, to my surprise, laughed, a harsh bark of a thing.
“What do I need? What do Iwant, angel?” His thrusts turned slightly frantic, like just the question threatened his composure. “I want the impossible. I want everything.”
Sweat dripped from his brow as he took another frenzied kiss, and the salty essence of him lingered on my tongue.
He was delicious.
