An Improper Ever After(30)

A small kernel of logic tries to tell me I shouldn't, but the need overwhelms everything. My blood pulses in my veins, and I just … give up. "Tell me if I'm hurting you."

She looks me dead in the eye. "The only way you can hurt me is by stopping."

No cavalry would be able to drag me away now.

She's so primed that it only takes a couple of powerful thrusts before she starts to climax, her pussy gripping my cock tightly. My eyes roll in my head, but I keep driving into her. Even my lust-addled brain can tell I've lost. But I'm not willing to go down like a man with no self-control. I maintain my pace, sinking all the way in every time.

She orgasms again, her wet hair spread around her thrashing head. Pleasure puts a rosy glow to her beautiful face, and my control slips as two tears leave the corners of her eyes.

When her pussy spasms around me, I lose it. I let go with a deep, guttural groan. I feel like I'm being ripped apart. It's more than a god fucking amazing orgasm riding me, it's like being swept out to sea.

Afterward I roll away so I don't crush her, then pull her close so she lies with her side flush against mine. I stare at the ceiling as my breathing returns to normal, two thoughts sliding into my mind like razorblades.

First: It doesn't matter what I've been telling myself. She's got her hooks into me so deep that I don't think I can ever be free of her. And I don't want to be. I've never acknowledged the fact, but I do now.

Second: I know something's happened in the last twenty-four hours. Elizabeth's warning twists in my gut. I teased my wife mercilessly, gave her several orgasms that should have ripped her apart … but she didn't say, "I love you."




 

 





Chapter Twelve



Annabelle

My head is spinning, my breathing shallow. I let myself stay dazed until it deepens, then return to reality.

The almost violent need Elliot has for my body should leave me happy. But instead I'm conflicted. Everything we have is based on primitive, physical lust. If it hadn't been for that, he would've never propositioned me. Anyone would've been okay to fulfill his father's condition.

Admitting that to myself has given me the strength to keep the words inside me. I'm never going to say "I love you" to a man who can't say it back and mean it. I deserve that much in a relationship.

I shift, then stop when I notice the stickiness between my legs. A sudden chill racks me, and I jerk myself up, a sheet clutched to my chest.

"What's wrong?" Elliot asks, his eyes suddenly alert.

"You forgot the condom," I blurt out.

When he doesn't respond immediately, I look down at him. He is absolutely gorgeous, lying next to me on the bed, and the effect of his magnetism hits me like a freight train, stealing my breath. His thick, silky hair is messed up, but it only adds to the raw, masculine beauty of his masterfully carved face. One hand is tucked under his head, while the other rests on his chest, the arms lean and muscular from regular swimming. I know how strong his body is-I've felt it often: when he carried me like I weighed nothing in St. Cecelia, every time he finally loses control and drives into me …

But there's something else that makes me hesitate. The small hint of insufferable insolence almost always present in his expression is gone, and it makes my internal alarm clang. Something has shifted without my noticing, and I don't know what that is or what it means.

"Didn't you hear what I said?"

"I heard you," he says mildly, as though we're discussing what to have for lunch. He doesn't even move from his rather lazy repose.

"Are you clean?" Even as I ask, I know what the answer is. He's too meticulous to be careless with something as important as his sexual health.

"Of course. You?" he asks in an easy tone that doesn't tell me much.

My face heats. From him, it's a reasonable question, since I'm the one who was stupid enough to get drunk in high school and get …  I push the thought out of my head and nod jerkily.

"Well, then."

Why isn't he more freaked out? There's more to the situation than whether or not one of us has an STD. We agreed when we signed the deal: no kids. "Maybe the timing's wrong," I say, thinking fast. "Besides, it's only one time." 

Even as I say it, my insidious mind reminds me it only took once to get pregnant last time.

Oh my god. Last time. I squeeze my eyes shut, bringing a shaky hand to cover my face. I don't want to think about that ugliness at all. This is nothing like before. I wasn't forced, I'm not some naïve clueless girl of fifteen, and the father of this child isn't going to be a mystery if I get pregnant.

"If you say so." Elliot's softly spoken words penetrate my churning thoughts. "I'm sure you know better than me."