Beauty and the Bachelor(28)

He rode her like a man possessed, chasing pleasure like Ahab after his  white whale. Their wet skin smacking together, their harsh breaths and  her soft whimpers punching the air. Harder. Faster. Deeper. Harder.  Faster. Deeper. Harder …

She screamed, tensed. And came. Her walls clamped down on him, milking  him. He swallowed the sounds of her rapture and stroked through it,  maximizing and stretching the orgasm out until she wilted beneath him.

Only then did he follow her into oblivion.

 …

"Where are you going?"

Sydney paused in the middle of tying the sash of her robe at the  slightly slurred question. She glanced over her shoulder at the rumpled  blankets and sheets and the sexy-as-sin man in the middle of them. His  hooded gaze swept over her no doubt mess of curls and down her body, now  covered from neck to mid-thigh by her robe. When that stare, heavy  lidded from drowsiness and sex, met hers again, unbidden pleasure  unfurled inside her chest and belly, spreading to all points north and  south. Especially south. Good God. He'd just subjected her to the most  cataclysmic, earth-shattering orgasm of her entire life, and already her  body craved more.

Dark waves falling around his face, he arched an eyebrow.

Right. He'd asked her a question. "For a drink of water. Are you thirsty?"         

     



 

"No, but if you are, I'll get it." He threw the blankets aside and  climbed from the bed. Within seconds, he had his jeans pulled over his  lean hips, zipped but unbuttoned and leaving a tantalizing amount of  skin exposed. Including the sensual vee of his hips that begged her  tongue to trace.

Oh, God. Get a grip. Now.

"You don't have to-"

He gripped the nape of her neck and tugged her close for a quick,  blistering kiss. "Yes, I do." He exited the room before she could mount  an objection.

Several moments passed before she crossed the several steps that brought  her to the bed and sank down to the mattress. Studying the dark blue  sheets, she smoothed her fingertips across the soft material. Casting a  quick glance at the partially closed door, she listened for the heavy  fall of footsteps. Detecting nothing but quiet, she lifted the sheet to  her nose and inhaled. Him. Her. Them. Sex. Pleasure. Pictures like a  movie reel flashed on the back of her eyelids. His mouth on her breast.  Between her thighs. The sharp angles of his face honed by lust as he  rose over her, stroking inside her with a power and skill that stole her  breath even now.

Heart pounding, she released the sheet. The floor would have to crack  open and swallow her whole if he reentered the room to find her sniffing  the blue cotton.

What did he think of her? Of her easy capitulation when she'd demanded  time? Hell, what did she think of herself? The conversation on the  boardwalk had planted a seed in her heart that she couldn't root out. A  suspicion that the resentment and hatred Lucas harbored for her father  hadn't been satisfied with their marriage. He was keeping  secrets-secrets she feared would render her sacrifice null and void.

Yet when he'd shown up at her bedroom door, she'd surrendered to the  need he'd instilled in her and nurtured with each touch, glance, and  word. As soon as his mouth had covered hers, she'd been lost. And her  submission had nothing to do with her father, contracts, or promises,  and everything to do with pleasure and ecstasy only he could satisfy  since only he had kindled it.

"What are you thinking about so hard?"

She started, pressing a hand to her chest. Either his predatory features  extended to his movements or she'd been so deep in thought she hadn't  even noticed his return. She scanned his flat, unreadable expression.  Probably a little of both.

"Nothing, really."

"Ah." He settled the tray loaded with a pitcher of ice water, cold  slices of chicken, cheese cubes, grapes, and a medium-sized loaf of  baked bread on the bed. "A woman's ‘nothing' is vastly different from a  man's. Which means it could be anything from the state of the union   to how I royally screwed up." He poured two glasses of water and placed  them and the pitcher on the bedside table.

She scowled at him even as her stomach rumbled at the sight of the impromptu dinner. "That's not sexist at all."

He didn't reply but ripped off a corner of the loaf, placed cheese and  meat on the bread, and passed it to her. Her heart tripped over itself  at the seemingly unconscious kindness. As she accepted the makeshift  sandwich, he closed his fingers over hers.

"Regrets already, Sydney?" he asked, the question a low ripple in the silent room.

"No." Once more she studied him. The piercing green-blue eyes that had  blazed with scorching heat less than an hour ago but were now shuddered,  impassive. The almost lush, sensual curve of his mouth that contrasted  with the sharply hewn planes of his face. The hard, strong line of his  jaw. The harsh imperfection of the scar that was perfect on him.

Confusion commingled, mated with the blush of arousal. Questions and concerns-she had dozens of those. But regret? No.

"Does it bother you?" He plucked up a slice of chicken and popped it  into his mouth. God, it wasn't fair that he made eating with his fingers  sexy, too.

She blinked, refocusing on their conversation. But couldn't follow. He'd lost her.

She frowned. "That we had sex?"

"No. The scar. You were staring at it. Does it bother you?" No emotion  or inflection in the question, just a flat monotone that he could've  used to ask the time of day.

Like the first time he'd asked that question three weeks ago-God, had it  only been three weeks since he'd exploded into her life?-the quick "Not  at all" rose to her tongue, hovered there. But at the last instant, she  didn't utter the three words. Because they would be a lie.

"Yes," she murmured. Something flared in his gaze-something old and dark  before it became as opaque as before. "But not for the reasons you  probably think." She turned more fully toward him, tucking her foot  under her thigh. "When I first met you, of course I noticed the scar.  But I wasn't repulsed. I ached for you. For the pain you must've  endured. It bothered me that you suffered." A scowl started to crease  his brow, and she shot up her hand, palm out. "I don't pity you. No one  who looks at you could ever feel sorry for you. You're too … dangerous for  that." She huffed out a short bark of laughter. "I remember thinking  you resembled a panther. Dark. Stunning. But predatory. The mark isn't a  sign of your weakness but your strength. Your power to fight and  survive. I find it … " She paused, weighed the judgment of revealing this  particular truth.         

     



 

He watched her like the animal she'd mentioned, his scrutiny steady,  unblinking, as if searching her for any hint of a lie. Sighing, she rose  from the bed, careful not to jostle the tray. She approached him, moved  between his legs, and cupped his face.

"I find it beautiful," she whispered. Then laid a gentle kiss to the  ridged flesh beneath his right eye before placing another on the twin  scar that bisected his eyebrow. "I find you beautiful," she confessed  against his skin.

His hands clutched her waist. Other than the tiny flexing of his  fingers, he remained as still as a statue. No, that wasn't true. His  eyes blazed with a fire that burned her.

Suddenly, he launched to his feet. In one explosive motion, he had her  in the air, her legs wrapped around his waist. He strode across the  room, and the moment her back touched the wall, he consumed her. His  tongue dived between her lips, taking, conquering. The kiss was hard,  explicit, primal. A clash of mouths, tongues, and teeth. She'd unleashed  something wild in him, and it claimed her, branded her. Excitement and  desire pumped through her veins, drenching the tender folds between her  thighs. His chest pinning her, his hands forged a rough path down her  sides and down to her thighs. He scraped her robe high, above her waist,  before dropping his hand between her legs and shoving his pants down  far enough to free his erection.

"Do I need a condom?" he growled against her mouth, the wide, flared head nudging her folds.

She clutched at his shoulders, tried to impale herself on his thick flesh. "I'm on the Pill," she rasped. "Unless you … "

"I'm clean. I've never fucked without protection. But you … " He flexed  his hips, thrust inside her and groaned, the hoarse sound one of pained  pleasure. "You, I want to feel naked, bare against my dick. Squeezing  me, drenching me in all this wet heat. I want you."

And he took her.





Chapter Sixteen


"Congratulations," Aiden announced as he strode into Lucas's office, a  sheaf of papers in his hand. He handed the stack to Lucas then dropped  into the visitor's chair in front of his desk, long legs sprawled wide.  "You now own 46 percent of the Blake Corporation." He paused. "And  majority ownership."