He kissed his way down her throat and over the swell of her breast. She felt his breath on that spot, on the mark he’d left on her like a brand. Her sex clenched again, a need so deep she could barely breathe with wanting him. Her hands slid up around his neck, drawing him closer while her own breath hitched in her throat.
His hair was thick. Soft. Her fingers sifted through it and then clenched into fists as she cradled his head while he bit down and the pain lashed through her like a silken whip, striking every nerve ending, sending her crashing into the world of pure feeling.
Her lashes drifted down and she held him to her while his mouth pulled at that spot, tongue moving soothingly while he suckled. His tongue slid over the throbbing pulse as he kissed his way down to her bare breast, drawing her aching, demanding flesh deep into his mouth, his tongue lashing down, pressing, flicking, a weapon of destruction—destroying her. Her body fragmented, came apart, and she could only cling to him as the orgasm took her hard.
His hands pulled at her legs so that she wrapped them around him, locking her ankles at the small of his back. She had the sensation of floating. When she was with him, she couldn’t quite orient herself, and even when she tried to lift her lashes, it didn’t work. She fought for one moment to be strong, to at least look and see where they were going. He couldn’t take her down the hall absolutely naked. And if he took her back to Lourdes’s room and the child came in . . .“See me, sielamet.” Tariq whispered the words in her ear even as his body drove hard into hers. The hands on her hips slammed her down over him, and she sheathed him, her tight muscles reluctantly giving way for his invasion.
The air left her lungs in a rush of shock. He was big, pushing through soft folds, a steel intruder that dragged over the bundle of nerves and set every part of her body on fire. Charlotte lifted her lashes instantly, as if by his command; her body suddenly responded when all it really wanted to do was feel. His eyes blazed down into hers. So much heat. So much passion. She would burn forever in his passion, and yet eternity wouldn’t be long enough.
Her gaze went from his to the familiar room. It was the room she’d been in with him before. She recognized it, although there were more sconces lit, allowing her to see more detail.
“See me, sielamet,” he insisted.
Once again her gaze jumped to his face as he planted one knee on the bed, easily lowering her with one arm, proving his strength. He was as naked as she was, his suit gone and his body hard and powerful, all rippling muscle and driving cock. He never stopped moving and each brutal thrust jolted her body, setting her breasts swaying and lightning radiating from her very core to every single nerve cell in her body, inflaming them.
Her mouth moved over his chest, while her nails scored down his back as he pushed her higher and the wild tension coiled tighter and tighter. She needed . . . so much. That taste in her mouth refused to leave, making her crave him, like some terrible addiction. She nuzzled at the heavy muscles, licked at the spot where she’d left her mark. His hands tightened on her and he groaned softly.
She had the sudden urge to bite him, to leave her mark on him in the way he had her. Before she could, his hand was suddenly in her hair, jerking her head back, and his gaze blazed down into hers.
“You feel this? What we have?” He didn’t stop moving, thrusting hard, burying his cock in her over and over, deeply and roughly, as if he wanted to stay inside her for all time. “Charlotte, sielamet, you have to feel this. You have to know this is real between us. The start of us.”
She took a breath. There was no looking away from his eyes, so dark with lust and passion. His desire raw and possessive, but so much more. The more caught at her, robbed her of what little air she’d managed to draw in. He looked at her as if she were the only woman in the world. No one had ever looked at her that way and the thing was—she believed him.
It was incredibly naïve and silly to believe a sophisticated, very wealthy, gorgeous man who was photographed with countless women on his arm, but she did.
“Charlotte.” He tugged at her hair, a reminder to answer him. All the while his cock slammed home hard, jarring her, sending fire streaking through her and building that volcano inside her so high she thought she might implode. “Do you feel it?”
“Yes.” She hissed the word, her need audible.
“Yes what?”
“Yes I feel it,” she admitted softly, because it was the stark truth. “The beginning of you and me.”
Satisfaction etched into the handsome face, and gentled the blaze in his eyes.
She couldn’t lean in to kiss him, because he still had a fistful of her hair. The sharp bite in her scalp drove her a little mad for him. “You are so beautiful.” She gave him that because she had to. She had to tell him. It wasn’t just his physical looks—and truthfully, he’d been gifted far beyond the normal—it was what she found in his mind.
He had a protective streak a mile wide. Maybe more. The children on his property, the older couple, Emeline, even his partner and his partner’s woman, all were family to him. He had added to that growing list Genevieve and Lourdes, and especially her. She was his number-one priority, but he would never let the others down. She couldn’t see beyond that, but that trait, that unswerving loyalty and protective instinct appealed to her as nothing else could.
Then she couldn’t think. Couldn’t talk. He changed the angle of his hips and the friction was exquisite. Perfect.
“With me,” he ordered softly.
She did exactly as he demanded and she wasn’t certain she had anything to do with the decision. It was his voice. The buildup until the tension was unbearable. Wanting to please him. Wanting him to give her that much pleasure. At the sound of his low command, her body came apart, taking his with it. The burn was fierce and unrelenting. She keened his name as the firestorm swept through her, her gaze held captive by his. She saw and felt the pleasure sweeping through him, pure bliss, throwing them both into a place they drifted together, a kind of paradise she found there in his eyes.
They remained locked together for some time until reality began to encroach. She heard the sound of a child’s laughter. Little Lourdes. Charlotte loved her laugh. The murmur of Genevieve’s voice, soft, teasing, imploring her to finish eating or she’d make the child do the dishes. More laughter. Lourdes didn’t buy it. But hearing them meant they were close to the kitchen, and she was stark naked. More, she’d had unprotected sex again.
“Don’t.” It was an order. His fist tightened in her hair. “I told you, you will not get pregnant. I’m clean and so, obviously, are you. We’re together. A new beginning. I’m not going anywhere, so let yourself enjoy what we have when we manage to have it. Lourdes is already asking for you in spite of your friend trying to distract her.”
“Oh, no. I’ve got to get up.” She pushed at his chest to move him, but it was like trying to move a heavy oak tree. He didn’t budge. She tried to look away, but he shook his head.
“You’re doing it again, trying to put distance between us so you can talk yourself out of what happened. Not this time. We’re together. We. Are. Together. You realize you have to get over panicking every time I touch you like this.”
“I know. I do. It’s just that I don’t think when you’re around. My brain doesn’t work. I felt you carrying me, but we went through the house with me naked. Anyone could have seen us. Lourdes could have . . .”“I don’t share. Not. Ever. We’re on the top floor and no one saw me carry you here—I made certain of that. I will always protect you, Charlotte. In every way. I have clothes here you can get into, but first I need the truth about how sore you are.”
She blushed at that. Of course she was sore. He was still inside her, stretching her even though he was only half hard, but it would be embarrassing telling him that.
“Not embarrassing. Talk to me. I don’t want to take from you what you aren’t willing to give me, but in matters of safety and health, I have no choice.”
She didn’t understand that, but he was right. If a relationship between them was going to work out, she had to be able to communicate with him about every subject—especially sex. “I’m sore. Definitely. But I like knowing why.” That was truthful and still a little embarrassing, but she managed to keep her gaze on his.
“I can take the sting away.”
Reluctantly he opened his fist and allowed her hair to fall loose down her back. She hadn’t remembered him taking the topknot out, but then she didn’t remember him carrying her up to the third floor. She’d been that far gone. He slid out of her and then pressed his palm to her mound. For a moment there was intense heat. She swore she felt him moving in her. Not him. He was right there, solid and real, but when she looked at his eyes, he seemed to have “checked out.” And then she blinked and he was back.
“Still as sore?”
She wasn’t. “Oh. My. God. You have the gift of healing. Not only are you telepathic, but you actually can heal.”
“A little,” he admitted. “I have a couple of gifts. I’m not as good at healing as a couple of others I know, but it gets me by.” He eased off of her and stood, pulling her up with him. “The bathroom is through that door if you want to clean up, and I put clothes right there on the chair for you. You can get dressed up here.”