His Mistress with Two Secrets(53)

“Say it,” he commanded her. “Tell me exactly what you want, chérie. I won’t have accusations in the morning.”

“I want you inside me, Henri. This.” She caressed his smooth, hard shape and ran her thumb into the point beneath the tip, feeling him pulse in her palm. “Please.”

He pressed a groan of abject hunger into her neck, opened his mouth to suck a love bite there. The sting caused a delicious counterpoint to the sweet pleasure of his touch parting her wet folds. She clenched on his fingers and cried out, holding tight to him as climax flooded through her in a rush, so powerful her knees folded.

He held her up, one hard arm around her back, releasing a jagged laugh of triumph against her skin, soothing, caressing, keeping her pulses going and maintaining her arousal.

“Nothing excites me more than knowing I do that to you,” he told her, backing her toward the bed. “Nothing makes me want you more. I want to eat you alive. Have you in a thousand ways. Tie us both to this bed and never leave it.”

He pressed her onto her back at the edge, leaning on one hand, looming over her as he guided himself against her, rubbing and nudging where she was plump and slippery and welcoming. Still tingling.

“Don’t tease,” she protested.

“Want?”

“So much.”

“How much?” He gave her just the tip.

“More.” She used her heel in his buttock to urge him deeper, releasing an unfettered groan as he sank into her.

For a moment there was nothing except the pleasure of returning to this place of joy. Ecstasy.

He said, “Cinnia,” like he was exactly as overcome. Then, after a long time, he said, “I don’t want to hurt you. Tell me if it’s too deep.” He caught under her legs and offered a few shallow strokes. His whole body was trembling with strain.

“Show me you want me, Henri.”

“How can you doubt it?” he growled. “I’m so hard I hurt.” He moved with deliberation, carefully withdrew then pressed as deeply as he could. Tingling sensations pushed into her, so sharp they were almost too much to bear.

“There,” she cried as she lifted her hips to meet his and he folded over her. They melded together, mouths, bodies, kissing deeply with abandon. Then she slapped her hands far out to her sides and nudged her hips up against his, urging him to move with more purpose. “Take me.”

He ground out a few muttered imprecations, trying to hold a civilized pace, but they were on a plateau of acute, mutual pleasure. Each stroke was a delicate torture that kept her on exactly the knife’s edge of wanting orgasm, but withholding it.

She caught at his shoulders and dragged her nails down his arms. “You’re not going to break me,” she said fiercely. “Do it. Harder. Faster.”

“You are going to break me.” He thrust with more power. “Stop me if—”

“Yes!” she cried. “Like that!” She moved with him, meeting his thrusts, keening under the onslaught of pleasure. And there it was. Culmination. Hovering before her, detonating around them.

“Now, Henri. Please... With me,” she gasped, shuddering with climax.

He abandoned his grip on his restraint, and let out a shout of gratification, holding himself deep inside her as they both shattered with rapture.

It was beautiful and perfect and she smiled as he shifted them into the bed and settled her to fall asleep in his arms.

But just as she began to drift, her smile faded. She opened her eyes to the dark. He hadn’t answered her question. In fact, as her pregnancy continued to take a toll and she leaned on him more and more, the answer became obvious.

Henri didn’t need her for one single thing.





CHAPTER NINE

CINNIA WAS ENTERING her thirty-first week, feeling big as a house, but healthy enough that her doctor agreed she could travel to Spain for a few days. Angelique and Kasim were hosting a very small, private engagement party of immediate relatives in the Sauveterre compound. The formal announcement wouldn’t be made for a few more months, due to Kasim’s situation in Zhamair, but they were eager for their siblings to get to know one another.

The gathering was relaxing and lovely, giving Cinnia something she had longed for the first time with Henri: a sense of being a real part of his family. She and Trella had grown closer since their pregnancies, and Angelique had always been warm and welcoming. Now the twins felt like real sisters, calling her into their rooms to try on this draped top or one-size skirt, sharing little confidences along with a sample of hand cream or asking an opinion on a color of lipstick. His mother trimmed her hair when Cinnia bemoaned that going to the stylist was too much trouble when it was such a horrid crush of cameras.