A slight tug on her fly told her he’d done what she ached for him to do. As did the cool air flowing over her newly exposed pussy mound. He covered the curve of her mons with a rain of tiny kisses, working her hotpants over her hips with his hands.
“M-my boots,” she whispered, shifting enough on the mattress to aid his removal of her shorts and thong.
“Can stay on,” he rumbled back, flicking his tongue over the sensitive area of flesh where her thigh became her groin. “They’re too fucking sexy to take off.”
She laughed at his growled statement. And then whimpered when his tongue dipped into her folds to lap at her clit.
He made love to her sex with his mouth, licking and nipping at her clit, delving into her slit over and over again. Three times, the surging heat of an orgasm approached her. Every time, Aslin pulled away, returning to her swollen breasts and straining nipples until she was begging him to make her come.
Three times.
Three times, he explored her sex with such fierce, thorough purpose until she was on the brink of a detonation and yet each time he denied her that release.
When he rose to his feet, she glared up at him, her heart an insane hammer in her chest, her pussy a constricting world of need. “What are you—”
Her protest died as he stripped his clothes from his body without a word.
Oh boy.
She’d never seen him so erect, so engorged. His cock jutted upright from his dark pubic hair, its thick venous length a sublime arc crowned with a bulbous head of the deepest blood-red purple. Tiny beads of moisture anointed the tip. Rowan’s mouth grew wet with saliva at the sight even as her pussy flooded with liquid warmth.
“I know you don’t want me to be careful, love.” Aslin’s husky rumble drew her gaze to his face and she swallowed at the raw desire in his eyes. “And I know you’re tough, the toughest person I’ve ever known, but I won’t be able to live with myself if I hurt you.” He snared his jeans from the ground, removed his wallet from a pocket and withdrew a condom. “So I’m going to do this my way.”
“Aslin…” she began, her pulse pounding.
“My way,” he repeated, sliding the latex sheath over his erection before slipping a hand beneath her right leg as he stepped back between her thighs.
He bent over her, drawing her right leg up to hook her knee over the crook of his elbow, his forearm protecting her ribs from her thigh. He placed his other elbow on the bed beside her, the action allowing his cock to nudge her parted folds. She drew in a swift breath, the pressure on her clit almost too much to survive. Her body was on fire. So attuned to his. So aware of the moment about to—
With one slow, fluid thrust, Aslin sank into her.
She cried out, arching into his deep penetration, scraping her nails at the muscled perfection of his shoulders.
“Fuck, I can’t…” His breath was ragged. “You feel so fucking good, love. So fucking…”
He slowly withdrew, to the distended rim of his cock’s head, and then filled her once more, stretching her pussy lips to their limit, protecting her rib with his position and strength.
She cried out again. Louder this time, the orgasm he’d denied her three times rushing at her. Mounting pressure sent shards of exquisite tension up her spine, into the pit of her belly. Building heat that squeezed her anus tight and filled her aching breasts with swollen want.
And all the time, Aslin took her body. Thrust in and out, his pace slowly increasing, his strokes sinking deeper and deeper, his stare melding with hers.
She felt no pain in her wounded body. Only pleasure. Absolute pleasure.
Elemental and consuming and unspoiled by pain.
She raked her nails over his flesh and whispered his name and gazed into his eyes, reveling in the fire in their dark depths. Fire for her. Love for her.
Fathomless desire and need and love.
He was hers and she was his, and nothing in the world would change that.
When her orgasm finally smashed into her, when her body was undone by sheer paroxysms of pleasure, Aslin came as well. Silent. Powerful.
His seed erupted from his cock in wild spasms, filling the condom. She could feel it surging through his length as it left him. The sensation was sublime, amazing, and she came again. And again. Three times.
Three times.
And then there was a fourth, so powerful that swirls of coloured lights filled her vision, and all she could do was cling to the man she loved and call his name forever.
Chapter Sixteen
“The power of the almighty dollar,” Nigel McQueen said, taking his megaphone from his assistant. “Not even the cops can compete against it.”
Turning away from Aslin, the director strode across the old Hyde Park Barracks’ ground floor—now turned into a gunfire-devastated scene of destruction by the set-design department—and called for silence.