Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(99)

He opened his eyes, and his gaze was hard now. “So it comes down to this: You will choose marriage to my brother over marriage to me?”

“Yes.”

“How can you do this to me? To us?”

She bit her lip, trying to find the words. “I’ve spent my life obeying the rules set before me by society and my brother. Maximus has decided that Thomas is the better man for me.”

“You accuse me of not giving up my still for you,” he said quietly. “But I think you are the greater coward. You will not give up your brother’s approval for me.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” she answered. “I cannot go against Maximus now. I cannot. He has the power to ban me from my family. Besides, he’s made the right choice. Thomas is reliable. He’s safe.”

“And I’m not?”

“No.” The word dropped between them like a leaden weight. Hero felt tears fill her eyes, though she wasn’t sure for what she mourned.

The bed shook and suddenly Griffin was atop her, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his breath hot and angry against her cheek. “He might be safe, but do you love him, Hero?”

“No,” she sobbed.

“Does he make you blush with anger and then with want?” He kicked apart her legs, settling hot and heavy between them. “Does he know how sensitive your nipples are? That you can come just by me sucking them?”

“God, no.”

“Does he watch you like I do? Does he know that your eyes turn to diamonds when you’re aroused?” He nipped along her neck, his kisses insistent and hard. “Does he know that you like to read in Greek but loathe drawing? Does he wait with bated breath for you to arch your left eyebrow so prissily—and then grow hard when you do?” He thumbed both her nipples at once, bringing a surge of heat between her thighs. “Tell me, Hero, goddamn it to bloody hell, tell me: Does he make you feel like I do?”

“No!” Her answer was a despairing wail.

His thumbs were between them, spreading her folds as if he had every right, as if she was his, now and forever, until the end of time, amen. And then he was in her. Hard and hot, moving so exquisitely she began to cry.

She wrapped her legs tightly around his narrow hips, her arms about his shoulders, holding on to him with her entire body as he rode her.

His big penis slid in and out of her slick folds. She was already sensitive from their previous lovemaking. She was gasping, hardly able to keep up, his pace rough and fast. It was too much; she couldn’t hold herself together anymore. She wanted to push him away. To flee this room and him and his too-strong lovemaking. He wasn’t giving her time to yield to him, to hide or assimilate his angry urgency. He was simply pushing her to experience what they shared—what they made—here and now.

He bent and caught her mouth, kissing her possessively even as his cock worked in and out of her. She moaned, opening her mouth, accepting the invasion of his tongue, tasting her own tears on his lips.

“Hero,” he murmured. “Hero. Hero. Hero.”

He punctuated each utterance of her name with a hard thrust of his hips as if to brand her as his. Sweat was dripping from his body, his breath was coming in hard gasps, and the bed was quaking.

She shook her head against the pillow—in denial of him or their lovemaking or of her own urges, she was no longer sure. But he pursued her, catching her head between his hands, holding her and making her look at him as he thrust himself into her body.

“Do you love me, Hero?” His pale green eyes were full of torment. “Do you love me like I love you?”

And she cracked apart on his words, a stream of liquid heat pouring forth from her center. She trembled beneath him, trying to tear her gaze from his as her passion exploded within her. As rivers of sweet pleasure spread through her thighs and belly. As her heart fractured and re-formed.

But he wouldn’t let her look away. He held her gaze as his own eyes half closed and the muscles of his face, neck, and chest tightened. She watched helplessly as he convulsed above her, his big, strong shoulders gleaming with sweat.

He thrust into her once, twice, three times more and held himself there, tight against her, their bodies locked, as he orgasmed. His eyes pled silently with hers, defiant and proud.

Her vision blurred.

He slumped onto her, his chest heaving.

Hero closed her eyes, running her hands over his slick shoulders. She wanted to imprint this memory on her mind: the musk of their lovemaking, the weight of him on her, the sound of his harsh breaths in her ear. Someday, perhaps soon, she would want to draw upon this memory, to cherish and hold it in her heart.

He suddenly rolled off her, and her hands clutched after him, but he wasn’t leaving her bed. Not yet at least.