Pitch Imperfect(102)

“You’ll always grieve for Chloe,” Rob said, wrapping his arms around her. “Sometimes I wish I had the power to take away your sorrow, make you forget.”

“And sometimes I wish for the same,” she whispered.

“But then it would be as if Chloe had never existed. You would lose your memories and every moment you shared with her would be gone. Would you want that?”

An image of her face, a waft of her scent. “No.”

Rob brushed his lips against the crook of her neck, and then his body tensed. “Will I be enough for you?”

“Too much, I suspect.”

His hands dug into her hips, pressing her against his erection. “I wanted to pound Damien into the ground for touching you.”

“Pound into me instead.”

With a low growl, he whipped her around and carried her into the turret. And then her arms were braceleted above her head, her back against the cool stone as he rolled his hips against her. The expression on his face bordered on savage, sending a frisson of excitement down her spine. In her mind he shackled her hands to the walls and entered her, torso to breast and thigh to thigh.

“Am I your prisoner, Lord Douglas?”

“Aye.” He kissed her lips, nuzzled her jaw and shoulder. “I read Border Lord’s Captive up to Chapter five.”

“That’s their first kiss.”

“I aim to do much better.”

Oh God. A wave of sensual heat travelled through her body, from her toes to the tips of her fingers and the hair on her scalp. He could do that to her with only a softly voiced sentence; infuse her with lust as vibrant as the streaks in the sky. Passion and longing, love and desire. He coloured her with all of them. Rob released her hands and stepped back, visibly struggling for control.

Thankful for the wall at her back, Anjuli let it take her weight as she watched him remove his clothes. No hesitation, regarding her with a steady look that compelled her to watch his every move. As if she could look away! Rob may not have put her in shackles but she was his prisoner all the same, gaze harnessed to his body. He unbuckled his belt, drawing her eye to the protrusion below it, straining against his zipper. Getting bigger, lengthening before her eyes. He left his shirt open and slowly, deliberately, shrugged off his trousers and boxers. Her lips parted as she filled her vision with his virility.

Rob smiled and his shirt became a flash of grey, blending into the stone. He stood, proud and erect, before her. If she had more control she would force her eyes to stay on the muscled curve of his shoulders or the firm definition in his arms. To rest at the corded muscles in his abdomen, tight as he inhaled. But she’d always been a floozy where Rob was concerned, and her eyes stayed on his erection.

Her dreams did him little justice. They didn’t outline his silky black curls or how they cradled his long, thick shaft. Its large, swollen head, glistening with desire. Her fingers tingled and extended with the need to feel him pulsing in her palm. She wanted to run her tongue along his length and taste the moisture bathing his tip, to bank him between her breasts and feel him streak her torso with liquid fire.

He didn’t touch her, much as she could see that he wanted to. Take me as I am, his eyes seemed to say, and to challenge her to offer him the same. Oh, yes, she would take him exactly as he was. Forever. It was her turn to offer him everything that she was, inside and out, and she wanted to, had no qualms about giving herself to him. But suddenly she felt absurdly shy about shedding her clothes and exposing her nakedness, making love to Rob in their turret above the moors.

“I canna wait much longer,” Rob said thickly.

How Scottish he sounded when passion controlled his voice. How savage the desire flaring in his gaze.

Performing a striptease was far more unnerving than watching one, and Anjuli unwrapped her dress more quickly than Rob had denuded himself. His breathing was uneven, as if he were containing a storm that would break the minute she unclasped her bra and pulled down her thong. Anjuli looked away from his hot stare. He was so perfect and she was...not.

In London they had made love in the dark, in a frenzy which had ended almost as soon as it had begun. Here, now, it would be different, and he would know every inch of the woman she’d become. Would he see the faded, weblike lines beneath her pelvic bone, evidence her womb had once been filled with life? Or the way her areolas had expanded and her nipples were crinkly, a deeper pink than they used to be? How about the slight pucker above her belly button? She held his gaze and slid her bra straps off her shoulders, then pulled the cups away from her breasts.

Rob let out a long, hoarse breath and his skin turn a deeper, reddish tone, but that could have been the sunset illuminating the roofless turret. Slowly, blushing to the roots of her hair, Anjuli pulled her thong down her hips to her ankles, wondering what she’d see in his face when she looked up. Rob was on her before she had flicked it off, crushing her body against his.