The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)(112)

“If I could stop . . . I would.” She was panting, trying hard to hold back, to not give in, to not give him anything, most especially a gift.

His smile never faltered, and neither did his body, or his fingers. “But you can’t stop, can you, love? You were born with a passionate, hungry soul, and starving it would be cruel. Surely you wouldn’t deny your very soul?”

It didn’t make sense on any rational, logical level that the sight of his thick, hard cock sliding into her curls could be this intensely exciting, but it was. Amazingly so. He was beautiful, from the top of his silky, dark haired head, to his handsome, strong face, to his broad, masculine chest, to his flat belly, to the long length of his member, which could bring her such tremendous gratification. It was unfair. She could so much more easily despise him if he were stooped, corpulent, and ugly, with a wart upon his nose and a failing penis, unable to rise to the occasion. Instead, he was masculine beauty and raw power and smoldering sexuality, irresistible to her.

He was also dead on the money about her. Despite her pathetic attempt to hold out, to get up from the bed without giving him what he wanted, she stepped close to the edge of reason and leapt, her body soaring with undeniable, indescribable bliss.

His expression became almost fierce as his smile suddenly and swiftly disappeared. He rose to his knees, lifted her legs to rest against his shoulders, and his slow, languid strokes became hard, violent thrusts. She was falling from her peak, gasping for breath as though she’d run a great distance, but the look on his face, possessive and concentrated with desire, coupled with the movement of his body in hers and the sound of their skin coming together, again and again and again, brought her back to the edge. She knew, with but a bit of strong stimulation, she would go off again, and she wanted to, oh how she wanted to. A second time, just after the first, would be incredible, wouldn’t it? She had to know, demanded he give it to her.

Without consciously thinking about it, she began to urge him on, to beg, to plead, to insist. “Please, Michael, don’t slow down! I want . . . faster! Yes, hard like that! Harder!” Her body writhed upon the sheets, desperate for release again, out of her control, far away from her will, which she’d left behind many moments ago. She met his eyes and could see he was close. If he went before she did, this would be lost, and she would die of need, surely she would. “No, not yet! Please, please wait for me! Oh, God, make me come . . . now . . . do it now!”

His fingers curled around her ankles and pushed until her legs bent at the knees. He pressed them against her breasts, until she was curled in upon herself, leaving her bottom and her core completely open and vulnerable. He moved closer, his thighs surrounding her. His thrusts slowed, but she could feel each one that much more intensely, moaned when he touched her womb, he was so very long, stretched and ready. “Now, Jane, it’s almost time, you’re almost there, and I’m waiting. I’m patient and would wait forever, but don’t make me. Come for me, love, gift me again, quickly, for I’m out of my mind with wanting you.”

She reached for his hands, clutching her ankles, and held tight as every drop of blood within her body caught fire and screamed through her, until she was sweating and shaking uncontrollably. Her head went back, digging into the pillows, her throat stretched taut, making her voice sound foreign and strange to her ears when she shouted in mad, delirious glee. It was glorious. It was like the first, but a thousand times more intense. Exhausting. Incredible.

Perhaps it was so marvelous because he met her at the top, and for the first time since they married, he expressed a loud cry, almost a shout. His big body went rigid and she felt him, deep inside, pulsing and plentiful.

When it was over –and it seemed to take a very long time for it to be over, each of them panting and perspiring and staring at the other with looks that didn’t speak of a ruined marriage –and as they drifted back to earth, he said in a raw, shaking voice, “You’re mine, Jane, will always be mine, and no force of your will, or your anger, or your dislike of me will keep me away from you. I’d not cause you distress within yourself, always fighting to resist this, so I’m telling you, straight out, you can give up and feel safe in the knowledge that it is I who makes you succumb, not a weak will. To speak plainly, you have no choice. I’ll not love a board, and will always do whatever I must to coax your desire from where you would hide it.”

She wetted her lips, as they were incredibly dry. “Why?”

He stayed there, on his knees, still inside of her, still partially hard, and said roughly, “Because I want you. I need you. I desire you and no other. I will not take a mistress, will not lay with another woman. Even if you become pregnant, Jane, I will ask this of you –nay demand it. Even if you give me ten sons, and feel your duty has been done, I will not be able to leave you alone. Ever.”