He cupped her breast and felt the tremor that went through her. “Who does this belong to?” He softened his voice as he brushed her hair back behind her shoulders with one hand, and fondled the swell of one heaving breast with the other.
She maintained a stubborn silence, but her breathing changed at his touch, becoming more ragged. He weighed her flesh in his hand, cupping her over her dress, gently squeezing her.
“What was your aim? To enrage me? To taunt me? Make me want to bind you up in my bed and never let you leave it?”
Her breath caught at that, and she pressed her breast deeper into his hand with a low, throaty moan.
He gave her the little squeeze she seemed to want, watching her eyes cloud in desire, her glorious eyelashes falling halfway down her eyes. “Mission accomplished, Whitney. I’m enraged. I’m taunted.”
He stole his hand into the front of her dress to find she wore no bra underneath it. Her flesh filled his palm, and instantly, her nipple beaded. She was aroused. She’d liked to tease him. Torment him. “I’m going to ask you once again. Who does this belong to? Who does this breast, this lovely nipple, respond to?”
“Y-You.”
“That’s right,” he softly cooed, then he slid his hand to cup her other breast, the tip hard and erect for his touch already. His voice was getting thicker as a rush of heady blood stormed through his veins, making him struggle for control. “And this, Whitney?” He squeezed her other breast, thumbing the nipple when it protruded in response.
“You.”
“Why do you flaunt them around, when they’re mine?”
Her breathing escalated when he unzipped her dress from behind, then urged it down her shoulders until it gathered at her waist. He surveyed the exposed swells, his body humming with the need to possess them, possess her. He licked one tight pink nipple, tortured it and laved it with the tip of his tongue, until she shuddered on his lap. He lowered his head to the other, and repeated it, drawing her into his mouth, his lips pulling, suctioning, her nipple poking back into his tongue. “Why do you flaunt yourself around, when you’re mine?” he insisted.
She tilted her face back so it fell against his shoulder, giving him access to drift his mouth up her neck, his hands continuing to assault her sensitized breasts. “Because you . . . gave me up. You wanted more oil fields, more money.”
He framed her face in one hand and kept her still as he took her lips in a kiss that had them both moaning from the damp pleasure of it. “You’re worth more to me than that. You. I’d do anything for you. To protect you. To be with you. Anything. Never, ever, forget that, Whitney.”
*****
The shaking wouldn’t stop. Whitney didn’t know why she’d been making Andrew jealous, she only knew she’d felt too emotional today. He was back, and she was acting rebellious, getting his attention, wanting an excuse to lash at him, hit him again, force him to confess why he’d done this to her.
But she’d wanted to weep when he almost broke Conrad’s arm. Why was she putting other people in danger? Did she even expect that Andrew would ever act so . . . proprietary? Maybe the old Andrew might have been more civil, but this one . . .
My God.
He was bad.
And you have it bad for him . . .
Her loins tightened with heat as they entered his apartment, where Whitney quickly disappeared into his closet, slipped into one of his shirts, and went to bed. She knew what was coming. God help her, she wanted it, her skin getting hotter and hotter at the prospect. She wanted him to take and overpower her and show her he loved her with the same intensity as he had before. She wanted him to force her to admit that she belonged to him . . . that he was not an affair . . . that he was the most real thing she had ever had in her life . . . the only man for her . . .
Her heart pounded in anticipation as she slid under the covers, then she spotted his figure by the window. He stood tall and naked, gazing out at the flickering city lights, his muscled back drool-worthy, his buttocks round and muscular, so perfectly formed, her hands throbbed to grip him.
This was the last time she’d do this, she told herself.
This was the last time she’d sleep with him, his last chance to explain things to her.
He turned when the sheets rustled and spotted her in his bed. “Take that shirt off. I want you naked.”
A wanton ripple clenched around her vagina walls in response to his powerful voice, his smoldering eyes, the command in his words.
She unbuttoned the shirt, her hands clammy as she slid it off her shoulders, then she tossed it aside and rebelliously kicked off the sheets, letting him look at her like she was looking at him. If possible, his member twitched even taller, the gold of his piercing glinting menacingly from his raised shaft. He started for the bed like a golden lion, and the ring dangled with every bob of his cock.
“Did you enjoy playing with me? Teasing me?”
Her mouth watered, her nipples hardened, her sex instantly lubricated. She’d never thought it possible to still want him so badly. After everything. Maybe even more.
“Did you want me to beg?” His whisper was dangerously low, and it made her shiver as he gazed down at her with hooded dark eyes. “Did you? Whitney? Did you want me to beg, for you? For this?”
He cupped her pussy within his grasp, and she caught her breath at the intensity in his eyes, holding her gaze trapped while he massaged her pussy with the heel of his palm. Her lungs stopped working. “This is my pussy, Whitney. I don’t like something that is mine being denied to me,” he said, then slid his fingers through her swollen labia, searching the folds, so damp the slick sounds of his fingers playing with her pussy echoed in her ears.