“Getting dressed?” I asked archly. “It’s the middle of the day.”
He pounced on me, all six-four of naked, muscular, glorious man.
“Not until you ride me,” he challenged, claiming my chair for himself and fisting his shaft. He was as hard as he had ever been. I stared at him hungrily, licking my lips.
“Come on, little girl. Ride the pony.”
He grinned as I stripped until only the collar remained. I left it in place as I walked to him, straddled the chair, and slowly lowered myself onto his cock. He hissed in pleasure as I started to ride him.
I wanted to tease him. I couldn’t. Not without tormenting us both. I circled my hips, faster and faster, then I stopped, biting my lip as I lifted myself almost completely off him.
He gave me a look that said, don’t you dare stop, woman. I gave him a look that said, don’t tell me what to do, man. He grabbed my hips. I slapped his hands away.
“Nobody likes a backseat driver,” I whispered into his ear. Right before I bit it.
He slapped my ass, and I sank down again, my eyes closed in ecstasy as his heat filled me. We fit together so perfectly. It felt like we were the first two people to ever do this.
In a way, we were.
It was the first time for us, in this way, in this time, in this place. This was the most honest form of communication. Not words. Not even actions. Only sex achieved this level of truth and openness. And it was just between us. No one else would ever understand our unspoken language. No one else would ever be a part of this.
Not even if we were making a baby right at this very moment . . .
The tables turned at last, as they always did with the Alpha male riding me from below.
Vince started thrusting upward, holding me in place so he could drive into me again and again. He was rough. Hard. It was almost too much pleasure.
And it was exactly what I needed. It was as if he could see inside me, could feel what I needed at any given moment.
He grabbed the collar with one hand and my hair with the other, staring into my eyes as he fucked me into submission. I allowed him to do it. I wanted him to do it.
Not out there, when we left the privacy of my office or bedroom. But behind closed doors . . . I wanted him to be the man. And I wanted to be the woman. I wanted to take turns dominating each other. As long as he did it just a little bit more . . .
The truth was, Vincent made me feel like we were Adam and Eve.
My nails scraped his shoulders as my head fell back in complete surrender. I felt his mouth close over my nipple. Sucking hard. Biting me.
That’s when it happened. That’s when the strongest orgasm of my life tore through me, shredding every last bit of resistance I might have left, tearing me apart and putting me back together again.
Vincent was saying something. The same words over and over. I barely heard him.
I was too focused on the feeling of our bodies meeting, of his expanding, of him exploding inside me. Something profound was happening. Magical. Instinctive. Ancient. Primal.
If I weren’t already pregnant, I had no doubt that I would be after he was finished with me.
I fell forward against him as he continued to thrust, filling me with every last drop. We were making a baby. I had no doubt. Maybe he knew it, too.
He held me tightly as the tremors passed. I finally heard what he had been saying, over and over, like a prayer.
“I fucking love you, Frankie. I fucking love you.”
“I fucking love you, too.”
Chapter Forty-Five
VIncent
“We have to get up,” Francesca said languorously, sounding like she didn’t want to. Almost as badly as I didn’t want to.
“Why?”
“It’s lunchtime.”
We were lying on the rug in her office. I was a tad concerned that I’d given her rug burn that third time we made love. I was pretty sure I had lost some of the skin on my knees.
Making love was the wrong word for what we did when we were together. It was loving, yes. But also filthy. Tender. Gut-wrenchingly passionate. Spiritual. And so hot it made me feel like I might actually burst into flames.
I wondered idly if I would end up on the cover of one of those sensationalistic magazines if I actually spontaneously combusted.
I could see the headline now. Man Explodes from Being with a Too-Hot Woman.
I was pretty much okay with that.
“So?”
“I always eat lunch with my daughter,” she said, giving me the side eye. I knew establishing routines was important in the healing process. It provided stability for the girl. For them both. I was eager to make myself a part of those routines.