Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine 3)

He grunted gutturally behind her, his pace never wavering, only growing stronger . . . faster. She didn’t protest when he wrapped his forearm around her waist to steady her and lifted one of her legs, forcing one knee onto the edge of the washer, opening her even more for him. He drove into her, their bodies smacking together, and this time she couldn’t prevent a small scream. He paused. Sweat popped on her upper lip at the sensation of him filling her while she was in such a vulnerable position, pried wide for him.

“Do you want something to muffle your screams?”

She nodded, panting. She was cresting at the sensation of him throbbing deep inside her, his balls pressed tightly against her wet, overly sensitized outer sex creating an indirect pressure on her clit. A towel fell before her face, and she realized he’d reached above her to a shelf. He immediately began to fuck her again, grunting as he slammed into her. Her eyes sprang wide. She’d never been penetrated more deeply, and he took her relentlessly. The washer began to move, rattling against the wall as he plunged into her. He cursed heatedly in response to the noise, but he didn’t slow. She could barely keep herself in place for his possession. He cupped a buttock as he fucked her, prying it back, exposing her even further to his plundering cock and ruthless gaze.

She crammed the towel against her mouth, muffling her scream as orgasm ripped through her.

“That’s right. God that feels good,” she heard him say roughly as if through a long tunnel. He continued to fuck her without pause as she shook in release. Just when her spasms of climax began to wane, she felt him jerk his cock out of her. He groaned loudly, and she knew the sensation had been as unpleasant for her as it was him. She turned her head.

“Ian?” she asked, disoriented.

“Give me the towel.”

She blinked at the sound of his terse command. She lowered her knee from the washer, feeling sluggish and dazed, and turned around. Her satiated fogginess vanished in an instant. The vision of him standing there scored her, his pants and underwear bunched around his strong thighs, pumping his fearsome, glistening erection with his fist.

“The towel,” he prompted again between clenched teeth. His face convulsed. His body jerked. She hurried to hand him the towel, but was too late. He began to ejaculate, ropy white streams erupting from his cock and splattering on the tile floor. He looked so beautiful in that moment, so strong, and yet so helpless in the clutches of desire it caused her heart to squeeze unbearably. She hurried to him, cupping him in the towel from below and folding the edge over the head, so that the material absorbed his semen. She made soothing sounds as she gently pumped him in her towel-covered hand, using the fingers of her other hand to stroke the rigid, warm, convulsing shaft from above. His groan as he clutched her shoulders told her it felt wonderful, and for that stolen moment, it was all the knowledge she required.

His grip on her shoulders softened. His shudders waned. Slowly, she looked up to meet his face. The color in his cheeks made his eyes look even more blue than usual.

“I knew we’d have to return to the others,” he said gruffly, his breath still coming erratically. “I didn’t want that,” he glanced at the semen-damp towel she still held between them, “to be making you uncomfortable.”

A flash of heat went through her at the idea of his essence filling her while she mingled with the others, his come spilling into her panties, wetting her thighs . . . While she found it arousing in theory, she knew he was right. It would have been uncomfortable, not to mention potentially embarrassing.

“Thank you,” she murmured. She moved the towel, folding it to dry him as best she could before she pulled it away and set it on the washer. She bent for her panties, pulling them up over her thigh-high hosiery and into place. The mundane mechanics of the aftermath of thundering passion brought it home to her, what had just happened. She lowered her dress. Acting on an impulse, she suddenly grabbed the offending towel and tossed it into the washer, setting the mechanism to its hottest temperature and turning the machine on. It was stupid, and immature, and she knew it—as if she really believed she could wash away what had just occurred.

She kept her head lowered, avoiding his stare. “Do we really have to go back to join the others?” she asked thinly. How long had they been absent? It probably couldn’t have been much more than fifteen minutes, as focused and distilled as the twist of fury and desire they’d both been caught in had been.

He paused in the process of pulling up his pants.

“Francesca.”

She looked around slowly.

“I’ll take you straight to my bed now, if that’s what you want. I said we’d go back to the others for your sake, not mine.”

In a sweeping instant, it all came back to her. It didn’t matter how tender she’d felt toward him as he shook in climax. It didn’t matter that she wanted to give herself to him again and again. He’d left her. He couldn’t promise her a future.

He wouldn’t.

Where did you have to go that was so important that you left me without a word?

The question felt like it scalded the back of her throat, but she didn’t ask it. He obviously was not burning to tell her the answer . . . to give excuses. Her pride wouldn’t let her ask, especially when he clearly didn’t want to offer up the explanation.

“I want to go back with the others. Anne will worry if we don’t,” she said, her voice sounding hollow.

His eyebrows arched as he hastily began to refasten his trousers. “She’ll worry no matter what. But it’s your decision.”