My hands come down on his upper arms, the jaguar on his right shoulder, reminding me just how much he wants to deny his heritage. It reminds me just how much this family burns him alive. “A little.” I slide my hands down his hips and boldly stroke the line of his zipper, the thick ridge of his erection.
He groans, one of his hands covering my hand, the other hand catching my hair, a rough pull as his mouth closes down on mine again. And then he’s devouring me again and I love it. I love that I’ve drawn this deep, guttural reaction from him. I love that he’s all here with me, not in his own head, not doubting how good he is for me. Not swimming in the ocean of numbers in his head. Not in the hell of the Kingston family.
This drives me. I want to push him. I want to keep him here, with me. I squeeze his erection through his pants and whisper, “Why aren’t you inside me already?”
He turns me, pressing me to the wall like he had in the cottage, his big body wrapping my body, his hands on my breasts, fingers teasing my nipples, lips at my ear. “You were always sweeter than revenge,” he promises. “Always more addictive.” He plucks at my nipples. “So fucking addictive and I hated you for that.”
He reaches for my zipper and I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t have to ask what he means. I understand. From the moment we met, he was in my head, in my heart, his touch imprinted on my body. The man I compared all others to, and they came up short. “I hated you, too.”
His hands press under the denim at my hips. He caresses them down my legs and then his arm is wrapping my waist and he’s lifting me. In a few quick moves, I’m naked and he’s standing at my hips, one palm possessively on my backside. The other on my belly. “Do you hate me now?” His fingers walk down to my sex and he cups me.
“Yes.” I look at him. “I still hate you for having this much control over me.” He slides his fingers along the seam of my sex, sending sensations darting through my body.
“Is that a bad thing?” he challenges, his palm squeezing my backside, his fingers slipping inside me.
“Yes,” I say, panting my way through that one word and somehow adding, “Because when I look in your eyes, like I am now, I see expectations. The wrong ones.”
He scowls and suddenly he’s turning me, pressing my back to the wall, his legs caging mine. “What does that mean?” he demands.
“It means as long as you expect to hurt me, as long as you expect you being a savant, you being different from me, to make us less, we will be. It means, you expect us to fail and so we will.” I swallow hard, my hand planting on his chest, his heart thundering beneath my palm, pounding out an emotional beat. “You think I can’t handle who and what you are. You still think I’m the princess and you’re the bastard.”
He tangles his fingers into my hair, his touch rough, erotic, as he drags my lips to his. “We are the bastard and the princess, but I don’t care anymore. I want you. I fucking need you. Do you understand me?”
Heat rushes over me, through my body, over my skin and settles in my heart and my sex. “I fucking need you, too.”
“Good, because I might have asked you to stay, but I never intended to let you go. I’m not going to let you go. I’m not going to let us go.” His mouth closes down on mine and I
can almost feel the moment he goes from trying to control his emotions, his need, to being out of control. He caves to the need to claim and possess, rather than talk or declare.
He settles on his knees and then his mouth is on me; he’s licking and suckling my clit, and I gasp with the pleasure, giving in to the moment, to the man. His lips close on my clit and he suckles and licks some more. I pant and I don’t even try to hold back. How can I? His fingers are inside me and his tongue is doing a tantalizing dance along my sex in all the perfect places. The build of erotic pleasure is fast and hard, and I shatter with a quick rush of heat and sensation that declares the power he has over me, that I’d admitted he owns. The ways he owns me.
There’s no going back.
I don’t want to go back.
I’m his, but even as he stands and kisses me, the taste of me on his lips, the press of his cock into my sex, filling me, stretching me, I’m not sure I own him. I’m not sure I will ever own him, but that’s okay. If I can own his pain, that’s enough, but I know in some deep part of me that if I don’t own it, this time the Kingston family will, and that will end in disaster.
CHAPTER FOUR
Harper
I don’t know how it happens, but we end up in a big brown oversized chair in the corner of Eric’s office, me on top of him. His cock still buried deep inside me, filling me, stretching me, but there is so much more that I need from this man than this. I want all of him, even those parts he hates, and then maybe he won’t hate them anymore. Maybe he won’t be locked into a prison created by his past.
My fingers spike into his hair and he cups my head, his tongue licking into my mouth, him starting to steal what control being on top has given me. But I need control. The same control that I’ve given to this family. They took my father’s legacy. They took my best friend and mother. They took my trust fund, and now, when I don’t even care about it anymore, they want to take what does matter: Eric. They want to take him. They will if I let them, but I won’t.
“I love that you’re a savant,” I pant out, my hands pressing to his shoulders.
His eyes darken, a flicker of torment in his eyes. “You don’t know everything there is to know or you wouldn’t.”
“You’re wrong. I know. I know you’re different. I love who and what you are and if you don’t, I’ll do it for you. You’re brilliant. You’re sexy. You’re—”
He folds me closer, aligns our lips. “Rock hard and buried inside you right now.” He pulls me down and thrusts. I gasp as he adds, “And fucked up in ways you don’t begin to understand.”
I grip his shoulders. “Are you going to trust me enough to let me see what that means?”
He inhales and looks at the ceiling, but that moment is gone when he tangles his fingers into my hair and drags my mouth back to his. “Yes,” he says, his voice low, gravelly. “Or you wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be asking you to live with me.” He kisses me, his tongue licking into my mouth, a silky, sizzling caress that tingles through every part of my body. Just as the taste of him, hot passion and desire, consumes me.
We sway, our hips moving, a soft moan sliding from his throat, his hand caressing up and down my back to cup my backside and squeeze, arching me forward, our bodies pressed intimately together. “God, you feel good, woman,” he murmurs, and his breath is a warm, wicked tease against my mouth.