On My Knees (Stark International Trilogy 2)

That was the heart of the truth, wasn’t it? Because no matter what games they might play in bed—no matter how much he professed to be the one in control—in life, Sylvia held Jackson’s heart in her hands, and he was utterly hers.

Right now, though, she was his. And he was too hard and too eager to decline the pleasure she had offered. Use her? Hell, yes he would. Deeply, intimately, and very, very thoroughly.

Slowly, he moved his arm from around her waist, trailing his fingers up so that he could gently stroke her perfect skin. So that he could glide over her curves—her hip, her waist, her breast.

He pressed his palm over her breast, cupping it, feeling his cock twitch as her softness filled his palm. Then he flattened his hand and very lightly stroked her nipple with his palm. She whimpered in sleep, but didn’t wake. Her body, however, was beginning to rouse in response to his ministration, and the nipple he’d been teasing was now taut and tight. He took it between two fingers, rolling it gently but firmly as her areola puckered.

As he teased her breast, he pressed his lips to the back of her neck, brushing a kiss over the tattoo there. She had so many, all marking her battles and triumphs over her demons. Too many, he thought. And two of them, he knew, were because of him. The flame on her breast, and his initials on her lower back.

His chest squeezed tight as he pulled down the sheet so that he could see her ink in the afternoon light now streaming through the window. He slid down, pressing his lips to her skin, dancing his tongue along the line of his initials. He heard her soft moan, and stopped briefly, but she hadn’t awakened.

Good.

He knew now what he wanted to take. How he needed to use her, accepting the gift of herself that she’d given him, and returning it with pleasure and with a silent promise that they belonged together.

Not a hard, pounding fuck. For now, at least, he’d exorcised his demons. But dear god, he did need to be inside her—to claim her fully and control her pleasure completely. To see her face as she awakened with his cock deep within her and her body primed and wet and soft with need.

He wanted her to realize that he understood the depth of what she had offered him and that he welcomed it. Hell, he craved it.

Gently, he eased her onto her back and then straddled her. His cock brushed her stomach as he leaned over, and he had to pause to take a breath so that he didn’t come right then.

He closed his mouth over her breast, teasing her already tight nipple, then slowly stroking his hand down her abdomen as he eased his way down her body. He saw the way her skin tightened in the wake of his touch, and he felt the quickening of her pulse. She writhed a bit, then reached out, her hands fisting in the sheets as her lips parted on a soft sigh.

He paused, unsure if he’d awakened her. But she was still asleep—she’d stayed up throughout the night worrying about him, and he knew that exhaustion had swept her away.

Slowly, he trailed his fingers down between her legs and used two fingers to stroke her cunt, already slick and wet for him. Slowly he eased those fingers inside her, and when she tightened around him in welcome, a fresh wave of desire, so strong it seemed as though it could destroy him, washed over him. He craved her, dammit, as painfully and potently as a drug. And the glory of it was that she was his. Truly his.

And he didn’t have a clue what he’d done to deserve her.

Rhythmically, he thrust his fingers inside her, keeping his eyes on her face as the pressure built, watching her eyes move behind her closed lids. She was dreaming, he realized, and he couldn’t help but wonder what those dreams entailed.

Then her lips parted, and he heard a soft “yes” drift from her lips.

Right then, that single word was the most erotic—and most powerful—sound he had ever heard. And just in time, too. Because he couldn’t wait any longer. He had to be inside her. Had to have her before the need destroyed him.

He lowered himself over her, his cock pressing against her slick cunt. She was so wet that he slid into her easily, gratified by the way her hips rose in silent welcome. He thrust in deep, filling her so completely that his balls rubbed against her, and his cock tightened even more inside her. Again and again, and with each thrust he watched her face, bathed in passion even though she was still lost in sleep.

And then, oh Christ, she murmured his name. Still lost in slumber, but so desperately aroused.

And so very, very his.

eight

I am not Sylvia—I am simply pleasure, surging forward like a wave. Pushing up with such force and perfection I am surprised that I can bear it, and at any moment I expect to explode, rendered to ash by the heat and power of these decadent sensations that flow through me.