A Gentleman's Honor (Bastion Club 2)

He trapped her gaze. Held it.

Desire wrapped them in a cocoon of flames; her body felt molten, yet achingly empty. The need to have him fill that emptiness thrummed, a steady, compulsive beat in her blood. Eyes locked with his, her every sense was focused on where they would join, on the soft swollen flesh between her thighs, on the hard heavy rod of his erection.

He pressed in. He kept his eyes on hers, holding her with him as slowly, steadily, he thrust in, and filled her. Not in a rush, but inch by slow inch. She felt her body give, stretch, felt every inch of his thickness as he pressed deeper, as her body struggled to adjust to the invasion.

The difficult moment came, as she’d known it would. She tried to cling to calm, tried to find some ease by breathing yet more rapidly, but the pressure and the pain steadily built, built… she would have shut her eyes, turned her head away, but his black gaze held her trapped.

Held her through it all, steady as a rock, a primitive promise beckoning as fraction by fraction he pressed her farther…

Her body tensed, arching under his, and still he held her with his eyes. And sank deeper.

The pressure gave.

In one sharp flash of pain it was gone, leaving her gasping, breasts rising and falling, yet still locked in his black gaze.

She sensed rather than saw his satisfaction. He halted, held still for some moments as she struggled to recover, to assimilate the change; he watched her, waiting. He seemed to know the exact moment the burning sensation faded, and the vise about her lungs eased and fear left her; he resumed his invasion, still slow, yet more assured.

Tony watched her, held her eyes, drank in every nuance of her response as he claimed her, filled her, and made her his. He’d surrendered to instinct long ago, in that first heated moment when his need had broadsided him. Subsequently, no thought had been required. He knew what he wanted, what he needed. Ruthlessly he took it—and her.

And part of that taking was this, this slow, excruciatingly complete first invasion. A branding, a declaration, an acceptance.

A sharing.

He’d needed to know, to be with her, to appreciate what she felt, know how she reacted. He’d always noted the responses of the women he bedded, yet this time he was not simply cataloging, gauging a reaction in order to capitalize on it. This time, he was immersed in the moment, experiencing both her pain and that glorious rush of release, of sexual interlocking, with her.

Experiencing, through it all, a deeper sense of connection, a deeper meaning beneath the sensations, beneath the physical pleasure.

He continued to press in; her body continued to give, to enclose him, until finally he was fully seated within her. Still holding her gaze, he withdrew halfway, then pressed in again, watching for any sign of discomfort.

Seeing none, feeling her body ease beneath him, her scalding sheath clasping tightly about him, he bent his head.

She raised hers, offered her lips.

He took them, claimed them. Without further direction, let his body do as it wished, as it had to do, and claim her.

The tiny fragment of his mind that remained lucid fully expected a fast and furious engagement. Instead, he rode her slowly; even now, even freed from all restraint, his body remained attuned to hers, gauging without conscious direction, responding to each quickening clasp of her sheath, to each restless shifting of her thighs, ultimately to the tentative rocking of her hips as she learned to match him and meet him.

Their progression was slow, measured, deliberate— and all-consuming. As she took him in, and his body followed hers, it occurred to him to wonder who had claimed whom. Who was leading, who was in charge…

Not him, and it couldn’t be her.

Never had he been so totally absorbed, so totally submerged in the moment, so totally aware. Not just of the woman beneath him, but of his own body, his own pleasure. Hers heightened his; like a series of mirrors, reflecting back over and again, each tiny gasp, each soft moan, every sudden tensing of her fingers on his skin, washed over him and welled, swelled the exquisite tightness in his groin, fueled the tension driving him.

She’d tugged him down so his body met hers; her breasts were trapped beneath the heavy muscles of his chest, the rough hair abrading their sensitive skin, her nipples tight crests, their arousing pressure shifting with every deep thrust. Their skins were aflame, sheened, slick; her hands roamed his back, sweeping over the long planes, increasingly urgent. Their stomachs met, his hips locked in the cradle of hers, her thighs widespread, knees clasping his flanks, calves tangling with his.

Their mouths had fused, lips still greedily clinging, a connection that completed some circuit, that kept them immersed, locked in the compulsion that drove them, wholly given over to it.

Surrender came with a sudden quickening, first of her body, then of his. He was so deeply buried inside her, she took him with her; release swept them both in a long, glorious golden wave. Locked together, they rode it, let it take them and fling them high into the heavens, into the realms of pleasured bliss.

He emptied himself into her, felt her womb contract powerfully, holding him, accepting, taking.

The wave receded.

They drifted slowly to earth, their bodies eased, all tension gone, boneless in the aftermath. Their lips parted; breaths mingling, they clung, eyes still closed, savoring the closeness.

He felt her arms steal around him, then rest, lax. With the last of his strength, he slumped to the side, trying not to crush her as oblivion, deeper than he’d ever known it

, caught him and drew him down.