“No,” I breathe, desperate to escape the trap of his hands.
Even now, in my confused, messed up state, my body is responding to the motion of him rubbing himself against my clit.
He rocks his hips up again, and his voice is huskier, harsher as he says, “Has anything I’ve said left any doubt about how I feel about you?”
“I… I…” I repeat, clawing at his shirt. I can’t think properly.
Between the assault on my mind and body, I’m at a total loss here.
“Answer the question, Beth,” he demands with another grind of his hips.
I slowly shake my head and nearly sob as I say, “I don’t know. None of this makes any sense.”
His right hand releases my hip and drags slowly up my body until his fingers are sliding through my hair. He fists my hair in his hand and uses his hold to force me to stop arching away and look at him.
“Tell me,” he says, his voice full of dark warning. “What about this confuses you?”
I stare into his eyes, into the face that first drew me in.
He’s more than just a gruff guy with a beard.
He’s a man marked by the hard life he’s been living. There’s a dark promise of violence and mayhem in his features that doesn’t exist in any other man I’ve ever known.
He’s forbidden… danger and excitement all wrapped up in a sexy package.
And there must be at least a decade between us. Yet, I want him. I can’t seem to stop myself.
There’s just something about him that gets my blood boiling. Sharing the same air is enough to cause my breathing to quicken.
But I’m just a young, dumb girl who doesn’t know any better…
What’s his excuse?
“You don’t know me. How could you possibly want to marry me?” I ask meekly.
Johnathan stares at me hard, and from the dark, angry look he’s giving me, I get the feeling I’ve somehow insulted him.
“Because,” he drawls out slowly. “I know what I fucking want.”
What kind of answer is that?
He scowls at the look of disbelief on my face and his fingers tighten in my hair, pulling me even closer.
“I want you, Beth. There’s no big fucking mystery to it. It’s plain and fucking simple.”
Still, I’m not convinced. There has to be more to it than that… there has to be…
“If you want flowery words and fucking poetry, you’re shit out of luck.”
Is that what I want? Am I holding back and fighting this thing between us because I want sweet declarations of love?
Johnathan growls in irritation and tugs on my hair, forcing me to arch my neck back. “I want you by side. I want your fucking sexy body always with me.”
He leans over me, hovering above me and forcing me to look up. “When you’re not with me it drives me batshit crazy.”
He rolls his hips, the hard bulge in his jeans grinding against my pussy. “I want you always on my cock.”
I moan and fight back the surge of desire rolling through me. I know I shouldn’t want him back. I know this entire situation is insane. But to be wanted and desired for who I am, not what I am, feels so fucking good.
His eyes drop to my breasts and I feel my nipples harden and tighten. He releases his grip on my hair only to shove the top of my dress down. My sleeves slide down my shoulders, trapping my arms against my sides.
A low, deep growl vibrates in his throat.
“I want you swelling with my babies. Fuck, I want you knocked up right fucking now.”
He shoves the cups of my bra down causing my breasts to spill out of my dress.
Eyes flashing with hunger, his head dips down. “I want to see how big these tits will get.”
His hot mouth covers my right breast. I gasp and squirm on his lap and his grip on my hip tightens.
He suckles on me like a man who’s been starving and I’m the feast that’s literally been dropped in his lap.
His tongue licks circles around and around my nipple, and I can feel a jolt of pleasure in my core each time he pulls a suckle back.
Fuck, I’m already so wet.
He keeps making all these deep, rumbling noises in his throat, and knowing that he’s enjoying what he’s doing, knowing that he’s enjoying the taste of me, shatters what’s left of my resistance.
Without even really realizing I’m doing it, I start to rock my hips.
I just have to move. I can’t sit still with all this warm pressure building in my sex.
Throwing back my head, I arch my spine and offer up my breasts to him. His hand squeezes me, his fingers kneading, picking up my rhythm.
“So fucking sweet,” he murmurs, his eyes hooded as he leans away.
I pant, my breasts rising and falling, aching for more attention, as I stare at him. My nipples are so wet and so engorged, they throb with the thundering beat of my heart.