Chapter 8 #2
‘I have no choice in the matter,’ he replied, and drew me to him again.
He kissed me, roughly. I kissed him back; I wanted him.
He knew it from the way that my body responded, but I wouldn’t submit to him until he had taken those awful words back.
I wouldn’t be called names, despite how angry or grumpy he was.
He had to respect me, always. Regardless of what happened between us.
‘I do have a choice.’ I stood back, pushing him away with both hands on his hard, muscled chest. ‘I have a choice not to be insulted. If you want to kiss me, and know me as intimately as you have, you will treat me as a lady. Nothing less.’ He held his torso protectively, where Nancy had dressed his wound.
I knew that me pushing him must have hurt him, but I was angry.
‘Fine. I regret my harsh words. Truly.’ His eyes softened a little, though the flame of passion still burned there. ‘You are a lady, and I have always treated you as such. I am angry, Tegan, but I will get over it. You cannot deny that I am allowed to feel the way I do.’
‘I deny you nothing. But you can never insult me. I haven’t done anything wrong, William.
Everything I did, I did because I thought it was the right thing to do.
And, may I remind you, I perjured myself to get you out of gaol.
Without me, you’d still be rotting there.
And, despite what you might have thought you wanted, believe me when I say that you would not have wanted me to leave you there. I couldn’t leave you.’
I wrapped my arms around his neck.
‘I could not hate you, Tegan. Not ever.’ William closed his eyes. ‘Indeed, the only thing I am living for right now is your kiss.’
His deep brown eyes held mine for a long moment as his fingertips stroked my neck softly and then tilted my chin upwards, so that my face was turned up to his.
Then, he kissed me. It was still passionate, still tempestuous, but I sensed that he had checked his anger, at least for now.
The sensation of his lips on mine was so heady and sensual that I felt a sudden wetness between my thighs. His lips were soft but insistent, and his kiss caressed me. He smelt of cedar, slightly of sweat, warm, masculine.
‘Tegan,’ he breathed.
‘You’re injured,’ I reminded him.
‘To hell with that,’ he muttered.
He dragged me to the bed, sat down on the edge of it and pushed up my skirts, pulling me to him. He pressed his face into my stomach and breathed me in. He growled and reached between my legs, parting my lips and feeling how wet I was for him already. He swore, his pupils dilating with lust.
Sometimes, when we had made love before, William had talked to me. He was a man deeply in touch with his own erotic nature, and I knew he loved to please me more than he enjoyed his own pleasure, and that he would have ordinarily put my needs first.
But, now, we were both fired up, angry, full of a passion that needed to explode between us.
William gripped my naked bottom and pressed me to his mouth.
He let out a muffled growl of lust as he immersed himself in me, and I cried out in surprise.
I tangled my fingers in his black hair. He pushed his fingers inside me, and I cried out again at the sensation.
I was still angry at him, but, God, I wanted him, too.
I wanted to hit and bite and kick him as he pushed inside me. I wanted to make him scream.
The thought of orgasm was almost unappealing; I wanted to come as soon as he began licking and kissing me, but what he was doing was so intensely delicious that I never wanted him to stop.
The added sensation of him filling me whilst he continued the intense oral pleasure drove me almost insane with desire.
Now, as well as the radiating web of delicious sweetness that had filled my abdomen, there was a deep, resonant thrum pounding all the way up to my heart. I gasped at the sensation.
I swore at the top of my voice as the orgasm hit me like a tidal wave. I was still standing up in front of him and I felt myself crumple towards him; with the hand that wasn’t inside me, he held me firmly, not letting me go.
He grunted, and, without saying anything, pushed me down on the bed.
He had torn off his shirt and I gaped at his corded muscles, desperate for him, all of him, to touch his body and feel him on top of me.
Just his weight alone was something so primal.
Sometimes, alone in my room at night, I had fantasised about having him lie on top of me.
There was something so oddly safe in feeling completely weighed down by another body; especially a man’s body.
Even the smell of him drove me wild. I clawed at his back, wanting him, although the sight of his bandages made me try and remember to be gentle.
Still, if William’s wound was hurting him, he didn’t seem to be focused on the discomfort at this moment.
William’s eyes locked onto mine, and he thrust into me. He groaned, wild, like a beast. He wasn’t going to make love to me. He was going to take what he needed, full of passion and heightened emotion.
I was so wet that he slid into me without any resistance whatsoever.
He moaned aloud, loudly, and thrust again and again.
The sensation of him inside me was intense and satisfying.
He was repeating my name, over and over.
I pushed back against him, wild as a cat.
I was furious, but not really with him. I was angry that I had almost lost him; angry at Simon Favisham, who had injured him and caused William to be chased by the police in the first place.
I was all the things that I had accused him of: lost, scared, angry.
I whispered, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ in his ear; I kissed his neck. He buried his head in the nape of my neck as he came, violent spasms shaking his body.
We were fighting, still, but our bodies were desperate to reconnect and find solace in each other.
Finally, William relaxed in my arms, and I kissed his cheek, his neck, his chest. There were words we couldn’t yet say, but the wall between us had been temporarily breached, at least a little.
Touch was easier than words, and, with touch, we had always been able to speak.