Chapter 14 #3
“What things? Right now, I’m the most important thing in your life. Move over.”
She did with a disgruntled huff. He could do whatever he liked and she wasn’t going to respond to him. This was a negotiation, not an act of love, and she would treat it that way. Not that he’d care.
He lay down beside her, all smooth grace, but he made no move to touch her, and she shifted uneasily. After a long moment, she said, “Aren’t you going to do something?”
“I’m thinking about it,” he said slowly. “I didn’t have the chance to learn you the last time we did this. I want to take my time.”
Chloe wanted to scream. “Oh, don’t worry about me. You go ahead and enjoy yourself.” Her voice was flippant.
“That’s the difference with American men. A Frenchman knows the act is always sweeter if the woman finds pleasure.”
She resisted the strong impulse to inform him he was half-British. “I’m not interested in pleasure,” she said sharply. “I just want this over and done with.”
Before she realized what he intended, he’d slid his hand between her legs, his long fingers stroking her. “Liar,” he said softly. “You’re wet.”
She shifted, trying to fight her instant reaction. “No, I’m not,” she protested.
“Liar,” he said again. “If you have any doubts, I’ll take care of it.”
He put his mouth where his hand had been, and it took everything to keep from crying out. She caught his strong shoulders and tried to dislodge him. “Stop,” she said. “I don’t need this.”
“Oh, yes, you do.” The sweep of his tongue was electrifying, and she jerked beneath him, trying to halt her immediate response.
It was useless. Bastien might not remember who she was, but he remembered how to go down on a woman.
The tendrils of reaction were flowing through her, and she tried to tighten her legs, to keep away from the inexorable reaction that was sweeping through her.
He pinched her thigh in silent reprimand, and she fell back, no longer fighting the threads of desire that were wrapping around her body. A small shock shivered through her, and she sank back, defeated.
“There,” she said bitterly, panting. “You made me come. Now get it over with.”
“You call that an orgasm?” he chided, lifting his head. “Your husband must be a terrible lover.” And he put his clever mouth hard on her, sliding his fingers inside her.
She climaxed immediately, harder, stronger, fighting it and losing.
“That’s better,” he murmured. “But not enough.”
He moved up over her, kneeling between her thighs, and she realized she was shaking from her powerful, unwanted response. She could feel him against her, heavy, hot and hard, and she let out a whimper of protest, of need.
But Bastien was inexorable. “Do you want me, chérie?” His voice was low, urgent, thick with desire.
She wanted to tell him no, to send him away, she wanted to cry. But her mouth, her soul said “yes” and he pushed inside her, so hard, so good, and all her equivocation vanished. She moved her legs up to cradle his hips, and she sought his mouth, needing him.
More. More. The chant was silent in her head as she rose to meet his plunging thrusts, and her whole body tingled, gathering as the powerful force of her reaction threatened to spill over.
She couldn’t, she knew it. She’d come too much already.
He suddenly pulled out, rolling onto his back.
She cried out in despair, and he pulled her over him.
“Tell me what you need, Chloe,” he whispered, setting her on top of his taut body.
The sound of her name in his rough voice was enough.
She reached beneath her, holding him, and slowly sank down, feeling even fuller as she rose and fell with deliberation, his large hands on her hips, guiding her in the rhythm until she caught it, moving smoothly.
He slid his hands up to cover her breasts, and she spasmed around him.
“You like that, do you?” he said, rubbing her hard, pebbled nipple.
Moaning with pleasure, she moved faster, and the damned words came out this time. “More, more.”
She was past imagining his smug triumph as he rolled her beneath him again, and he drove into her, hard and fast as, unbelievably, her body began to gather in a climax once more.
She needed nothing but the feel of him inside her, but he reached up and caught her nipple in one hand and squeezed it, hard, and the world exploded in a maelstrom of love and violence.
He rolled off her, quickly, leaving her cold and alone on the bed as he rose and reached for his clothes.
Reaction was still dancing over her chilled skin, and she fought the urge to cry.
Her heart was still pounding, her breath coming in rapid pants, and she fought to regain control of her traitorous body.
“I hate you,” she said in a tiny, fierce voice.
“I know you do, mon ange. Next time, I’ll give you more than three orgasms.”
She could feel the color flood her face, and she tried to remind herself that this was her husband, her lover. All she could feel was betrayal. “There won’t be any next time,” she said bitterly.
His only response was a smile.