Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Her bedroom was a serene space, all soft greys and whites, lit only by the amber glow of a streetlamp outside the window. He laid her on the bed with a care that belied his intensity, propping her injured ankle on a pillow. He stood back and looked at her, stretched out before him like an offering.
“Now,” he said, his voice a dark caress. “We’re going to have a little fun and I want you to tell me what you like, what you want more of, what you need… and don’t hold anything back.”
Lana swallowed audibly – but her eyes were blazing in understanding.
Eric didn’t pounce. He undressed himself slowly, deliberately, letting her watch.
The henley came off over his head, revealing the sculpted, powerful expanse of his chest and abdomen, the defined lines of his hips.
His hands went to his belt buckle, the click of the leather loud in the quiet room.
He pushed his jeans and boxer briefs down in one motion, and he was fully, magnificently erect, his arousal thick and proud.
He wanted her to want him and to know how he felt about her.
Zero hesitation – and even less shame.
Lana’s breath hitched. Her eyes drank him in, a flicker of shyness giving way to a desperate, curious hunger.
“Your turn,” he commanded softly.
With trembling fingers, she began to undress, her movements slowed by both injury and nerves.
He didn’t help. He watched, his grey-blue eyes burning with possessive fire.
The simple cotton sleep shirt came over her head.
The loose shorts were pushed down her legs, over the bandage on her ankle.
Soon, she was naked, lying back against the pillows, exposed to his gaze.
She was exquisite. Her body was curvy and graceful, with gentle angles like the most perfect of sculptures at her hips and breasts.
Her skin was pale as moonlight, the dusting of freckles continuing over her shoulders and down her chest. The triangle of hair between her thighs was neatly trimmed, a dark, tempting contrast. Her nipples were already peaked tight, and he could see the rapid flutter of her heartbeat in her chest. A blush stained her from cheeks to collarbone.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, the word sounding like a sacred truth. He crawled onto the bed, his large frame hovering over hers, careful of her ankle. He braced himself on his elbows, his face inches from hers. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this? How badly?”
She shook her head, unable to speak.
“You were so stubborn, playing hard to get, and it wasn’t going to work on me… that only whet my appetite,” he admitted. “Now, this man is beyond hungry. Do you understand me?”
He lowered his head and kissed her again, softer this time, a slow exploration.
Then his mouth began a devastating journey downward.
He kissed the corner of her lips, her jaw, the frantic pulse in her throat.
He nuzzled the hollow of her collarbone, then took one taut nipple into his mouth, sucking and laving it with his tongue until she cried out, her back arching off the bed.
His hands were everywhere, learning what she liked, learning her. They spanned her narrow waist, palmed the curve of her hip, slid up the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. He was an artist of sensation, and she was his canvas. Every touch was deliberate, controlled, designed to unravel her.
When his fingers finally found her core, she was soaked, hot, and trembling. He traced her slick folds with a blunt fingertip, watching her face contort in pleasure. “So ready,” he whispered, his voice thick with approval. “All that time playing hard to get, and you were this wet for me all along.”
“Eric, please…” she begged, the word torn from her.
“Please what?” he teased, circling her entrance but not entering. “I know what I want but use your words, Lana. Tell me what you’re desperate for.”
She whimpered, her shyness warring with her need. “I want… I want you to touch me. Really touch me.”
“Like this?” He finally slid a finger inside her, slowly, feeling her tight, silken heat clench around him. She gasped, her hips bucking.
“Yes! More…”
He added a second finger, curling them, stroking the sensitive spot inside her that he knew would make her see stars.
He watched her pleasure intensify under his hand, her head thrashing on the pillows, her mouth open in silent cries, desperate.
He leaned down and captured her lips, swallowing her moans as his fingers worked her steadily, ruthlessly, towards the edge – but he wasn’t done.
“Not yet,” he commanded, pulling his hand away just as she was about to tip over.
She cried out in frustration, her body quivering with denied release.
He shifted down the bed, his hands spreading her thighs wide.
“One thing you should know about me is that I love to eat pussy…” he whispered against her skin and nearly came at the sound of her moan.
His mouth descended on her like a starved man and felt her explode against his tongue. He chuckled with male pride and tsked against her mons before he dove in again, filling his own need to devour the woman he’d been craving for much too long now.
There was no gentle build-up this time. He feasted on her with a single-minded, dominant hunger, his tongue lashing her swollen clit, delving deep into her, his lips and teeth applying just the right amount of exquisite pressure.
He held her hips down as she bucked against him, her desperate cries filling the room.
He was relentless, driving her higher and higher until a second orgasm ripped through her with violent, shocking intensity.
She screamed, her hands fisting in his hair, her body convulsing under his masterful mouth as her juices covered his chin.
He didn’t let her come down. He lapped at her through her climax, gentling only when her tremors began to subside into weak shudders. Then he crawled back up her body, his lips and chin gleaming with her essence. He kissed her deeply, letting her taste herself on his tongue.
“That,” he growled against her lips, “was not the end. We’re just getting to the opening act.”
He reached over to the bedside table where he’d discreetly placed a condom two days earlier in the hopes that he might need it.
He sheathed himself with quick, efficient movements, his eyes never leaving hers.
He positioned himself between her thighs, guiding his heavy length to her drenched, aching entrance.
He paused, the swollen head just pressing against her.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
Her blue eyes, glazed with pleasure, focused on his.
“This is happening,” he said, his voice low and fierce. “I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to own this desperate, beautiful, submissive body. And you’re going to take everything I give you. Do you understand? No more playing, no more fighting this – fighting me.”
A tear of sheer overwhelmed emotion escaped her eye and traced a path through her freckles. She nodded, a silent surrender.
“You’re mine… got me?”
“Yes,” she whispered breathlessly, melting before him.
He pushed inside.
The sensation was overwhelming. The stretch, the burning fullness, the sheer presence of him driving deep, claiming her inch by inch. She cried out, a raw, ragged sound of pleasure-pain. He gave her a moment to adjust, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath coming in harsh gusts.
“Okay?” he gritted out, the control costing him. Fuck, she was tight and felt like heaven. He might need to have surgery to return his eyeballs to the correct position if they rolled back any harder in sheer pleasure.
“Yes… don’t stop…”
“Never gonna happen…” he said raggedly – and began to move.
It was not love-making.
He couldn’t right now… maybe if he was a better man?
But he wasn’t – and this was a taking.
A claiming.
I’m going to ruin any other man for her, so help me God…
He started slow, deep, grinding thrusts that dragged against every sensitive nerve inside her. Each push was a punctuation mark to his dominance, each withdrawal a teasing promise of more. He watched her face the entire time, studying the play of ecstasy and surrender across her features.
His pace quickened, his hips pistoning with the powerful, rhythmic drive of an athlete.
The bedframe knocked softly against the wall in a steady, primal tempo.
He hooked one of her good legs over his arm, opening her wider, driving even deeper.
He changed angles, searching, and when he found the spot that made her shriek, he hammered it relentlessly, locking his hands on her hipbones to keep her pinned to the mattress while he fucked her.
“You feel that?” he grunted, his muscles coiling and releasing with each thrust. “That’s mine. This tight, desperate, little cunt is mine. Say it.”
“Yours!” she sobbed, her nails digging into his arms – and he didn’t care. She could leave bruises or draw blood and he was here for it, for this, for her. “Eric, please!”
“I own this,” he growled, his thrusts becoming brutal, perfect. “I own you, this sweet, little cunt of yours. Come for me. Now.”
The command, the overwhelming sensation, the raw, unvarnished possession in his voice—it was too much.
Her second orgasm exploded through her, a supernova that wiped out all thought, all resistance, all memory of ever being anything but his.
She clamped around him, milking him, her cries a broken, continuous melody that spoke to his very soul.
Oh, fuck…
I’m not ready…
It tipped him over the edge. With a final, guttural roar, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard enough that he saw stars.
His sac spasmed with the power of his release, pulsing and pouring everything in him into the condom, his big body shuddering with the force of it.
Everything in him tightened as he shoved deeper into her, needing to feel that connection, that sensation, craving it.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing in the dark room. He collapsed beside her, careful of her ankle, and gathered her against his sweat-slicked chest. She fit there perfectly, her head tucked under his chin, her curvy body molded to his.
He pressed a kiss to her damp hair. “That,” he said, his voice rough but satisfied, “was the reason I never want to hear ‘No’ from you,” he said bracing himself and wondering how she would take his commands, knowing it was given with pure ego and a certainty that he wanted, no – needed, to do that again and again.
“There are many, many more reasons to stop telling me ‘No’ all the time… got me?”
In his arms, exhausted, claimed, and utterly spent, he knew with a deep, serene certainty that her running had ended.
Whatever she’d been searching for – well, she just found in him and he was going to make sure she never missed it either.
And to his delight, despite his arrogant words, Lana chuckled and looked up at him from her spot on his chest.
“Would you just shut up for once?”
Eric grinned.