Chapter 27 New York City, 1928—Bastien #3
“Then you don’t need this.” She yanked off the towel, freeing his erection. Her eyes darkened with naked want as she took him in. “You’re spectacular.”
Heat flashed across his face and neck for the first time he could remember. He didn’t blush. Until now. “I’m not sure what to say, but it’s not too late to back out.”
She shook her head, licking her bottom lip. “Not a chance.”
His fingers tangled into her thick, red hair as his thumbs traced the curve of her cheeks.
He claimed her mouth in a kiss that began with an aching tenderness but erupted into a scorching demand.
She responded with an unbridled fervor, a choked whimper tearing from her throat as she pulled him closer.
“Tell me to slow down,” he said.
“Not a chance,” she repeated.
She arched when he sucked a nipple into his mouth, and a riot of sensations tracked over Bastien. “I wish I could go slow and be gentle.”
“To hell with that.” She kissed him, searing his body, soul, and very existence.
His fingertips embarked on a slow, deliberate crusade, tracing the heated, yielding velvet of her inner thigh. The instant his thumb grazed the swollen peak, nestled within the humid, silken folds, a guttural moan ripped through the quiet air, reverberating in his own chest.
Her skin, in the low light, flushed a berry-deep crimson. A sheen of sweat traced the curve of her collarbone, carrying the faint, intoxicating scent of her arousal.
With each shift, her body arched against him, her muscles contracted, a fervent, demanding clench.
A shallow, hot breath escaped her lips, and a flush stained the hollow of her throat, mapping her spiraling tension, a storm of anticipation and pleasure.
He felt the tremor that started deep in her core, the way her body pulsed in response to his touch.
He paused, checking his own urgency, then continued with unrelenting focus. His movements settled into a deliberate rhythm, a hypnotic cadence that erased the boundaries between them, until breath, warmth, and touch blurred together.
The sleek heat of his shaft glided inside her, a potent friction in disciplined thrusts meant to tease and torment. His mouth drew hungrily on her nipples, moving from one to the other.
Her breath hitched in ragged gasps that turned into choked whimpers.
He pushed deeper, his body meeting hers in profound contact, his breath rushing through his teeth.
With every incendiary measured thrust, she lifted off the bed, moans escaping until the culmination of his teasing was finally upon her.
He watched. Kaitlyn’s body spasmed. A cry escaped her lips. He slid his length out to the tip to hammer into her again, rocking her in a relentless, driving pace that stole her breath.
He kissed her as a tremor ran through him, which soon became a ravenous exploration of her mouth as his thrust sealed their bodies together, circling his hips in a steady, deliberate beat.
The primal musk of their sweat filled the air, the salty tang tracing a line across his brow. His muscles screamed in protest, but he pushed deeper. She clenched around him, and sweet Jesus, he was going to die.
Her eyes rolled back, lids fluttering in sudden, all-consuming ecstasy. His body clenched and pulsed deep within her core, and she reached another crest and another until he lost track of how many times she quivered with release.
He pushed deep one last time, releasing his pent-up desire with a shuddering groan.
His release detonated, a blinding flash that ripped through the night sky of his consciousness.
He slid in and out until she went lax in his arms, and he slumped, burying his face in her neck, her arms wrapped tightly around him.
Finally, he withdrew from her sated body, pulled a blanket up over them, and held her as the late afternoon light shifted through the window. Never had a woman grabbed his spinning world and brought it to a standstill.
Just the two of them, suspended in time.
“I love you, Kaitlyn.”
“I love you, too,” she said lazily.
A life-altering question felt heavy on his tongue, but Bastien fumbled for the right moment. There were no hired violins, no crystal flutes bubbling with champagne, no imported roses, and the ring was a phantom weight in his hand.
Still, the silence between them was thick with a shared warmth, her hair soft against his cheek. The moment composed its own perfect symphony. “I have a question.” Bastien’s tone was light but hesitant, searching for the proper balance in the moment.
“Hmmm?”
Her breath was a warm current against his nape, sending a tremor of sensation through him. He edged his fingertips along the sculpted line of her jaw, a path of delicate exploration. “Kaitlyn”—his breath thinned to a wisp in his chest—“will you marry me?”
She smiled at him. “Today?”
“As soon as possible.”
She slithered her fingers over his abs and into the smattering of chest hair. “You should ask Papa first.”
He brushed his knuckles over her sensitive skin, encouraging her to open for him. “Do I have to wait until then to get an answer?”
“I think that’s only proper.”
He pulled her over on top of him, and she wiggled until he was inside her again. “I didn’t know you were such a stickler for details.”
“I am, and when someone tells me they’re going to do something, I believe them. You told me I wouldn’t walk any better than you when we finished here? I demand you prove that.”
“I intend to.”
He gripped her hips, his thumbs digging into the curve of her waist as he lifted her in a steady, powerful rhythm. She gasped with each upward surge, her body arching to meet his, her hands clenching his shoulders.
The ragged cadence of her gasps was all the warning he needed.
He watched the flush rise on her skin, feeling the subtle shift in her weight.
He braced himself for the rush, desperate to watch her climax while astride him.
She bucked and arched, a raw, desperate sound torn from her lungs, her muscles seizing and gripping with a ferocious intensity.
He poured every ounce of his strength into the moment, his muscles screaming under the strain. He saw only Kaitlyn’s face, felt only her touch, the universe falling away until all that remained was the shared cadence of their breathing.
It wasn’t just physical. It was an ache of connection so profound it stole its focus, leaving only pure, undiluted joy.
As she descended from her blissful height, she leaned forward and kissed him deeply. His body now sated, his mind empty, he could do nothing but feel her draped over him, silky hair teasing his neck and chin, and her fingertips skimming his sweat-dampened chest.
If he died on the spot, he’d go deliriously happy.