But then he pulled back again, close enough for them to be nose-to-nose, far enough that their lips weren’t touching. “Okay, your turn.”
“My turn for what?”
His grin was wicked. “When did you want me for the first time?”
Oh, this was a devious, awful, wonderful game he was playing with her, and it was working. She could feel the slickness building between her legs, her nipples contracting to tight buds. She shivered, and it had nothing to do with the temperature.
“I was fifteen, maybe fourteen. I don’t know; it all runs together, because it feels like it was forever. I don’t think I was even old enough to know what sexwas. I didn’t understand it, anyway.
“You’d come over for dinner, and you were in front of the TV with Dad. Mom said to take you both a beer, and I did…I dunno why, but seeing you sitting there – you had your boots on the coffee table and Mom woulda killed you for that – I went from having a crush to…”
“What?” he prompted, still with the evil grin.
“I wanted something physical. I wanted to…bite your neck for some reason.”
He laughed quietly. “Because you were a teenage vampire?”
She felt her face color. “I just wanted to do it. And I remember I wanted you to put your arm around my waist, and I wanted you to kiss me, really kiss me.” She bit her lip. “I’d just seenTitanic, and that may have had something to do with it.”
He groaned. “Please don’t tell me I reminded you of that putz.”
“Oh no, never,” she assured, pulling her fingers through his hair. “But I liked the idea of the romance.” She reached to touch his face again, thumb against his lips. “I wanted to be special to you.”
“Fillette, you were always that.”
He just wasn’t going to be satisfied, apparently, until he’d made her cry and come all at once.
His smile softened, became more private and genuine. “Now tell me again why we shouldn’t have a baby, when I know you want one so bad, and I want to give you one.”
Layla’s words came back to her, the assertion that when you wanted it, you just wanted it, and logic played no part.
And she did want it. He had married her, and he’d left the club behind so he could protect her, and they were the only two souls in this corner of the swamp, and she wanted the thunderous knowledge that they could create something together that was just theirs, that no one could take from them.
“Just don’t go get the pills,” he urged. “Let me be your husband, and we’ll just see what happens.”
She was lost. She parted her lips and reached for him; he came down and kissed her, passed his tongue into her mouth, and a deep, glad growl reverberated through his chest.
She was slippery wet, and when he entered her, her body welcomed him. There was that incredible stretching, the pressure, the way he filled her until her breathing was choppy and irregular. With one hand, he angled her hips, brought her up tighter against him, so that he was totally inside her.
She pressed her head back against the pillow as her spine flexed in helpless reaction, but he wouldn’t let her break the kiss. His tongue stroked deep inside her mouth as his hips began to move. Slow, rhythmic, forceful thrusts. Driving into her again and again. The mattress groaned. He was so heavy, and so powerful, and yet so careful with her.
Ava was anchored at two points: his mouth on her mouth, his cock so deep inside her. And everywhere else, she floated. Her Mercy, her man, her husband.
Her husband.
Husband…
Husband…
A chant in her head in time to the relentless plunging of his hips, the press of his hip bones as they left bruises on the soft insides of her thighs.
He finally broke the kiss, lifting his head so he could use the strong length of his spine to bear down on her, pinioning her to the mattress, grinding down into her.
Ava put her hands on his chest, to feel his heart and lungs and the heavy bundles of muscle working.
“What a good little girl,” he murmured breathlessly. “Taking it all like that.Bonne fillette, mon amour.”
She loved the way he looked in the dull lamplight above her. The straining tendons, the veins in his neck, the jagged ends of his hair as it fell forward off his shoulders. This was why men liked for the woman to get on top, so they could watch the way the body worked as it brought them such pleasure.
