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If he intended this to serve as a distraction, he needs to know it won’t work. I still expect answers from him. Plus, it feels good to have the upper hand for once, to feel how easily he melts under my touch. But when he opens his eyes, I see renewed fervor in them.
“I can show you all my tricks, Ella.”
His hands move to the top of my back, and he holds my gaze as he begins to undo the fastenings of my dress. He doesn’t exactly go slowly, but as every movement exposes another inch of my skin, I feel my anticipation heighten to an almost frenzied level. My breasts tighten, aching to be touched, and I inhale sharply when he rips the fabric down, letting them spill free. My chest rises and falls with quick breaths as he takes in the sight of me, his eyes so dark they almost look black. He cups one breast in his large hand, massaging the peak of it into a hard point, then takes the other in his mouth. My knees threaten to buckle as he sucks at the dimpled flesh, and I bury my hand in his hair, directing his head as he flicks at the delicate skin with his tongue. Soon I can’t take much more of his teasing, my whimpers taking on a desperate edge. I grab the hand on my breast and move it downwards, towards my skirts.
He looks up at me with understanding, grinning against my skin.
“I think I should finish what I started last night, hmm?” The last word rumbles through me as his hands get to work, seizing my hip and pushing up the fabric of my dress. I shiver in anticipation of what he’s about to do, spreading my legs for him as his hand runs between my thighs, along the outside of my underwear. He looks at me with bright, pleased eyes as he feels how ready I am for him. I push down against him, throwing him a frustrated look.
“By all means, take your time,” I hiss.
That laugh comes again, like every sign of my desire brings him nothing but pure joy, and he waves his free hand. The vines snaking across the library walls detach, sliding towards us. I’m disconcerted, unsure what’s happening, but his burning gaze reassures me that he’ll give me what I want. I gasp when the plants weave together behind me, cradling me and lifting me up a few inches, to compensate for our difference in height. I realize he’s positioning me just right when, with a swift, smooth movement, he tugs the fabric aside, massaging the flesh beneath. I bite into my lip as his thumb circles the bundle of nerves between my thighs while his fingers stroke against my opening.
“Ruskin,” I choke, desperately needing release. He lifts his free hand to cup my jaw, bringing my lips to his in another bruising kiss, then slips his fingers inside of me.
I moan against his mouth as he hooks those fingers upwards, continuing to swirl his thumb over the most sensitive spot. Every brush sets my senses on fire.
I grab the cradle of vines for better purchase, moving myself against him. They stretch up a bit further, pressing against my lower back like they automatically know what I need. Of course they do, I think, remembering that Ruskin is controlling them. The extra support allows me to grind against his fingers as he slides them in and out. The pressure in me is building already, a wave of pleasure narrowing to a sharp, exquisite point.
I reach a hand up to grip his shoulder, my nails digging into his flesh as my movements get more desperate. I’m writhing against him as the fire within me builds.
“Yes, Eleanor.” He grins, face glowing with delight, “That’s it, come for me.”
I throw my head back as my ecstasy peaks, shuddering against him. I’m not sure what kind of sound I make, but Ruskin obviously enjoys it, as his laughter gives way to a growl of desire. I can still feel him, hard and unsated, pressing against the fabric of his pants. As my high ebbs, the vines retreat, lowering me down. I let my hand drift over his erection, noting the considerable size of him, applying a soft pressure that makes him twitch under me.
“Ella,” he says. His tone is a warning, and I pause in my ministrations.
“Should I not?” I ask. Now, sated and satisfied, I have the luxury of playfulness, and I quirk an eyebrow at him.
His yellow eyes flare. “You shouldn’t start something you can’t finish.”
“What makes you think I can’t finish you?” I tease.
It’s a heady feeling, knowing that we’re utter equals in this, my power over his pleasure just as complete as his over mine. But there’s something fresh developing here too. This level playing field, it’s the closest we’ve gotten to seeing each other clearly—no masks, no inhibitions. It’s trust, I realize. That’s what this means if we go through with it. Even when fierce and physical, we’re both being vulnerable in a new way here.
I tug him towards me, our tongues clashing for dominance, but he lets my hands explore the top of his pants, unbuttoning them, exposing him like he has me. I feel his cock spring free and I break our kiss to look down at it. If he felt large still in his pants, I have to swallow at the sight of it now. The size of Ruskin is intimidating, the hard length of him sitting weighty in my palm. He leans into my touch, sliding against my hand and I tighten my grip slightly, applying a gentle pressure as I begin to stroke him. A rumble of pleasure comes from deep within his chest, his eyes fluttering shut. The sight of him starting to come undone is magnificent, awakening the ache between my legs once more. I speed up my strokes, but with a grunt of effort, his hand catches mine.
He opens his eyes and reaches for my face, taking my chin between his fingers.
“Ella,” he says, low and firm, “I’m going to take you now.”
The commanding way he says it sends bolts of anticipation straight through my body. But I can’t help myself, I feel words of defiance forming on my lips.
“Is that an order?”
“Always so many questions,” he growls and, before I know what’s happening, he’s spun me around, pushing me forward with his hips so my hands lie flat on the library table.
“It’s a statement of fact. Nothing on earth could stop me from taking you now,” he says, pulling up my skirts—higher this time—and pressing his weight against my backside. I can feel him through the fabric of my underwear, hard and large, and I’m momentarily nervous, wondering how I can possibly take all of him. But the nerves are battered aside by my raw hunger and when I feel the sudden chill of air as he tugs my underwear down, my muscles eagerly tighten. I’m exposed and ready for him, my breath hitching. These pauses are killing me.
“Nothing, except you,” he purrs into the shell of my ear. He nudges the head of his cock between my legs, tantalizingly close, and yet I sense he won’t move an inch closer, not yet.
“Do you want me take you, Eleanor?” His voice is almost breathless with desire, but with an edge to it. There’s an unspoken exchange happening between us. He’s not just asking if I trust him enough to do this. I think on some level he’s wondering if he’s ready to fully let go with me—if it’s safe to do so.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” he growls.
“Yes,” I gasp, trying to put layers of hidden meaning into the word. He hesitates still and, impatient, I try to move backwards, driving myself up against him, but he holds my hips firm, pinning them against the table.
“Say it,” he says, and there’s more of a grin in his voice now. “Ask nicely.”
