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“I told you to watch me fuck you. Close your eyes again, and it won’t be your ass I spank, but something much more sensitive.” He brought his thumb and forefinger to my clit and pinched hard.
I cried, then moaned, moving against him, desperate to feel him thrust deep and hard once more.
He growled as he increased his pace, still pinching my clit, sensing I enjoyed the pain of it.
“That’s what you get for being such a little tease, Imogene. For driving me fucking crazy tonight with this dress. It’s been torture.” He drove harder, his words strangled through his labored breathing. “Say it. Say this is what you deserve for being such a little tease.”
I stared at our reflection in the mirror. “This is what I deserve,” I panted.
“For what?” he ground out.
“For being such a little tease.”
“Fuck,” Gideon hissed, his nostrils flaring as he increased his rhythm. He pressed a hand between my shoulder blades and pinned me to the surface, not letting up until a roar tore through the room.
He moved both hands to my hips and spasmed through his release at the same time as I spilled over the edge with him. In an effort to draw out my orgasm, he slowed his motions, his rhythm becoming more sensual and seductive.
Once he seemed to have his breathing under control, he straightened and pulled out of me. Before I could attempt to right myself, he wrapped a protective arm around my waist and helped me. Moving his hands to my cheeks, he cupped my face and pressed his lips to mine.
This kiss felt different than all our previous ones. It still held that fiery passion and hunger, but there was an added sweetness to it, a slowness that made it more sensual.
More...personal.
More like Samuel.
He used to do the same thing after a particularly intense sexual experience, a way to reconnect, bring me back to reality.
How was this possible? How could he feel so much like Samuel? The way he moved. The way he breathed. The way he tasted.
It was too much.
Too heartbreaking.
Too debilitating.
I quickly tore my lips from his and pushed him away, adjusting my dress.
He blinked, taken aback by my sudden shift in demeanor.
“Imogene, are you?—”
“This shouldnothave happened,” I managed to say through the lump building in my throat.
I refused to cry in front of this man after having sex with him. I needed to hold it together.
But it was so damn hard when he stared at me with those eyes.
Sam’seyes.
“Imogene…” He took a hesitant step toward me, but I backed away, holding up a trembling hand in front of me, needing a barrier between us.
“I got caught up in the heat of the moment. In my memories. I guess I wanted you to be…” I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head.
What was I going to tell him? That I just let him fuck me because of some crazy, misplaced hope that hewasmy dead ex-boyfriend?
“Well, it doesn’t matter. All that does is that this…” I gestured between our bodies, “was a mistake. I can’t…” I sucked in a quivering breath. “I just can’t.”
I spun on my heels and hurried out of the library, not wanting him to see me have a breakdown after having sex. And that was the problem.
