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It felt like I’d just closed my eyes when footsteps sounded on the hardwood. They were muffled when he reached the large rug around my bed. Clothes dropped, boots hit the floor. My eyes opened as I sat up to look at him in the dark.
He stood beside my bed, shirtless, his immense size making him appear like a monster that had crawled from underneath my bed. He dropped his jeans and boxers. He hadn’t changed into his sweatpants in his bedroom before he appeared, which meant he came straight here.
He threw the sheets off me then yanked me to the edge of the bed, dragging me with a hard tug that made me suck in a breath in surprise. I was in my nightgown, my makeup off because I’d assumed he would never come.
He shoved my dress to my hips then dragged my panties over my ass and off my legs. “When I say I’m going to do something, I fucking do it.” He positioned me on the edge, leaned over me, and shoved himself inside me, making me gasp in surprise. “Be ready for me. Always.” His hand slid into my hair, and he fisted it as he fucked me that way, his eyes on mine, his look hard and possessive, his dick pounding into me like this was the first time he’d had me since we’d left the camp.
I grabbed on to his tree-trunk arms and shook with his thrusts. “Oh god…”
He fucked me to a record-breaking climax before he released, giving a loud groan in my face. But like always, that wasn’t the end of it. His dick stayed hard as if he took pills on a regular basis, and he kept going, slowing it down, his fist relaxing in my hair and moving to my neck, touching me gently, his eyes turning soft and tender. He came closer to me, his body warmer than the sheets that had rested on top of me just minutes ago. “Chérie.” He started to speak to me in French again, which he hadn’t done in a long time. “Tu es vraiment magnifique.” His thumb brushed over my bottom lip as he looked at my mouth, still pushing himself inside me. His fire had rekindled, his passion roaring like a forest fire that destroyed everything in its path. Every touch was searing hot, his kisses purposeful and full of gentle caresses, his deep breaths filling every inch of my enormous bedroom. “Tu es à moi. À moi.” He thrust inside me. “À moi.” He did it again. “À moi.”
When the sex was over, he usually got out of bed immediately.
This time, he stayed.
His arm was wrapped around the small of my back, keeping me flush against him, my leg hooked over his hip, my wet sex against his stomach. His face was pressed against mine on the same pillow and his eyes were closed, but his pull on my back remained, like I might slip away if he let go. My tits were against his powerful chest, and he smothered me with his masculine warmth and scent.
It felt even better than sex, to close my eyes with him next to me, holding me. I’d slept alone in that cabin, and there was always a little anxiety because a guard could open the door at any moment and demand something from me. But with him there, I knew no one was getting through that door.
There wasn’t a single thing in the world that could touch me now.
I shouldn’t feel safe with him; I understood that. But in reality, I’d never felt safer in my entire life.
His hand left my back and slid between my shoulder blades, into my hair, and he gave me a soft kiss on the mouth.
I opened my eyes and looked at his dark eyes, saw their special softness, saw the way he looked at me like I was the single most important thing to him. My entire body softened to a deeper level, invisible weight leaving my shoulders.
Then he left the bed.
Grabbed his clothes.
Headed to the door.
“Where are you going?” I sat up in bed, my skin forming bumps because the cold hit me like a winter breeze coming through an open door. My nipples hardened, and all the relaxation I’d felt a moment before disappeared.
He turned back around. “I don’t sleep with people.” As if that was final, he headed to the door again.
“Wait.”
He didn’t stop this time. He opened the door and looked at me over his shoulder. “It’s not you, chérie.”
I spent my morning reading, and when lunchtime arrived, I went to the garden room to eat alone.
Once I took a seat, Gilbert silently placed everything in front of me, still hateful as ever. He didn’t give me a greeting the way he did with Fender. He didn’t even try.
