He slithered down her body, shoving her gown up as he traveled.
“What are you—”
“Shh,” he breathed against her soft belly, her curls. He lingered there, nuzzling her, breathing in her feminine musk.
She made a halfhearted attempt to tighten her thighs, but his heavy build made that impossible, and he settled between her legs, pushing them even further apart.
Propping himself on his elbows, he beheld her. Pink and wet and quivering, the sound of his own rasping breaths in his ears.
He glanced up to find her studying him, lips parted, blue eyes heavy-lidded. She did not look anxious. She looked curious.Of courseshe was. He suppressed a delighted laugh lest she mistake his meaning.
Instead, locking eyes with her, he traced one fingertip over her sensitive bud, then loosed a wicked chuckle when she arched back in carnal delight. And then he dropped his mouth to that bud and suckled.
She nearly levitated off the mattress. “Sterling,” she gasped.
He pleasured her then, with his lips, his tongue, his fingers. Bringing her close, so close, before backing off. Inching her ever nearer the edge, but not allowing her to topple, heightening his own desire as hers soared, as tremors racked her willowy frame until her feminine dew flowed.
“Please,” she begged, fisting her hands in the bed covers, then in his hair.
“Please, what?” he whispered, brushing his lips over her swollen flesh. “What do you need? Do you need me, Annabelle?”
“Y-yes,” she choked.
“Say it,” he demanded.
“I need you.I need you. Please.”
Only then did he relent. He’d needed to hear the words, he realized, in some dim portion of his brain, as he brought herto an intoxicating, violent climax. Needed a sign, some kind of proof that she was marked by him, that she was his. Irrevocably his.
Chapter 32
Annabelle could barely breathe. The things her husband made her feel. The utter intoxicating pleasure could almost not be borne.
Shaking, she dragged at him, needing him closer, his weight atop her. His manhood inside her.
He propped himself on his knees and eyed her, ripping open his trousers and pushing them to his hips. The stark hunger in his dark eyes—for her—reached inside her like a fist squeezing her heart.
Then he fitted himself to her core, and she nearly sobbed.
He did not enter her. Instead, with infinite care, he lowered himself atop her.
“Please,” she murmured, reaching for him, lifting her head to seek his mouth. Needing his lips on hers. Needing…him.
“Wrap your legs around me, sweetheart,” he demanded in a hoarse whisper.
“Yes,” she breathed, obeying without question.
A look that was equal parts torment and pleasure covered his face as he thrust into her. Again, and again, and again. Faster, deeper.
She never wanted this to end. Never wanted to be apart from him. God help her.She loved him.
At the very second, the infinitesimal moment of realization, pleasure exploded through her, unexpected and exquisite in its depth and breadth.
And then, as if her release had triggered his, Sterling gave a husky shout. He reared up, hips bucking, body swiveling, as his own powerful climax took him.
Minutes later, they lay intertwined, Annabelle sated and boneless.
“I see,” he murmured sleepily, kissing her cheek.
