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Christopher Sinclair is mine.
“You’re mine.”
Jaw clenching, nostrils flaring, he grabs my face as he presses me so hard to the wardrobe that I’m sure the mirror will crack.
His lips come down on mine hard and unyielding, so hungry that I think I might die as he thrusts and grinds into me.
He bites and sucks and licks at my bleeding lip like it’s a source of life. Every nudge of his erection on my clit makes it harder for me to contain my moans and need.
I want him inside me. I want to feel his cum fill me so completely that it spills down my legs. I want everything he has to give. Hard, fast, punishingly.
Licking down my throat, he releases my face. Grabbing one of my arms and stretching it above me, he closes my hand around the top moulding of the wardrobe.
“Hold on.” He does the same to my other arm.
My arms burn as he loosens my legs around his waist. Reaching between us, he pulls his cock out, wedging at my entrance. “Shhhh…” His command turns into a gasp as he thrusts deep into me.
God, he’s ripping me apart.
Tears spring to my eyes as he pulls out and slams inside me again. He’s so big that I have to ask myself how he fits every time.
He doesn’t stop or relent until he is buried deep to the hilt in my cunt. My body is shaking and against its physical limits… “I want more. Harder, Christopher. Harder.”
“Fuck!” He gives me what I want with curses and groans, praises and gasps. He fills me again and again, harder and harder, until we’re both wracking with pure rapture coursing through us.
The rings cut into my finger as my arms grow tight and achy with his deep strokes. Pumping into me relentlessly, Christopher trails his hands up my arms, closing his hands around mine as he lowers his mouth on mine.
He fucks my body as he makes love to my soul. Fiercely, ruthlessly, incessantly. And he doesn’t stop until it detonates over his. Shaking, burning…filled to the brim and overflowing.
Chapter 30
Arabella
The road is dark with what’s left of the night. We’re officially in the North, and snow piles on the side of the motorway. The tarmac itself is covered in slush, and at the speed we’re going, my heart is in my throat while my insides feel like they haven’t left London yet.
The air is sharp and cold, even with the thick hoodie I’m wearing over my own clothes. Thank goodness Cassie thought to stop by the Sinclair house to pick up some of the things I left. I’d already be frozen half to death if I only had a shirt to wear because Christopher was adamant we weren’t going back to Georgina’s. Apparently, it was a stupid risk for the sake of clothes.
For the sake of clothes.
Maybe he expected me to go around the arctic temperatures up here in his clothes. Sometimes his stubborn logic really makes him look like a plank.
Maybe it’s female logic, like taking a break and refuelling in case we get stuck in a snow block. It wouldn’t be a first in the sweeping hills overlooking Windermere. Hills we have to wind our way through to get to Herald’s Hold.
After much pressing during the first couple of hours, we stopped a few times along the way. With energy reserves depleting, everyone is getting rattier, snapping at the slightest things. Even Freddie’s lost his humour.
Something’s going down.
I can feel it. My insides are pulsing with anxious trepidation. There’s an ominous cloud hanging over our heads. Not a single one of us can see through it. We’re all blind to what’s around the corner. My guilt blooms as I ask myself, What was the point in anything I’ve done?
I have no more insight than they do now. I’m just as blind as they are.
That’s what it’s all come down to—blind leading the blind.
My body’s aching and my nerves are getting the better of me, twisting and knotting my stomach to the point that the mere smell of the black coffee in my hand is making me nauseous.
“You’re safe. You know that, don’t you?” Christopher squeezes my thigh, not moving his focus from the road.
“Yeah.” Slotting the cup into the middle console, I try to breathe through the combination of Red Bull and pickled onion Monster Munch crisps.
