Another thrust, and her head falls forward. With both hands on her hips, I take her brutally and roughly, just as I promised. I groan in time with the sound of our flesh meeting, and Belle cries out her pleasure. It’s not long before she tightens around me, nearly making me come before I’m ready as she finds her release.
I allow her another, holding my breath and fucking her until she can no longer stay on all fours. With her front on the carpet, I piston my hips, loving how she writhes under me. I forcefully take her again and again until she cries out my name as if it’s a plea. Only then can I finally find my release.
Still recovering and breathing heavily, I lay gentle kisses along the center of her back, running the length of it up to her shoulder. Once I’ve met the crook of her neck, I slip out of her, and she winces.
Using my shirt, I clean what I can between her thighs. All the while I kiss her, and she turns, facing me and exploring with her own small touches. Her fingers travel up my chest, her nails slipping gently along the grooves of muscle.
“Calum,” she moans my name, maybe still lost in the pleasure. I love the sound of my name slipping from her lips. My kiss meets hers, and if only I was still hard, I’d take her again, right here in front of the fire.
In an effort to run her lips along my jaw, she parts those sweet lips, but I back away. Even with the dim light and the stubble, she’ll feel the indentation, her soft kisses will travel along the scar. It’s a sharp knife of betrayal that pushes me away from her touch.
“Deep red rose?” she says the phrase I loathe, her escape, but before I can fully absorb it, she corrects herself. “Is that your limit? That’s what I meant. You don’t want me to touch your scar?”
“No. I don’t see why you’d want to.”
“Can I?” she questions, her voice full of exhaustion. Ignoring her question, I lift her limp body to the sofa and lay her down.
“Let me get you a blanket . . . or rather. . .” Not finishing the thought, and not bothering to dress myself, I leave her where she is. Replaying the last moment obsessively.
She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t seem to have any fear at all when it comes to the scar. She doesn’t cower at the man I am. Her gentle touch is at odds with everything else. After dressing, I grab the box and return to the living room to find her spread out under the simple throw from the back of the sofa, her hair in a halo, her curves hidden under the luxurious fabric, but still very much on display.
“Can I touch you now?” Her sultry voice carries through the room.
“No.”
“Is holding me after out of the question?” she asks, not hiding the longing in her voice.
“Needy girl,” I comment, sitting on the end of the sofa where her head rests. The furniture protests with a groan as I take my seat, then I lift her head and set it down onto my lap.
A moment passes of quiet, the glow of the fire our company, and the only conversation the crackling and snapping of the wood.
“How long have you lived like this?” She whispers her question as I pet her hair. How many nights have I sat here alone, lost in work and thoughts of vengeance?
“Like what?” I ask to clarify.
“Alone in such a large place.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
With a saddened tone, she responds, “Small talk never does.”
Disliking the way her eyes close and the very idea that she’s done with the small talk itself, I answer, “All my life.”
It’s quiet again, and all I can think as I steal glances at her, with her eyes closed and her dark red lips resting nearly against my leg, is that she’s going to say ‘deep red rose’ any minute. I need to be careful with her, or she’ll run.
“You want me to stay here.” It’s a statement, not a question. She’s already thinking about it. I never should have offered that clause.
“Yes.
“And you won’t tell me how long?”
“. . . No. But I gave you my word. Your one condition I’ll allow.” My voice is hard, in stark contrast to hers.
“That’s dangerous.”
“You’ll stay here. You’ll do as I like. And the debt will be forgiven.”
The fire snaps and hisses with my treatment of her.
Turning slightly on her side, she toys with the blanket between her fingers. Her bare breast peeking from just under the throw.
Lowering my lips to hers, I whisper, “I already want you again.”
That gets her attention, and a bit of shock too if her wide eyes peering up at me is anything to go on. They’re a beautiful hazel, not unlike the amber fire before us.
“I like that you want me, Mr. Harrison.” She hesitates . . . and I wait for it with bated breath. Her escape clause to be uttered from between those gorgeous lips I’ve yet to use to the fullest.
“I think I like it a little too much. I think you’re going to ruin me.”
Let me ruin you. The command goes unspoken, and it’s only when she rests her head again that I look up at the clock on the mantel, an ancient thing, but the tick of it is barely audible, and so it stays.
“You have a phone call to make.”
“My father?” The cadence of her answer is dreadful.
“Yes, but before that . . . I got you a gift.” She’s forced to sit up as I pluck the box from the coffee table. This moment is a disturbance, but so long as this is taken care of, I’ll have more of her and more of this tonight.
The box leaves my hand and rests in her lap as she sits cross-legged next to me, the throw pooling around, falling slowly, until it’s nothing but a puddle of chenille.
It’s been a week since I purchased the fine garment and had it delivered. She holds the matte-black box adorned with a satin ribbon.
Instead of opening it, she only runs her fingers along the silk. “You just met me tonight.” She tilts her head, questioningly and accusatorily. It stirs something inside of me. Her obedience mixed with curiosity is alluring. I want more of it.
“I knew you’d be there. I knew you’d come home with me.”
“You said you knew I wasn’t invited.”
“I say a lot of things to get what I want.” My answer seems to satisfy her.
She unties the ribbon and lifts the silk.
“A silk robe? Rather presumptuous.” She doesn’t look me in the eyes until the final statement, her slender fingers still running along the fine silk.
“I prefer the term ‘confident’. It was only a matter of time, Belle.”
“You went through all of this . . . for me?”
“I said I wanted you.”
“Why me?”
“Because I saw you, and I imagined something different than what I had for the first time in years. Now put your robe on, it’s time to call your father.”
It was years ago. For years I’ve wanted her. If she thinks she can create an end date for this arrangement, she’s so very wrong.
“Tell him you’re staying here indefinitely.”
ANABELLE
There’s a fine line of pleasure and fear mixed with sadness. Not for me, but for Calum.
We walk the ornate hallway of his home. He could stride past me without any effort. The man is so tall.