“Perfect.” His crown slides over the rise of my clit, and I think my eyes roll back into my head. “Oh, that’s . . .”
“Yes, it is.” His throat works with a deep swallow and, as I push up onto my elbows, we both watch between my legs. How darkly he glistens. How wet I am.
“I haven’t,” he begins, his eyes sincere as they lift to meet mine. “Not since you. Not since forever.”
I try to process what he’s telling me, which is not the easiest task when he’s teasing me as he is. When he’s making my thighs twitch. I think I might also be leaking brain fluid.
“But Portia. Griffin says—”
“I swear on the life of my nephews, the last woman I slept with was you. And the last woman I slept with sans condom was more than a decade ago. I haven’t been involved with Portia in that way for some time.”
“Really? She’s not in it for the dick?” I purse my lips together a little too late.
“I’m not even sure she’s in it for me,” he answers sardonically. An answer quickly followed by a groan as he slides himself along against that wet ribbon of flesh again. My legs tremble
“She’s missing out.” I tilt my hips, opening myself to the movement. “If you ever need a change of career . . .”
“Flattery,” he growls, “will get you—”
Almost fucked. By just the tip, the weight of his delicious body coming over me.
I’m on the pill, I almost say, but instead, “Wait,” comes out of my mouth as I press my hand to his chest. “You said ‘last woman’. What about men?”
“Really?” he cocks one very derisive-looking brow.
“It’s a valid question.”
“In my forty years, I have never fucked nor been fucked by a man, either with or without a condom.”
“Can’t be too careful,” I reply, trying not to giggle.
“I would never risk you or your health,” he says with such gravity which either makes me the stupidest woman in Scotland or a woman who is sure that she can trust him. And knowing what I know of him, what his family and his people have said about him, I trust it’s the latter.
I slide my hand between my legs.
Alexander watches the progress of my fingers as I trail them down the hard plains of his stomach. The ragged breath brushing my cheek a compliment as I close them around him. I bring him to the heat of my opening, teasing which of us, I’m not sure.
“You feel so good,” I whimper, my back bowing in a silent urge for him to thrust.
“We can’t,” he rasps, “not like this.”
“Let me feel you.” I arch my back, my core pulsing emptily. Let me feel all of you, Alexander.” Wrapping my hand around his neck, I bring down his head and whisper the magic words into his ear. “I’m on the pill.”
His hand splayed next to my thigh, he drops his head.
“Minx,” he growls as he slides his hands under me before thrusting forward, thrusting into me.
“Oh, God!” The feeling is . . . everything as my body accepts his. Everything I imagined as my hands ran over his broad shoulders. Everything I’d remembered as I traced the muscles of his back. Every life-altering, ovary-rearranging inch of this man was built on a scale so majestic, is it any wonder I want him to consume me.
I lower myself against the desk, basking in the power of the man as he takes my hips in his hands and begins to move. Deep thrusts interspersed by shallow jabs of his hips, his expression so fierce, so focussed on the moment, his fingers holding me so tightly, I’ll probably bruise.
I want him to bruise me. Mark me. Rip me in two.
“I want to see you,” he whispers fervently, beginning to pick up the pace. Sliding from base to tip, he switches to shallow teasing movements, his body undulating against me like an unending wave.
“You feel like velvet, Holland. Every inch of you. I can’t—” His expression is so fierce he slides his hands under me, gathering me to him. “I feel like I’m about to fucking explode,” he rasps, his mouth over my ear. “I just can’t get enough.”
A pleasure spikes through me, a pleasure so violent it makes me shake. Wrapping my knees around him, I pull him closer, my hands unable to touch him enough.
His hoarse groan vibrates against my neck as I begin to come again.
“Please don’t stop,” I whisper fiercely. Is it my body trembling, or is it his? “Please, please, please.” Let this never end.
Until it does. Until he presses me back again. Until the antique desk begins to rattle beneath us, protesting at the tempo of his powerful thrusts. But we have no time for that, no thought or care as nature takes over, dragging us with it.
Everything inside me draws tight, my spine arching impossibly as wave after wave of liquid hot pleasure rushes through me, our joint climax rendering us a twitching, pulsing mess.
26
Alexander
I’d woken this morning with a jerk, my heart in my mouth. Light streamed in through the open drapes and, I’d thought for a moment, I’d dreamed it all. Dreamed about her splayed out on the desk. Imagined her here in my bed. But as my heart had begun to settle into a steady rhythm, the evidence of last night being real began to sink in.
The way my abs felt like I’d spent the night doing crunches.
The way the duvet lay barely on the bed.
The detritus of my clothing scattered across the floor.
The smell of her perfume and the unmistakable aroma of a night spent fucking.
It was real. So very real, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.
The only downside I could see was the fact that Holland wasn’t with me.
So, I’d shot out of bed, the sheets parachuting behind me as I’d made my way for the quickest shower imaginable, determined to find her this morning. Determined that we come to some kind of understanding of where each of us stood.
Next to each other, preferably. For as long as we both can stand it. If last night did anything for me, anything that is apart from reminding me I need to incorporate more abs-centric exercises into my workout, it was to prove that I can’t stay away from her. Hopefully, she feels the same way.
I’d headed for the main kitchen, gathering from Archie that she could sometime be found down there. She wasn’t there, though Chrissy was, but I was in no mood for a scolding or an interrogation. I’d promised I’d return later for the former, once I’d done what needed to be done. As for the latter, no one interrogates a duke, not even the woman who had a hand in raising him, no matter how I might’ve suggested I’d stand for it last night. My efforts frustrated, and given I had no idea where Holland might be or what room she might be staying in, I’d decided to try the kitchen in the family apartments.
“There’s only porridge or toast to eat in here,” my sister says coolly, falling into step with me. For much of our childhood, Isla was the taller of us. My father used to delight in saying she’d stolen the nutrients from our mother’s body, leaving me the weaker of the two. He’d taunted that she should be the duke, and I’m sure in many ways that might be true. But that’s not how inheritance laws work. Besides, I’m sure she’s much happier without the Dalforth millstone around her neck. As it was, our father changed his tune the year I turned sixteen, and I grew to tower over her. And him. But I got to disappoint him in lots of other ways, thankfully.