Because You Are Mine (Because You Are Mine #1)(33)
Author: Beth Kery

“Ian!”

He tongue-fucked her, slow and languorous at first, but as the seconds passed, more lustily as her hips began to bob back and forth against him. He groaned, spreading his large hands across her hips, his fingers biting into her buttocks, and held her steady for his consumption. She gasped when he spread his mouth over her entire sex, his tongue lodged deep inside her vagina, and used his upper lip to apply a steady pressure on her clit. He twisted his head sharply, side to side between her thighs, stimulating her precisely. Her eyes sprang wide.

She stared up at the goddess of sex and love, transfixed, as she shuddered in violent orgasm.

* * *

Ian held her to him, his mouth moving with constrained force, his tongue delving, urging every last blast of pleasure out of her sweet, quivering body. When she quieted, he took another moment to lick up the juice of his labor. He’d known she’d be delicious from the taste of her mouth and skin, but he hadn’t been prepared for the sheer decadence of her pussy.

He was full-out drunk on her, and yet he wanted more.

His raging cock had other things in mind, however. He gathered her to him, pressing a damp kiss against the erotic harbor of her taut belly. He stood, wincing at the ache in his cock. Her sublime taste had temporarily sated his lust. It came roaring back as he stared down at her near-naked body sprawled on the pedestal, moonlight shimmering in her dark eyes and glistening on her wet, spread pussy.

He lifted her, liking the way she curled against him. She could be so stubborn at times, willful. It moved him to have her lay her head on his shoulder so trustingly.

It made him want to wholly possess her all the more.

He took her to a low, tufted velvet chaise lounge positioned several feet in front of Aphrodite—a recliner fit for a king, if Ian recalled correctly. Instead of setting her on it, he placed her on her feet. He quickly removed her dress and draped it on the back of a nearby armchair. Next, he removed his jacket. She gave him a puzzled glance when he carefully spread it on the cushion of the chaise.

“Louis XIV once lounged on this piece. Grandmother would strangle me if I ever . . . spilled on it.”

His small smile widened when he heard her low, rich laughter. He put his hands along her jaw and lifted her face for his voracious kiss, eating her mirth hungrily. His cock lurched when she shyly, curiously licked at his lips, tasting herself.

“That’s right. Why shouldn’t you taste something so sweet?” he rasped as he regretfully released her in order to locate a condom. The storm brewing in him was starting to tear at him from the inside out. He couldn’t trust his sanity, couldn’t trust anything if he didn’t get inside Francesca soon . . . very soon. “Lie down on the chaise,” he directed, his voice sounding tight to his own ears.

She reclined on his spread jacket, her legs and belly looking pale in the moonlight and contrasting with the black lining of his jacket. The chaise was armless, long, and wide, with a curved backrest. She lay so that her body was on the flat portion, the top of her head against the back, her calves resting at the end of the piece of furniture. Her loveliness bit at him, making him grind his teeth.

He began to unfasten his pants hastily. He shoved his trousers down his thighs and peeled his boxer briefs down over his erection. He paused while rolling on the condom a moment later when he noticed her huge eyes fixed on his cock.

She was afraid of him.

“It’ll be all right. I’ll go slow,” he assured, whisking the tight rubber down farther over the shaft.

“Let me touch you,” she whispered.

He froze, fisting the base of his cock. It throbbed and twitched in his hand at the unexpected sweetness of her request. He graphically pictured her doing what she requested, the agony of feeling her fingers on him, her lips, her tongue—

“No,” he said more harshly than he intended. Regret lanced through him when he saw her startled expression. “I have to be in you now,” he said more quietly. “I must. I’ve waited so long. Too long.”

She just nodded her head, her large, dark eyes glued to his face. He kicked off his shoes, removed his socks, and stepped out of his pants. His shirt was a burden. He unbuttoned it, but he couldn’t keep his gaze off her spread thighs and glistening pussy. He was too crazed to remove the garment all the way. He came down over her, his knees near the bottom corners of the wide chaise, his hands just above her shoulders. He knew he should put his knees between her open thighs, but something made him spread around her, planting his legs outside of hers, completely encompassing her.

So beautiful . . . and his for the taking.

“Reach for the back of the chaise,” he directed.

She looked confused by his request but followed his direction nonetheless, her acquiescence making his cock throb where it hung between his thighs, heavy . . . burning. When her arms were above her head, gripping the roll of the back of the lounge, he gave a small grunt of satisfaction.

“I would like to restrain you, but since I can’t here, you must keep your arms behind you, do you understand?” he asked tensely.

“I would rather touch you,” she said, the movement of her dark pink lips enthralling him.

“I would much rather you did as well,” he assured grimly, taking his cock into his hand. “And that is why you will keep them above your head at all costs.”

* * *

She was finding it difficult to take a full breath, lying there, gripping desperately onto the wood rim of the chaise, staring up at the very image of primal male beauty. She wanted to touch Ian so much, but instead stared in rapt fascination as he touched himself. He slid his palm along the thick shaft in preparation to enter her. Her vaginal muscles clenched tight in arousal and anxiety. He looked so large, so heavy, so ripe with his desire.

At the last second, he seemed to reconsider and released his cock. It hung heavily between their bodies. He reached for the silk bra and opened the front clasp. Fresh liquid heat surged at her sex when he peeled the cups back, baring her breasts. She saw his cock twitch in the air.

“Venus,” he said roughly, a small smile quirking his mouth. She waited, her breath held in her lungs, hoping he’d touch the exposed, tingling skin of her breasts and the prickling nipples, but he didn’t. Instead, he grasped his penis again. Pushing one of her knees back to open her farther for him, he pressed the head of his penis against her slit. She bit her lip to stifle a cry. He grunted—whether in arousal or dissatisfaction she couldn’t say—when he flexed his hips and the tip of him slid inside her.