Because You Are Mine (Because You Are Mine #1)(34)
Author: Beth Kery

“Ah, Jesus, you’re going to try me,” he muttered.

She saw how rigid his shadowed features were, the flash of his white teeth as he grimaced. Wanting to give him relief more than anything at that moment—wild to give him pleasure—she thrust up with her hips. She yelped at the sudden stab of pain, barely noticing when Ian gave an intimidating growl and slapped the side of her hip in warning.

“Stay still, Francesca. What are you trying to do, kill us both?”

“No, I just . . .”

“Never mind,” he said, and she realized his breath was coming in erratic puffs. “Is it better now?” he asked between pants after a moment.

She realized he was referring to the pain she’d experienced. How had he known it’d been so sharp? It suddenly hit her that his penis was halfway inside her body. Her muscles stretched and thrummed around the throbbing flesh. It felt a little uncomfortable, but the sharp pain had passed.

Ian inside her. Fused to her.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she whispered, awe tingeing her tone.

She saw his throat convulse as he swallowed. He removed his hand from her knee and reached between her thighs.

“Oh,” she moaned when he began to press and rub against her clit with his thumb. He seemed to know the precise amount of friction to make her squirm in pleasure. The fullness of his embedded cock providing an upward pressure on her clitoris added another dimension of excitement.

“Stop squirming,” he grated out, his tone a mixture of exasperation, fondness, and arousal near the breaking point. His manipulations were making her burn unbearably. He pressed with his hips. His groan seemed to rip at his throat as his cock drove almost completely into her. Only enough room for his hand between her thighs remained. Pain splintered through a thick, dense sensation of pressure and pleasure as he continued to stroke her.

“Ian,” she cried out.

He thrust slightly with his hips, pressing his hand more firmly against her clit, and then bumping against it with his pelvis . . . once . . . twice. She mewled and began to shake in orgasm, her vagina clenching around him. This time, even through the waves of pleasure rushing around her, she knew that his growl was from arousal. She was still coming when he removed his hand from her pussy and braced himself with his arms. He grunted as he withdrew and sunk into her again.

“Ah, God, your pussy . . . better than I ever imagined,” he groaned almost incoherently as he stroked her again, long and hard. “The only thing better is going to be having you raw.”

She still whimpered as shudders of climax quaked her body. Ian made her tremble even more as his thrusts grew more demanding, his pelvis began to slap against hers in a demanding rhythm. He paused a moment later, fully embedded in her body, and ground his testicles against her spread outer sex. She cried out in excitement.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but you’ve been driving me mad, Francesca,” he hissed.

“You’re not hurting me.”

“No?”

She shook her head.

She sensed the tension increase in his body. He began to fuck her again, his hips driving his cock like a fluid, thrusting piston this time. She bit off a scream, but it burned in her throat. She realized he’d been restraining himself before, but he fucked her thoroughly now . . . and not just thoroughly—with a skill that stunned her. His motion was subtle and raw at once, controlled yet wild. It felt as if he beat pleasure into her, stroked her flesh to flesh until she knew she’d burst into flame any moment. She began to bob her hips in a counterrhythm, small cries popping out of her throat each time they crashed together with a sharp smacking sound of skin against skin.

“Jesus,” he groaned a moment later, sounding miserable and ecstatic at once. He shifted on the chaise, and drove into her with such force that the top of her head bumped against the back cushion. She dazedly realized he’d spread his legs entirely over the chaise and that his feet were now planted on the floor. He reared over both her and the chaise lounge and thrust, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Ian, let me let go of the chair,” she begged when he crashed into her again and again and she felt another climax looming over her just as Ian did. She longed to touch him so much.

“No,” he said tensely. He pushed off his planted feet and drove into her, grunting when their bodies smacked together. A cracking sound exuded from the chaise, but thankfully the priceless piece of furniture didn’t collapse into a heap of splinters and velvet with them on top of it. Her head bumped against the cushion, her breasts bounced high with each forceful thrust of his large body, the sensation exciting and dizzying her. He lifted a hand and reached between their bodies, opening her labia wide, before he rotated his hips, grinding his balls against her exposed outer sex, circling his engorged cock subtly against her vaginal walls. “Not until you come again, lovely.”

It didn’t really feel as if she had a choice. The pressure he’d built in her was unbearable. A cry of disbelief burbled out of her throat as bliss shook her once again. He gave a savage grunt of satisfaction and began to fuck her faster than before, letting the wildness he contained so carefully overtake him.

She cried out in protest when he withdrew his cock abruptly and pressed his knees onto the chaise, straddling her. His breath sounded ragged and erratic. She stared up at him, her climax waning in his absence, bewildered by his actions. She watched in the light from the dim emergency lighting as he used his hand to pump his cock.

“Ian?”

His groan sounded like the depth of agony, the height of bliss as he began to ejaculate. An ache opened up inside her at the sight of him spending himself while separate from her. She lowered her arms slowly, feeling stunned, helpless . . . very aroused at the vision he made.

A moment later, he dropped his hand and hunkered down over her, his muscles bunched tight, gasping for breath. She’d thought he was beautiful as he reared over her, possessing her body and soul, but he was beyond that as he knelt over her, shaking and undone by his desire.

She reached for him, sliding her hands beneath his collar and stroking his powerful shoulder muscles. A shiver went through him at her touch, thrilling her.

“Why—”

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I started to worry . . . pregnant.”

“It’s okay, Ian,” she whispered. Compassion filled her at the realization of how starkly anxious he was at the smallest chance that he would have unintentionally impregnated her. She carefully moved back the open placket of his shirt and held it behind him with one hand. With her other hand at his back, she urged him down to her gently.