Since I Saw You (Because You Are Mine #4)(9)
Author: Beth Kery

He snarled in barely leashed restraint and secured his hold on her wrists. He transferred to her other sweet breast, keeping her immobile for his ravening mouth by cupping her rib cage with one hand and pressing her wrists down into the pillow. After he’d sucked and laved at her nipple until it grew tight and distended and her desperate cries told him how sensitive the flesh had become, he transferred his mouth to the sides of her heaving ribs.

“Please . . . Kam,” she whispered frantically when he opened his mouth and scraped the skin covering her ribs. A shudder ran through her, delicate and delicious as the rest of her. His tongue ran over her skin, feeling the slight bumps his caresses had raised. He released his hold on her torso—it excited him how much of her trembling body he could hold with even one hand—and ran it over the mound between her thighs. She parted her legs immediately, and he looked into her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her pink mouth a parted invitation as she panted shallowly.

Fuck.

It was as much a curse as it was an order from the primitive part of his brain.

“You want it now, ma petite minette? You want it fast and hard?” he muttered roughly through clenched teeth.

“Please,” she repeated, this time soundlessly.

He fell on her, ravaging her mouth. So sweet. So responsive. His hand moved, pulling up the edge of her skirt, fingers skimming across smooth, taut thighs partially covered in cool, smooth, clingy material. Arousal spiked through him and he lifted his head, staring downward. Jesus. She was wearing some kind of lacy, thigh-high stockings that were nearly as pale and soft as her skin. His cock lurched at the vision she made. Frenchmen were supposedly used to women in luxury lingerie, but the women Kam bedded usually weren’t the type to wear such refined, feminine, frilly things—or to afford them, for that matter.

Spellbound, he moved his hand over her silk-covered mound. He felt her heat and jerked the pretty panties downward roughly. A groan scored his throat when he touched her. She was smooth here, too. Warm, sleek, and creamy. He dipped the ridge of his forefinger between shaved labia. Desire had softened and plumped her flesh. He leaned down and ate her aroused cries. She strained against him and writhed when he inserted a finger into her clasping vagina.

He lifted his head, his breath sounding ragged as he stimulated her and met her gaze. A primitive pulse pounded in his swollen cock, demanding he act. She was going to squeeze him until he didn’t know his own name. She was going to wring him until he was an ecstatic, rutting savage.

Something hit him like a dull thud to the gut.

“I don’t have a condom,” he ground out, the harsh reality penetrating his rabid lust. He always brought condoms when he planned to be with a woman, but it wasn’t part of his normal routine to carry one around. He was used to living in isolation in the country.

None of this—from the glittering city to these new clothes to this stunning woman beneath him who had been both what he expected and drastically different—remotely resembled his typical life.

She lifted her head slightly and glanced at the bedside table where he’d tossed the hairpins. “There,” she said.

Caught between the choice of continuing to bind her wrists or remove his hand from her slippery, tight pussy, he let go of her wrists and strained toward the table, whipping open the small drawer. His hand moved over items in blind desperation.

“Merde,” he muttered under his breath, forced to remove his hand from paradise in order to eventually achieve even more sublime raptures. He scooted up on the bed, peering into the drawer. He shoved aside a small bottle of lotion, a jar of lip emollient, a couple of elastic headbands, some pens, and what appeared to be several carefully dried and pressed purple lotus flowers inserted into a plastic sleeve. He finally spied an unopened box of condoms.

Her palm cupped his cock from below. She slid it along the shaft, as though testing his weight. He hissed and clamped his eyes closed as she closed her fingers around him, her touch even through his clothing thundering through him. He felt huge in her small, stroking hand, heavy . . . hurting.

He snarled and reached for the offending hand. The sweet one.

“I’m going to come in my pants if you keep that up,” he uttered harshly. He focused on her face with effort. “Put your hand back above your head and keep it there, mon petit chaton. I’m not going to be exploding anywhere but deep inside you.”

•   •   •

Lin tried to control her ragged breathing as she followed his instructions and placed her hands above her head, resting them on the pillow. She failed. Panting, she watched him as he impatiently shucked off his jacket and shirt. There was a good amount of dark hair on his chest, but it didn’t hide smooth skin and flexing muscle. He came down on his hip on the bed and unfastened his jeans. She’d held his cock in her hand, felt his weight and heat throbbing against her sex.

Her heart began to race in her breast as adrenaline poured into her veins.

He unceremoniously jerked the jeans down his hips and over long, muscled hair-sprinkled thighs, his taut abdomen and powerful biceps flexing hard. His fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pulled them forward over his bulging genitals. He yanked downward.

His naked cock flipped onto his belly—desire-swollen, flagrant . . .

. . . indescribably beautiful.

Her lips parted. Her breath froze.

He ripped open the condom package and began to roll it down over his erection. She leaned up slightly to better see him, using her elbows to brace her, curious . . . hungry. The head was a succulence from which she couldn’t unglue her gaze, a firm, flushed, and noticeably delineated crown to the long, thick staff. He cursed when the condom ran out with several inches to go to his testicles, covered by dark hair.

The prophylactic wasn’t long enough.

“Is it okay?” he asked roughly, glancing up in her direction.

She nodded, unable to speak. It was like some pagan god of virility had landed in her bed, when before she’d witnessed only mortals.

He grunted softly at her permission. “Put your hands back,” he prodded gently. While she followed his instructions, he lifted her skirt all the way to her waist. He rolled between her legs, and she opened her thighs to accommodate him. She bit her lip, anticipation cutting at her from the inside out, when he came down over her, bracing his body with a hand on the mattress. His other hand captured his suspended cock.

She exhaled the air she’d been holding in her lungs when he used the bulging head of his cock to rub between her labia, wetting the tip with her juices, stimulating her clit. She moaned and watched him as he stared between her thighs, moving his cock, finding her slit unerringly.