elbows and drew her up his body, mashing his mouth to hers as she settled over him, her wet pussy stroking his cock with as much warmth as her mouth. He reached between them, aligning himself to her with shaking hands. The slippery intensity of her was intoxicating as he thrust into her.
She was so tight, so hot around him, like a glove made to fit him. She barked out a cry against his lips and immediately they moved together, hips grinding in time as if they had been made to do this. For that moment, he believed it. He surrendered to the idea that this woman had been built for him and he for her. To give her pleasure, to take her breath, to make her rock against him with insistent and building desperation.
He wanted to believe it, that she was the one for him, that he was the one for her.
Her nails dug into his chest as she sat up, riding him hard and heavy. He cupped her breasts, strumming her nipples with his thumbs as she threw back her head. Her red hair cascaded around her cheeks, her breasts, his fingers.
She came again, her body gripping him so hard that the border between pleasure and pain blurred. Tears streaming down her face, she screamed into the quiet of the room, and he took it all, mesmerized by her pleasure. In love with her surrender. Wanting this all day, all night, every night, forever.
Only when she collapsed forward onto his chest, her breath heaving, did he roll her on to her back. He moved slower then, gentle thrusts as she came down from the high. Her gaze was blurry and soft as she let her hands stroke over his skin. She lifted beneath him, the ocean of desire much calmer now. Much gentler. But still an ocean, still powerful. Control was an illusion in this moment—her body stole it from him as he took her.
The desire that had built when she sucked him rushed back, hard and heavy and tugging him closer and closer to the edge. He pulled out of the heaven of her heat and stroked himself as he came in a blur of powerful sensation and emotion she had inspired and kept inspiring. Then he collapsed over her, her arms folding around him in welcome, their sweat and their breath mingling.
God, how he loved this woman. And he would do anything in his power to keep her safe, to keep her here, to make her his. Anything.
Celeste had no idea how long she lay in Owen’s arms after they made love. It felt like a lifetime, but a blink of an eye at the same time. That was how it was with him. The moment he touched her, everything else faded away and nothing else mattered.
A dangerous proposition. And yet she didn’t pull away from it. He was like a magnet in that way. He drew her in and she made no effort to escape from his pull.
“You know there is nothing to fear, don’t you?” he whispered, threading his fingers through her hair gently.
She glanced up at him with a laugh. “Isn’t there? It seems like there is plenty so far. I am a pariah, the experience today aside. I have no money, I have no prospects. Not to mention there is a murderer on the loose.”
When he frowned, she leaned up and kissed him gently. She had thought to mention his suspicions of Abigail, but now she hesitated. What they’d shared had meant so much…she didn’t want to spoil it by stirring that pot. She needed more information. She needed to do a little work of her own before she broached that subject, it seemed.
“I’m sorry.”
“You, of all people, shouldn’t be, Owen,” she said. “Today helped. And not just seeing Harriet and Lena. This. You. You help.”
That seemed to appease him. His harsher expression relaxed, and once again she saw that glimmer of something deeper in his stare. But he hid it again. Hid whatever he felt from her as he drew her back down across his chest. “I hope so. I do try.”
“Today I could see a future for the first time in…”
She trailed off as she tried to think of the last time she had allowed herself to think about the future. God’s teeth, it had to be years, decades perhaps. Her future had never been her own, thanks to her grasping parents and her feckless husband.