A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,111

eyes. She was still mad at him, but she wanted him, all the same. Good.

“Did it make you jealous to think of me putting a baby inside her, Honey? Did you think of me doing the things to her body that I now do to yours?”

Her eyes grew so round he was honestly surprised they didn’t roll out of her head. Despite her shock—and wrath—her pupils flared, until only a thin silver ring surrounded the black.

It didn’t matter how she answered his questions, her eyes gave her away.

Ah, I’ve got you, my love.

You’re a bad man, Simon.

Yes, he was.

She shook her head, sputtering. “You—You arrogant bastard.”

Simon laughed and took his engorged cock in his hand, giving himself a few pumps, amused and aroused by the way her eyes could not look away.

“Why is that arrogant, darling? I would be foaming at the mouth if I thought some other man had put a child in your belly.” He narrowed his eyes, nostrils flaring, a dangerous yet erotic cocktail swirling in his stomach at the infuriating thought. “It incenses me to think of another man even touching you. I’d want to hunt down such a man and rip out his heart.”

Her jaw dropped.

“But strangely,” he said musingly, still stroking his slickening shaft, “It also makes me ferociously hard.”

A sound of strangled disbelief slipped from her lips.

Simon smiled and then thrust hard into his fist, displaying his full length and girth for her like an animal in rut. “It seems that jealousy is an ugly emotion with some surprisingly beneficial side-effects.” He jerked his chin at her. “How about you? Are you wet, Honey? I’ll bet you were swollen and soaking for me before I even entered your room.”

She drew herself up like a queen. “How dare you—”

“Show me.”

“I most certainly will n—”

“Do you wish me to leave?” he asked. “You need only say the word. I will never touch you without your permission.”

Her eyes blazed as a titanic battle raged inside her.

“Tell me that you want me or I’m walking out that door.”

“Don’t go.” The words were explosive and harsh—almost feral, as if somebody had tortured them out of her lungs.

Simon strode to the bed, grabbed the blankets, and jerked them off her body.

She gasped, trying to scoot backward, but there was nowhere to go; she was already up against the headboard.

He eyed her prim nightgown with dislike; it was old and ugly and prudish. He took the hem with both hands and yanked.

The riiiiiiip that cut through the silence enflamed him and made her yelp.

“You tore it,” she accused in a breathy voice as Simon took the two halves, which were open over her belly, and gave another vicious yank that went all the way up to the high neck.

“I bought you pretty nightgowns and I expect you to wear them for me,” he said in a lust-roughened voice. “Or better yet, wear nothing at all.” He grabbed her hips and pulled her down the bed before kneeling between her thighs and shoving her legs wide.

Simon thrust two fingers into her tight passage and she cried out, her hips bucking.

He grunted like the animal he was; her wet heat made his head spin.

“I make you this way,” he accused, lifting his glistening fingers, holding them up for her stunned gaze, and then putting them in his mouth, licking them clean.

She clutched at her throat with a shaking hand, her mouth gaping with shock.

Simon smirked, dropped his damp fingers, and slowly lowered his body between her thighs. “Watch me while I make you come.”

Honey’s gaze followed him, the look in her eyes making him ache painfully

“I think of you all day long,” he said harshly. “You interrupt my thoughts—smashing and scattering them, until I am nothing but a moony-eyed fool for you. You keep me hard and wanting and I can scarcely think of anything but being deep inside your delicious body.”

Honey bit her lower lip, the corners of her mouth curling ever so slightly.

“Ah, you like what you do to me.”

She didn’t demur.

“You witch,” he hissed, parting her folds and thrusting his tongue into her.

Their groans blended into a primitive rumble of need.

Simon laved from her core to her pearl, her eyelids fluttering as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

“Who do you belong to?” he demanded when she began grinding and bucking against his face.

Her eyes were lust-drunk and she was panting, her pale torso passion-splotched.

“Who?” he snarled.

“You, Simon. I belong to you.”

“Mine,” he growled, lowering his mouth and showing