Jane Porter – Rumours: The Dishonoured Copelands: The Fallen Greek Bride (The Disgraced Copelands) / His Defiant Desert Queen (The Disgraced Copelands) / Her Sinful Secret (The Disgraced Copelands) (страница 18)
“Would you have been able to let go more? Enjoyed the sex without guilt?” he added, biting her tender earlobe, his teeth sharp, even as he wedged his thigh deeper between her knees, parting her thighs wider so that she felt like a butterfly pinned against the wall.
“There was no guilt,” she choked, eyes closing as he worked his thigh against her in a slow maddening circle. He was so warm and she was so wet and she knew it was wrong, but she wanted more, not less.
His teeth scraped across that hollow beneath her ear and she shuddered against him, thinking he remembered how sensitive she was, how her body responded to every little touch and bite and caress.
“Liar.” He leaned in closer, his knee grinding and his hips pressing down against her hips, making her pelvis feel hot and yet hollow, and the muscles inside her womb clench. “You liked it hot. You liked it when I made you fall apart.”
And it was true, she thought, her body so tight and hot and aching that she arched against him, absolutely wanton. There was no satisfaction like this, though, and she wanted satisfaction. Wanted him. Wanted him here and now. Wanted him to lift her tunic and expose her breasts and knead and roll the tight, aching nipples between his fingers. He’d made her come that way before, just by playing with her nipples, and he’d watched her face as she came, watched every flicker of emotion that crossed her face as he broke her control….
If only he’d peel her clothes off now, if only she could feel his skin on her skin, feel him in her, needing the heat and fullness of him inside her, craving the pleasure of being taken, owned, possessed—
Morgan’s eyes flew open.
Owned?
Visions of her months at McLean Hospital filled her head and it dragged her abruptly back to reality. She had to be smart. Couldn’t destroy herself again. Never wanted to go back to McLean Hospital again.
The very memory of McLean was enough for her to put her hands on his chest and push him back, and she pushed hard, but he didn’t budge and all she felt was the warm dense plane of muscle that banded his ribs, and the softness of his cashmere sweater over the dense carved muscle.
“Get off,” she panted, pushing harder, putting all of her weight into the shove but Drakon was solid, immoveable. “I’m not a toy, Drakon, not here for your amusement.”
His hand snaked into her hair, twisting the dark length around his fist, holding her face up to his. “Good, because I’m not amused.”
“No, you’re just aroused,” she answered coldly, furious with herself for responding to him with such abandon. So typical. So pathetic. No wonder her family had locked her up.
He caught one of her hands and dragged it down his body and between their hips to cup his erection. “Yes,” he drawled, amber gaze burning, “so I am.”
She inhaled sharply, her fingers curving around him, clasping his thick shaft as if measuring the hard length, and it was a terrible seductive pleasure, touching him like this. She remembered how he felt inside her—hot, heavy—and how the satin heat of his body would stretch her, stroke her, hitting nerve endings she hadn’t even known she had.
Curiosity and desire warred with her sense of self-preservation, before overriding her common sense.
Morgan palmed the length of him, slowly, firmly running her hand down his shaft and then, as if unable to stop herself, back up again to cup the thick, rounded head. She’d never thought a man’s body was beautiful before she’d met Drakon, but she loved every muscle and shadow of his body, loved the lines and the planes and the way his cock hung heavy between his muscular legs. He was such a powerfully built man, and yet the skin on his shaft was so smooth and sensitive, like silk, and the contradiction between his great, hard body and that delicate skin fascinated her.
But then he fascinated her. No, it was more than that, more than fascination. It was an obsession. She needed him so much she found it virtually impossible to live without him.
“You want me,” he said. “You want me to peel your trousers and knickers off and take you here, on these steps, don’t you?”
Fire surged through her veins, fire and hunger and shame. Because yes, she did want him and her orgasms were the most intense when he pushed it to the edge, making every touch into something dangerous and erotic. “You do like to dominate,” she answered breathlessly.
He tugged on her hair, and it hurt a little, just as he’d intended, making her nipples harden into tight, aching buds even as she stiffened against him, her body rippling with need.
“And you do like to be dominated,” he rasped in her ear.
SHE SHOVED AWAY from him and this time he let her go and Morgan ran the rest of the way up the stairs, racing back to her room, his voice echoing in her head.
Morgan barely made it to her bed before her legs gave out, the mocking words making her absolutely heartsick, because he wasn’t completely wrong. Part of her did like it. It was sexy … hot … exciting.
But she shouldn’t like it. It wasn’t politically correct. She couldn’t imagine her mother approving. Not that she wanted to think about her mother and sex at the same time … or even about sex in general since she wasn’t going to be having sex anytime soon and God help her, she wanted to.
She wanted to be ravished. Stripped. Tied up. Taken. Tasted. Devoured—
Oh, God, she was mad, she was. What sane woman wanted to be ravished? What kind of woman ached to be tied up and taken? Tasted?
What was wrong with her?
Before Drakon she’d never had these thoughts. She’d never imagined that sex could make one feel absolutely wild. She’d never dreamed that desire could be an uncontrollable fire that made one lose all perspective … as well as one’s reason….
But desire was an inferno, and she felt absolutely consumed by need now. Lying facedown on her bed, her body ached with need. Her skin burned, her senses swam. Every muscle in her body felt taut and every nerve ending far too tight. She wanted relief, craved release, and the fact that she couldn’t have it made the aching emptiness worse.
Morgan buried her face in a pillow and knotted her fists and screamed. And screamed some more.
She wanted him. She wanted him, wanted him, wanted him and he could give her what she wanted, too. He’d do it. He’d do anything she wanted and yet it was wrong. They weren’t together, they hadn’t been together in years, and she couldn’t use him to scratch an itch … no matter how powerful the itch.
And yet, oh, God, her body ached and throbbed and she felt wild … hot and tense and so very raw.
Dammit. Damn him. Damn that kiss in the stairwell. Damn this terrible incredible unforgettable chemistry.
It wasn’t right to want him this much still. Wasn’t fair to still feel so much, either, especially when she knew how bad he was for her, how very destructive. She couldn’t blame him entirely. The doctors said the problem was hers … that she didn’t have proper boundaries. She didn’t have a clear or strong sense of self and the only way she’d achieve a strong, mature sense of self was by leaving Drakon….
As if it were that easy.
Just leave him. Forget him. Forget he ever existed.
And now he was downstairs, so intense and real, so physical, so sensual, so fiercely beautiful.
Morgan beat the bed with her fist, maddened by the futility of her desire. Blood drummed in her veins, need coiled tightly, hotly in her belly, and her entire body ached with emptiness. How could emptiness throb and pulse? How could emptiness burn? But it did. And she felt wild and furious and frustrated beyond reason.
If only she could go to him, and beg for him to help her, beg him to give her release. Beg for pleasure.
She’d happily crawl for him, crawl to him, if it meant that he could tame the beast inside her … that voracious hunger that made her feel too wild, too frantic, too much.
Drakon stood just inside the doorway of Morgan’s suite and watched her beat her fist against the bed, her dark hair gleaming, her tunic riding high on her thighs, the soft fabric clinging to the firm, rounded curves of her hips and butt.
She had a gorgeous butt, and it made him want to spank her, restrain her, knowing it’d arouse her, make things hotter, make her wet and anxious and hungry for him.
And then he’d make love to her.
With his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, his hands, his cock. He loved the softness of her skin and the scent of her, the way she blushed, the way her tongue traveled across the bow of her upper lip and the way she’d squirm beneath him, her slim body arching, her hips grinding up to meet his, her legs opening for him.
“Undress,” he said, his voice pitched so low it sounded like a growl.
Morgan swiftly sat up, eyes enormous in her face, cheeks flushed.
“Do it,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.
Her lips parted in silent protest and yet he knew she was tempted, seriously tempted, because she wanted the same thing he did—excitement, pleasure, release.
“And what?” she whispered, her tongue darting to her lower lip, moistening it.