Bound by Their Scandalous Baby Page 8

  ‘I stayed away from you, dammit,’ he growled, bending to press his face into her hair and skim his lips under her ear. ‘Precisely so this wouldn’t happen.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, because she could hear the edge of anger, although she wasn’t sure what she was apologising for.

  Her pulse battered her neck with the force and fury of a jackhammer.

  He wanted her too. She hadn’t imagined it.

  Taking a deep breath in, he nuzzled the sensitive flesh beneath her chin, then finally found his way to her mouth.

  She opened for him on a gasp of need, her legs giving way as his tongue explored and exploited, capturing her sobs. The hard length pressed against her belly, growing thicker and longer while the kiss became carnal and possessive.

  Callused hands cradled her cheeks as he lifted his head, her panting breaths matched by the rasps of his. Those dark eyes searched her face, the intensity searing her skin and making the heat between her thighs go molten.

  ‘Why did you come?’ he asked.

  She wanted to tell him she’d come for Nico. But in that moment the longing inside her was so huge it obliterated everything else. So she told him the truth. Or at least the part of the truth that couldn’t hurt her.

  ‘Because I want to make love to you.’

  I want you to show me how. I want you to be my first.

  As the thought entered her consciousness, she convinced herself that was all this was.

  He choked out a harsh laugh, touched his forehead to hers, his hands roaming down to capture her backside and drag her more firmly against the thick bulge under his towel.

  ‘I don’t make love, Bronte. If that’s what you want, you’re looking in the wrong place.’ The words were filled with a brittle conviction that made complete sense to her in that moment. This yearning for him wasn’t emotional—it was physical. It was about finally giving in to the insane sexual chemistry which had been there from the first moment he’d touched her.

  ‘It’s just an expression,’ she murmured, letting her hands flatten against the warm skin of his abdomen. The muscles bunched and shuddered as she explored the firm flesh.

  The surge of power was sweet and unprecedented, sweeping away the last of her fears and insecurities. Why couldn’t she have this? Why did it have to mean anything?

  Snagging her wrist, he headed towards the bedroom suite. He shut the door behind them and leaned back against it as she stood in the centre of the room.

  He folded his arms over that magnificent chest. ‘Prove it.’

  ‘Prove what?’ she said as she wrapped her arms around herself, the insecurities flooding back. Could he see how inexperienced she was, how unsure?

  His head ducked, taking in her clothing. ‘Show me this is what you want. Show me it’s just sex,’ he murmured, his voice so rough it felt like sandpaper scraping over every inch of exposed skin. ‘Take off your clothes for me, Bronte.’

  A violent tremble racked her body at the demand. She’d never undressed in front of any man before. But with the apprehension came the insistent well of desire. And she forced herself to unlock her arms, to stand proud.

  He was challenging her, deliberately trying to frighten her off. Trying to take the power back that she’d seized moments before—trying to control her and the hunger between them. Her gaze fixed on the huge bulge, the towel now tented at an obscene angle.

  His need was something he couldn’t disguise. She forced herself to fix on that, and the clenching in her sex, the visceral desire to feel that powerful length inside her and not the fear demolishing her confidence.

  She squeezed her trembling fingers into fists and shrugged off her jacket. Gripping the hem of her T-shirt, she dragged the cotton over her head and dropped it on the floor. Her skin tightened, the whisper of sensation becoming a roar as her breasts swelled and throbbed, the tips now painfully erect.

  ‘Don’t you dare stop,’ he said, the demand edged with desperation.

  So what if he’d dated supermodels? He was focused on her now. That intense gaze raked over sensitive flesh, the fight for control he was waging making her feel invincible.

  Her muddy jeans and boots and the white sports bra probably wasn’t the most seductive outfit, but his husky groan of encouragement spurred her on.

  She fumbled with the buttons on her jeans and inched them down her hips. But as the denim snagged on her knees she realised too late she still had her boots on.

  She fumbled and pushed at them. But she was stuck fast. Embarrassment scorched her insides. Who was she kidding? She didn’t know what the heck she was doing, and now he would know that too...

  But instead of laughing at her, or calling her out for being the fraud she was, he stalked towards her.

  ‘To hell with this,’ he snarled. ‘I can’t wait any longer.’

  Pushing her back onto the bed, he yanked at her laces, then tugged her boots and jeans and panties off with feral efficiency. The towel dropped away as he climbed on top of her, his big body pressing her down into the mattress, the turgid erection brushed against her thigh. Droplets of water from his hair touched her breasts. The snap as her bra released echoed against the rasps of her breathing.

  Her fingers dived into the damp silky locks of his hair as his tongue flicked over one turgid nipple. She arched into his mouth, her body begging for more. As if he could read her mind, he captured the peak with his lips, the strong suction sending heat spiralling into her already wet and willing sex.

  She bucked off the bed, soaring as blunt fingers found her slick folds. She sobbed. The feel of his fingers stretching her, driving her, his thumb circling, teasing, torturing.

  Her nails scored down his back. It was too much. And yet not nearly enough.

  ‘Please...’ she moaned, scared to let go yet desperate to feel him there. Everywhere.

  Sensation swelled and peaked—eddying out in undulating waves—as he finally found the heart of her with his thumb. She floated for one precious moment in a sparkling dream. Then crashed to earth, the glorious pleasure breaking over her.

  He swore, and she could hear her own desperation of moments before in the fierce tone. Rolling her over, he drew her up on her knees. Like a rag doll, her will no longer her own, she allowed herself to be positioned, too drunk on afterglow to care as his muscular forearm banded round her waist and the huge head of his penis nudged her sex from behind.

  She tensed against the thick invasion as he pressed into her—slowly, surely, relentlessly, butting against the tiny barrier, he surged past it.

  She cried out, the brutal pleasure turning to stretching pain. He was too big—she could feel every inch of him, lodged so deep inside her, the staggered breaths tearing at her chest.

  His arm tightened around her midriff, his breathing harsh against her neck as he stilled. ‘Bronte, what the—?’ His grunt of shock was both raw and accusatory. ‘Are you a virgin?’

  She bit down on the urge to lie and deny it. It was pointless being ashamed of her inexperience now. ‘Not any more.’

  He swore, and she got the opinion he didn’t much appreciate her joke.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he demanded, still lodged inside her.

  Her sex clenched and released, trying to bring back the glorious oblivion that had felt so good only moments before, but now made her feel overwhelmed, impaled.

  ‘Because it was none of your business,’ she said, wanting to sound tough, but the quiver in her voice was a dead giveaway.

  ‘Am I hurting you?’ he asked, moving his hand up to brush the hair away from her face.

  She turned into his palm, not wanting him to see how overwhelmed she felt. ‘No,’ she said, wanting to mean it.

  ‘Don’t lie,’ he murmured.

  His hand caressed her cheek, then slid down to cradle her breast. He kissed the back of her neck while he t
oyed with the nipple. The light, teasing pressure sent ribbons of sensation shuddering down to her tender core.

  ‘Maybe a little,’ she admitted, the brusque show of tenderness even more excruciating than the interrogation.

  His hand left her breast and slid down to her sex. She groaned, the ribbons of sensation sparking through her body as he found the tight bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

  She shuddered, her sex clasping hard now, massaging his penis.

  ‘Better?’ he asked, the strain in his voice matching her own.

  ‘Yes,’ she moaned. Her hips moved forward now, releasing the immense pressure, but then rocked back in a dangerous dance, her body greedy for its own destruction.

  He used his thumb to stroke her into a frenzy, his own breathing rapid and uneven, but he didn’t move, didn’t thrust. He let her control the dance. The pain receded but the discomfort remained—he still felt so large.

  But gradually the pleasure built, the ribbons becoming whips, stinging her skin, scouring her inside, forcing her towards a new ecstasy, so much more agonising but so much more intense and glorious than what had gone before.

  Finally, he began to move too, driving forward as she drove back, thrusting deeper, making her take all of him. Her mind drifted, dazed and yearning—the excruciating pleasure drawing tight—his thumb still concentrated on those traitorous nerve-endings.

  Sweat slicked her skin, the sounds basic, elemental, animalistic as they both strived to reach that impossible peak. His penis nudged a spot deep inside and she jerked, staggered by the renewed sensation, the new surge of pleasure.

  ‘There,’ he grunted. ‘That’s it.’

  And then he stroked the spot over and over again, pushing her into the maelstrom with those focused, relentless caresses.

  She charged over that final edge, crying out as the pleasure cascaded through her like a meteor shower. Shattering her.

  Hot seed exploded inside her as her muscles clamped tight, milking him. She collapsed forward and he collapsed on top of her, crushing her into the mattress, her body shuddering with the aftershocks of her climax. She felt the drawing pain as he shifted, the firm weight finally pulling out of her.

  Dazed and disorientated by the enormity of what had happened to her body, she found herself being lifted in strong arms.

  He carried her into a tiled bathroom, the glint of graphite on the surfaces in the bright light blinding her before the lights dimmed.

  Hot jets massaged her body, the scent of juniper and pine drifting around her as slick suds and firm hands soaped overused muscles and tender flesh. She bucked against his hold as he probed gently between her legs, touching, testing.

  He swaddled her in a bath sheet, but even the soft towelling felt like too much sensation on her over-sensitised flesh. Carrying her back into the bedroom, he laid her on the bed.

  ‘Wait here. I’m gonna take a shower and then we need to talk,’ he murmured.

  Talk? What was there to talk about?

  The thought paralysed her for a moment. She watched him walk back into the bathroom, heat stinging her cheeks as she noticed the livid red marks on his back.

  Did I do that?

  Light gilded the tanned musculature and the tight orbs of his buttocks as he switched the light back up to glaring in the bathroom and closed the door. Arousal surged back into her too-tender flesh, making her flinch.

  Down, girl—you’re in no condition to even consider doing that again any time soon.

  She wrapped herself in the towel, heard the water gushing from the power shower. She should get up, get dressed and leave, before he returned from the bathroom—she was too dazed right now to have a coherent conversation.

  But her limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated and her mind numb, as the events of the last half hour spun through her brain—the pleasure and the pain, but most of all the brutal intimacy.

  Her eyelids sunk to half-mast and her brain turned to mush as she tried to block out the kaleidoscope of images swirling in her head, both magnificent and terrifying.

  She’d never realised sex would be so overwhelming, so overpowering, so all-consuming. She hadn’t thought of Nico once, not since Lukas had appeared in his bedroom doorway with that excuse for a towel hooked round his waist.

  All she’d been able to think about was feeding the hunger inside her. But that wasn’t all she’d felt—there had been more to it than just the physical, and that was what terrified her most of all.

  She was still wrestling with how to deal with that brutal feeling of vulnerability when Lukas reappeared from another door—fully clothed. He glanced her way while fixing cufflinks into a white shirt. Perfectly tailored tuxedo trousers emphasised the power in his long legs, while the bedroom’s dim lighting shone on the thick waves of damp hair and the polished sheen of his loafers.

  Bronte pushed herself into a sitting position, struggling to keep the towel covering all the essential bits. The heat stinging her cheeks spread like wildfire to burn her scalp.

  One dark eyebrow lifted and a rueful smile tugged at his sensual lips. ‘Still blushing, Bronte?’

  She shook her head, not able to speak. He looked so magnificent, and so far out of her league. Had she really made love with this man? Lost her virginity to him? And what had happened to the power she’d revelled in while she was in his arms, because right this second she’d never felt more small or insignificant. Or powerless.

  He sat beside her on the edge of the bed and stroked a fingertip over her cheek, before hooking a lock of her hair behind her ear. The light, oddly possessive caress only triggered the terror crushing her chest again and the flush blazed back to life.

  He let his hand drop, and she felt a strange sense of loss.

  ‘I need to go to this dumb event. I’m late already. Does anyone know you’re here?’

  ‘Only Lisa,’ she said.

  That sceptical eyebrow rose again. ‘Is she the one who gave you the access code to my private elevator?’

  He didn’t sound annoyed, only curious, but her insides twisted with guilt.

  ‘I made her do it.’ She couldn’t bear it if Lisa lost her job over this. ‘I wanted to talk to you about Nico,’ she said, even though they both knew that was hardly the whole truth.

  ‘What about Nico?’

  ‘We got the all-clear from the hospital this afternoon. I thought you should know, seeing as you’re such a large part of his recovery.’

  The startled pleasure in his expression did nothing to ease the sharp feeling of fear and inadequacy. She didn’t want to like him. Hadn’t wanted this to mean more than sex...but somehow it did.

  ‘Hardly,’ he said. ‘But thanks for letting me know. Although I’m not sure that required a personal visit.’

  If he was teasing her it was hard to tell. As Lisa had said, he was a man capable of keeping his emotions guarded better than Fort Knox. But she thought she caught a flicker of amusement in his eyes. It gave her the courage to say what she should have said to him when she’d arrived.

  ‘That’s not the only reason I wanted to tell you in person. Nico asks about you constantly.’

  ‘Seriously?’ He sounded sceptical. ‘He’s only met me once.’

  ‘I know, but he’s got a little fixated on you.’ She ducked her head, concentrating on the wad of towelling gripped in her fingers. Nico wasn’t the only one who’d got fixated on Lukas Blackstone.

  She forced her gaze back to his. ‘You’re his only male relative. And he knows the part you played in making him well again. I can’t keep telling him you’re too busy every time he asks to see you. Eventually he’ll figure out you don’t want to visit him. And then he’ll start to wonder why. And I don’t want him to think less of himself if he does.’

  He watched her for the longest time, the knowledge in his eyes disconcerting. The flutter of panic that she mi
ght have said too much was even more so. Did he somehow know that her own father had deserted her and her sister?

  But, as much as she wanted to, she refused to relinquish eye contact under that searching gaze.

  Don’t be ridiculous! How can he know? And, anyway, this is not about you—it’s about Nico.

  ‘I’m not cut out to be anyone’s father,’ he said at last.

  He’d said something similar once before, and she’d accepted it without question then; this time she couldn’t allow herself to be deterred so easily. For Nico’s sake.

  ‘No one’s asking you to be his father, Lukas. But would it really be so hard to at least visit him occasionally? When you’re in London? It would mean so much to him. And it would let him know he’s wanted.’

  It was Lukas’s turn to look away—but not before she’d seen the uneasy expression. And forced herself to acknowledge a reality that had become blurred by their lovemaking.

  Not lovemaking. Sex.

  This was hard for Lukas. For whatever reason, he clearly didn’t want to make a personal connection with the boy whose life he’d saved. His own brother’s son. She needed to remember that, before she allowed the traitorous emotions that had crippled her once before when her father had rejected her to get out of hand again.

  He sighed and scrubbed his hands down his face but, as he did so, it drew her attention to the scar that marred his cheek.

  And the yearning she’d tried so hard to ignore, to pretend didn’t exist, made her heart lurch into her throat.

  Maybe he was invulnerable now, but he hadn’t always been.

  He checked his watch. ‘Okay,’ he said, his reluctance palpable. ‘I’ll visit the boy tomorrow morning, if you promise not to make too big a deal of it.’

  ‘I won’t,’ she said, knowing full well that Nico would make a big enough deal of it for both of them. ‘And thank you,’ she added, knowing she’d won a major concession. Maybe Fort Knox wasn’t as well fortified as it appeared.

  But before she could process that disturbing thought he added, ‘Talking of not wanting to be a father, I didn’t use a condom earlier. Is that going to be a problem?’