Leaning into her, he whispered, ‘Say it, Bridget. Say the words.’
‘I want you, Connor.’ She pushed against him again.
‘Where, baby? Tell me where.’ He stroked her slit with his shaft, parting the slick folds and teasing her with the lightest of pressure.
‘In me, Connor. Please.’ She all but growled at him; the tension in her belly was growing. Her skin felt tight and a light sheen of perspiration broke out along her skin.
‘Tell me what I want to hear, Bridget. Tell me to fuck your sweet pussy. I want you to say it. Let your inhibitions go, baby.’ His voice was rough, guttural, and she quivered at the urgency she heard in it.
She mewled in frustration. She wanted him inside her in a way she’d never experienced with any man. Especially since her rape. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, but he stopped her.
‘Uh-uh.’ He pressed forward, the tip of his cock teasing her entrance. ‘Look at me and give me the words. You have to own this, Bridget. Trust me.’
Understanding broke over her in that moment. He was right. She did have to own this act, this moment, these words. It was her body, it was her choice. She had to do more than hint and imply.
Meeting those beloved grey eyes in the mirror, she said, ‘Fuck me, Connor. Fuck my pussy. Now.’
He pulled back and gently, oh-so-gently, he began to slide into her. Rocking in short, even strokes until finally he was fully seated. He gave her time to adjust to the light burn and stretch of him inside her.
She watched him in the mirror. The flex of his hips and the play of his stomach muscles was fascinating and seeing him moving inside her while feeling him pulse and ripple along her vaginal walls was almost surreal. She needed more though. She needed him to move. To possess her. To bring her to the completion she could feel hovering just outside her reach.
As if reading her mind, he began to move. His hands gripped her hips and he set up a slow, easy rhythm, pulling out almost completely and plunging back in.
Bridget stopped trying to catalogue her feelings and simply went where they took her, demanding, ‘Harder. I won’t break!’
He gave her no resistance and fucked her harder, deeper. Cupping her breasts and tweaking her nipples until her own moans verged on screams. Every time she closed her eyes, he said, ‘Watch!’
She marvelled at the sight they made. Her lips were swollen, as were her breasts. Her nipples were hard and berry-red from his play. They jutted proudly from her body even as her full breasts swung and jiggled with each impalement of Connor’s cock.
Her hair tumbled down around her face and her eyes were sleepy with sex and lust. She looked like a woman in the throes of passion. Connor had the intent look of a man on a mission. His face was hard with lust and pleasure. He towered over her, making her feel both dominated and yet safer than she’d ever felt. Together they looked sexy and uninhibited.
As the image of them joined in passion seared itself onto her brain, he reached down and stroked her swollen clitoris, sending her into an orgasm the likes of which she’d never experienced. Pleasure pounded through her veins, burning through her, causing her to scream in agonised ecstasy. She felt Connor pound into her before finally holding deep, spilling himself inside her.
Her last thought before losing herself completely to the vortex of ecstasy he’d wrought upon her was that, just maybe, she was no longer broken.
Chapter Twenty
Bridget woke to the tantalizing aromas of breakfast and felt her heart squeeze. She couldn’t remember any of her former boyfriends cooking for her.
Boyfriend! That thought drove the last vestiges of sleep right out of her mind. Is that how she was thinking of Connor now? It was definitely further along than she’d been intending so early in their association, but after last night, she couldn’t deny her feelings went deeper than mere physical chemistry.
She rolled onto her back and stretched languidly. Her body still tingled and was luxuriously sore in all the right places. Connor had been perfect.
They had been perfect.
It had been so intense and rough, but she’d never crossed the line. She giggled in excitement at the realisation that she could actually have it all. A man with whom she could let down her guard enough to experience more than physical copulation and who didn’t ask for more than she was willing to give.
But what was she giving him? She hadn’t even told him about Whittier.
Doubt threatened to crush her glow and she shoved it away. She may have deepening feelings for Connor, but they’d made no promises or commitments to each other. She was entitled to her privacy.
Flipping onto her side, Bridget snuggled into the covers and inhaled Connor’s scent from the sheets. Just the smell of him excited her. So much of this was new to her. Or at the very least, if it had been like this with Doug, she didn’t remember.
Connor was fast becoming a human aphrodisiac. Seeing him, touching him, smelling him all made her want to take him straight to bed. Yes, she still slipped perilously close to the edge with him as well. He made her feel so secure. As if everything was acceptable, and she had to catch herself in those moments. It just wasn’t worth the risk in her opinion.
Especially not now, when last night had proven they could have fantastic sex without delving into any of the areas that she was ashamed of.
She bit her lip and smiled as she remembered his reaction to Victor’ creation. He’d definitely loved it, just as Claire had predicted. And if she remembered correctly, there was a sweet little purple teddy with matching panties hanging in her closet.
Connor would love that.
With a grin, she scrambled out of bed and went to dress for her man.
Connor grimaced as he scraped the burnt pancake off the griddle and into the trash. His mind wasn’t where it should be. Rather than concentrating on cooking breakfast, his thoughts strayed back to last night.
He had no right to be frustrated. No right to be dissatisfied. But, damn it, her walls were still firmly in place. Sure, she was making an effort, but it was like getting a drop of water when you really needed a full cup. Rather than slaking your thirst, that drop only made you crave more.
His thirst had grown exponentially after last night.
They’d been right there. He could feel her desire for more. To go further. Deeper. Then, he’d felt her shut it down. He’d wanted to scream his frustration last night, but how fair would that have been when she’d already given more than she had before?
Every time they were together, it was like making love to her through a barrier of shrink wrap. He could feel her, see her, but not truly connect with her. It frustrated him beyond belief, especially because it was good between them. Real good. He should be content. But he wanted more. He wanted all of her. Not the neatly packaged Bridget she was giving him. He wanted her wild, down and dirty, and screaming his name as she demanded even more.
He took a deep, shuddering breath and willed himself to relax. It was too soon for that, but he was finding it harder and harder to refrain both from acting and from confronting her on it.
When he’d woken in bed next to her, he’d had an overwhelming need to fuck her blind. To do all the things he’d dreamed and fantasised about. His hands had literally itched to spank the creamy skin of her ass. He’d imagined putting clamps on her nipples and making her come while he tugged on them.
When temptation had morphed into desire, he’d gotten out of bed, determined to cook breakfast on the erroneous notion that the mundanity of the chore would dampen his lust while also serving as a nice surprise for Bridget. And it would have worked if he could have kept his mind off his fantasies.
They could be so good together if she would just –
Ah hell, Connor. You need to slow your roll, he told himself. You two are still getting to know each other. Relax.
With a deep sigh, he rolled his head on his neck to dispel the tension growing there and focused on cooking.
