“Damn it,” he growled, thrusting again, lowering his forehead to hers. “I cannot take you on a desk.”
She did not want to hear his denial. She wanted action. She wanted him. Inside her. Filling her. Nothing else mattered. She had crossed a divide. On one side lay the scattered remnants of her good intentions. On the other, freedom.
Isabella kissed him then, determined to convince him in the only way she knew how. His lips were slick, warm, furious. He angled his mouth over hers, held her face in his hands, and kissed her mercilessly, taking charge. He tasted different now, the sweetness of tea blended with the musk of her essence. She ought to have been repulsed, but she felt strangely elated instead.
Needy sounds tore from her. Her tongue danced against his. He ground into her again, and a new pressure began to build. Her legs clasped him tighter, and she arched into him. Still not enough.
He bit her lower lip, kissed her nose, her chin, her cheek. When his mouth settled on her ear, she shivered.
“I want you in my bed the first time.” His voice was hot, dark, decadent.
She kissed his cheekbone, the sharp blade of his jaw. Her fingers were in his hair now, sifting through the thick, silken strands. His scent mingled with hers, and he felt so big and strong against her body. He made her feel small and powerful all at once.
“Take me now,” she whispered.
She did not know what she was saying. Not exactly. Nor did she know the particulars of what to expect. All she did know was that she was on fire for him. Desperate for him. Only he could quell the feverish hunger.
He groaned, rolling his hips. “I cannot.”
Frustration surged, along with desire. She moved against him, rubbing herself shamelessly over his trousers. The friction only increased the ache inside her. She felt unlike herself, as if she were inhabited by a beast. A beast which could only be sated in one fashion.
She kissed his ear, then bit it, gratified when he growled. “Take me, Benedict.”
He froze. “Damn it, Isabella. I do not want to hurt you.”
“I ache,” she told him, pressing closer, seeking more. “Please.”
A guttural curse fled him. He kissed her throat, then reached between them. His fingers glanced over her, finding the tender bud that throbbed with awareness. “I will make you spend this way, with my fingers. This is how it must be, darling.”
How stubborn he was. But she was stubborn, too. Her hand traveled to the front of his trousers. The fabric was slick from her dew. He was long and thick. She grasped him.
“Isabella.” Her name was a groan on his lips. He bit into the sensitive cords of her neck.
“I want you inside me, Benedict,” she said, not knowing where the words came from. She scarcely recognized herself.
Her confession seemed to blast through the last of his determination to wait. His fingers left her, and then he undid the fall of his trousers. His manhood sprang free, hot and surprisingly smooth. She touched him for a moment, reveling in the way the breath hissed from his lungs at the contact.
He chased her hand away, dragging the blunt tip of his rod over her sensitive folds. Up and down he moved, making her quiver as he slicked her juices over himself. With his other hand, he cupped the base of her skull, raising his head to meet her gaze.
He looked as if he were in agony.
“You want this?” he asked, his voice strained.
She did not hesitate. “Yes.”
He kissed her then, long and slow and sweet as he slid the tip of his manhood lower, to her entrance. He moved. The invasion was sudden. Not entirely unexpected. But shocking all the same. He felt larger inside her, stretching her, filling her.
He broke the kiss, raising his head to stare down at her, concern and restraint evident in every tense line of his face. “Isabella? Shall I continue?”
This was different, so different than anything she had anticipated. It was so much more. “Yes.”
He moved again, slowly, another shallow thrust, lodging himself deeper. A pinch of discomfort accompanied his next thrust. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. She had known to expect pain. But the pain paled in comparison to the frenzy. She needed to answer the ache.
He kissed the corner of her lips, then worked his way to the pulse fluttering in her throat. Her heart was beating so fast, she feared it would pound out of her chest and fly away.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he commanded against her skin. “Let me in.”
She had clenched her inner muscles without realizing it. His words and the tender kiss he pressed below her ear soothed her. She relaxed, her legs opening wider. His hands found her hips, holding her still as he moved again. One deep thrust, and he was seated inside her.
All the way.
They sighed as one. His other hand slipped between their joined bodies, his fingers brushing over her swollen bud. Ruthlessly, he applied pressure there, and the bliss he had given her before rose like the waters of the Thames at high tide. Any twinges of pain she felt were chased away by the excruciating joy of him inside her, of his fingers dancing over her intimate flesh.
“Kiss me,” she begged, all her pride gone. She was still seeking, searching for more. For release.
He took her lips then, and he began to move again. Slowly, he withdrew, then thrust, then withdrew only to thrust again, striking up a new rhythm. It was a revelation. Desire careened through her, sparking from deep within and exploding everywhere. His possession of her was exquisite. He was inside her so deep, touching a part of her she had not realized existed, and she was coming apart in a new way.
In and out he slid, over
