"Saint!' I whine.
I sense his lips curve against my melting core. He slides both of his palms up the backs of my thighs, leaving pinpricks of pure lust in their wake. He cups my butt cheeks, squeezes gently. I draw in a sharp breath, grab the back of his head and urge him closer, closer.
He slides those wicked fingers under my panties, grazes the crevasse between my arse cheeks.
I shudder. Memories of how he'd taken me there swamp me. "Please," I gasp out.
"You like that, hmm?"
I nod.
He pushes aside the fabric of my dress, then buries his face in between my legs. The hot, aching tension inside of me winds up tighter—begging, needing more, so much more. I thrust my pelvis forward, but his grip stops me. He peers up at me from under those thick eyelashes; I take in the sight of his handsome face framed between my thighs and moisture pools between my legs. "Saint," I pant, "don't stop."
"You aren't completely recovered from your episode," he replies.
"Fuck that." I toss my head.
He chuckles, " I am proving to be a bad influence on you."
"Oh, please," I frown, "I was swearing long before I met you."
"Oh?" He tilts his head and his eyes gleam. "And this?" He slips his finger up to brush my pussy.
A moan spills from my lips.
"Were you doing this as well?"
"You know I wasn't. You are well aware that you're my first."
"And your only." His gaze intensifies, "I plan to keep you so happy, so satisfied, that you'll never want for anything..."
My panties grow damper. Damn it, how can he bring me so close to the edge with simply a glance?
"Except for your orgasms, of course." His lips twist in that sneer-smirk that is so very Saint.
"Stop that," I huff.
He chuckles, "What's life without a few games between us, hmm?" He rubs his nose up my pussy lips, and even through the double layers of fabrics, his hot breath sears my delicate skin.
"Oh," I gasp, "please come inside me. I need you inside of me."
He pauses, leans back on his haunches, "I don't want to hurt you."
"What happened was a fluke," I reassure him.
"I don't want it to happen again. If something goes wrong, I swear..."
"That's why you have a helicopter stationed above, ready to rush me to a hospital, huh?" I jerk my chin upwards.
He frowns, rolls his shoulders, "Still."
"No," I shake my head. "No excuses. Please, can you make love to me?"
His blue eyes turn that dark turquoise I am beginning to recognize as the first sign when he is out of control. He firms his jaw, "You sure?"
I scowl, then release him, to shove my fingers under my dress and drag down my panties. They catch on his hands as I tug, and he releases his grip on me. I angle sideways, then shimmy the fabric down to my ankles, straighten and kick if off.
"That clear enough for you?" I ask.
A low chuckle rolls from his lips. He rises to his feet, scoops me up in his arms. Turning, he walks out of the living room and up the steps. "I never did give you the grand tour," he rasps.
"I've seen enough to know the house is beautiful."
He takes the steps two at a time. When we reach the landing, he turns into a hallway, heads toward the double doors at the end. He carries me into a large room, with a familiar four poster bed mounted on a platform.
To the right, a bank of floor to ceiling windows open out onto the sprawling slope of Primrose Hill.
"Wow," I take in the room, "You had the bed moved from the suite?"
He shuffles his feet, "It's where we first made love. I couldn't leave it behind, could I?"
OMG! That is...hot and romantic and sentimental. This man is a teddy bear inside. "I thought it came with the hotel room?"
He scrutinizes my features, "I ordered it the day after I met you at Sterling's wedding."
"Oh?" My heart stutters, "You were so confident that you were going to have me?"
"You bet," his lips curl.
And that arrogance of his? Honestly, I can't make up my mind whether to slap him or kiss him. "Guess I don't get a say in whether we're keeping it?" I pout.
"Nope." He heads for the bed, steps up on the platform, "And not in how I take you once we are in it either."
He lowers me onto the mattress—slowly, gently, his every move such a contrast to the fierceness of how we'd fucked before that I can't stop the moan that escapes me.
"Shh," he places his finger on my lips, "let me take care of you."
He steps back, unties the sash on my wraparound dress. It parts in the front. He eases it off of one shoulder, then the other. Pulls me up into sitting position, to take it off of me completely then unhooks my bra and pulls that off.
I shiver.
"You cold?"
"No... It's how you look at me...like...like..."
He steps back, rakes his gaze down my chest, to the hollow between my legs. "Like?" he prompts.
"Like you want to own me."
Color smears his cheeks, "I thought that's what I wanted too, but I was wrong."
"I don't understand."
"I want to imprint myself into every part of you, sink into you, until it's impossible to tell where you begin and where I end. I want you to think of me even when you're not aware of it. Turn to me before you have a rational thought, coil into my memories as you drift off to sleep, dream of me when you are awake..." He frowns, "I want you to be me. That makes no sense, does it?"
My lips tremble, "I think I understand."
"You do?" His eyebrows knit.
I nod, "You want to love me like you've never loved anyone before?"
"More than I love myself." He brings his lips
