Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 04

"I just wanted to kiss you...and I wanted to talk to you, and find out about you. Well...you know the rest. The rest is a fucking mess." He turned and walked away from her, his shoulders slumping, his hands gripped, white-knuckled, behind his neck, wincing at how pathetic he sounded. He knew he was confessing this to himself as much as to her.

Staring out into the darkness, he could feel her eyes on him. If only he could read her thoughts. If only he knew one thing he could say that would get through to her.

"Why do you think I made you wear the damned blindfold?" he asked her, desperate for her to respond. When silence filled the space between them he turned to see her standing there, eyes closed.

What good would this do? What good would any of this do, if she didn't want him? He had to play what few cards he had left in his hand. It was the only thing he had, and once she knew, she could decide what would happen next.

He moved to stand in front of her. Her eyes stayed closed. He braced his arms on the wall either side of her shoulders and leaned in. He filled his lungs with the sweet scent of her, his lips hovering just above hers. When he looked up from the soft curve of her mouth her eyes were open and locked on him. It was a few seconds before he found enough breath to speak. It was make or break time.

"I've...wanted to fuck you ever since I first saw you," he said, exhaling slowly. He watched her closely, saw her eyes go dark at his words. "But I sure as hell didn't want to care." He reached up, tracing the delicate arch of her dark eyebrow with his thumb. "You and your big brown eyes were a considerable danger to me." A half-laugh caught in his throat. "I actually thought if I didn't look into those eyes, I could keep some distance, you know."

He stared down at her lips, the desire to kiss her, taste her, starting to become too strong to resist. "You managed it anyway." How she'd done it...draw him in, he wondered if he would ever know.

When he spoke again, it was in a whisper, each word punctuated by a gentle brush of his lips on hers. "Blind as a new-born kitten...and you managed to crawl your way in and make me fucking care."

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't fucking breathe. He was all out of words. He couldn't go back, couldn't go forward. He could only hold himself there, his lips touching hers with the barest of caresses. Waiting, chest heaving.

Her hands moved from her sides, hesitant, but they found their way onto his bare stomach. He nearly jumped at her touch, his whole body tense, waiting for the shove. Waiting for her to push against him, push him away.

But her hands...those gorgeous small hands, made their way slowly up his stomach instead, smoothing over his chest, raising goosebumps wherever they touched his skin. He sucked a breath in through his teeth. Fuck. Then those fingers slid up his neck and into his hair, pulling him closer. Oh yes. Closer was good. Oh god, yes.

With a groan he flattened himself against her, pressing her into the wall with his body. He wanted her to feel how hard he was for her. Wanted her to know what she did to him. He wasn't kissing her gently anymore. He was devouring her mouth, his tongue seeking out hers, searching for her. She drew him in, her fingers tangling in his hair, arching her hips up against him, pulling him over the edge. She was so soft and felt so good. And she hadn't pushed him away. The relief that flooded through him was being very quickly replaced by the rising fever. He needed her, now.

He slid his hands up the smooth skin of her thighs, searching under her skirt for those damn black lace panties, pushing the skirt right up around her waist. He got a purchase on the flimsy black fabric and practically tore the garment off her, tugging it down her legs.

He didn't dare stop kissing her for a second, a crazy part of his brain thinking she might just escape him if he did. That he'd step back and she'd melt like a dream and be gone. He wasn't letting her go this time. He needed her. Needed to be inside her.

He wrestled with the fastenings on his trousers, his lips never leaving hers, gasping against her mouth when he finally freed himself. He gripped her under the arms and slid her higher, trapping her body with his, coaxing those smooth legs up around his waist. He couldn't wait. He needed to have her.

Pushing into her was like coming home. Nothing had ever felt so right. Her legs tightened around his hips as he thrust up into her, his restraint in pieces. For a blinding moment he was completely lost in the tight heat of her body. He just held her there, pinned to the wall, the weight of her wrapped around his waist only pushing him deeper inside. With a long, slow thrust of his tongue he deepened the kiss, the insistent flex of his hips mirroring his steady assault on her mouth. She moaned into his kiss, clutching at him inside and out, and he found he couldn't go slow. His next thrust was hard and deep and quick, and again, and again, utterly addicted to the new, swirling pleasure-wave of kissing her and fucking her at the same time.

The sweet friction sharpened... swirled, and he knew he was about to lose it completely, driving her back into the unyielding surface of the wall with every thrust. Stop...you must stop, said the logic. He groaned a deep mental 'No', but knew it spoke the truth. They were skin to skin, nothing between them. He slowed, though the wrestling match with his body was intense. How could he stop something that felt so perfect? But Stop, it said again, insistent.

And he did stop, leaning into her, panting, face buried against her neck. He let his lips graze the soft skin under her ear, scraped lightly with his teeth. Slowly, gently, he pulled back from her, letting her slide down the wall to the floor.

"I'm sorry...sorry..." He breathed her in, intoxicated, frustrated to the point of pain. "I couldn't stop-"

He felt her wriggle against him in protest. She hadn't wanted it to end any more than he had. "I know, I know, pet...but we need to use protection..."

He heard her disappointed sigh, felt her arch of disagreement. But when he looked up and met her eyes, there was a smile dancing on her lips as she looked up at him through lowered eyelashes.

"What do you mean?" she asked him, teasing, breathless. "You don't want our lovechild?"

He didn't know what had struck him dumb. The beauty of her, standing there looking up at him, lips swollen from his kisses, her hair tumbled softly around her face. Or the fact she was talking about having his child. The flush of heat came straight up from his belly and he just stood, gaping at her, unable to put words together.

What words couldn't say, action could, and he had her by the arms and marching back down the hall to the bedroom, methodically stripping her of her blouse, her bra, her skirt, until he tipped her backwards onto his bed completely naked. Gorgeous and naked and with that secretive little smile still on her face. She looked positively smug, and it thrilled him in some strange way. She was with him and loved this as much as he did. He watched her as she settled herself on the bed, watching him covertly as he raided his condom stash and rolled one down over his still-straining erection.

He kept his eyes firmly on her, loath to even blink in case she disappeared from him again. He approached the bed and was pleased to see her little smile waver as he held her gaze, letting her know with that look all that he intended to do with her...to her. Kneeling onto the bed he quickly had her arms trapped against the mattress, straddling her legs and pinning her beneath him. She stared up at him, lips parted, eyes dark and shining.

He just let himself look at her, taking it all in, his gaze drifting down her body. From the soft curves of her breasts to the gentle slope of her belly and the dark hair below. He wanted to taste all of her. To savour her, like a ripe exotic fruit.

His lips found the soft peak of her breast, the nipple tightening and pebbling under the steady swirl of his tongue. He suckled gently at first, then harder, his lips and tongue insistent, drawing a keening wail of pleasure from her. She fought him, her body arching, firmly trapped by his arms and legs, but he knew she would fight him even harder if he dared to stop. Lapping at the sensitive nub, biting, gently at first, then harder, he relished the surge of triumph he felt when she arched up off the bed. He held her firmly, losing himself in the feel of her, the taste of her. Hungrily, he made his way, licking, kissing, nibbling over to the other waiting breast, his appetite for the salt-sweet taste of her only growing. Revelling in the response of that lip-pink crest, suckling, creating that delicious friction over the sensitive skin with his tongue. God, she just tasted so damned good.

He reluctantly dragged his mouth from her breast, conscious that she was growing too sensitive from his assault, trailing his kisses up her neck instead. His mouth had some sort of homing device for that sweet spot on her neck. He paused, his lips and teeth just barely grazing the spot where he first marked her. Where the thread of light first penetrated through his darkness and lit up his internal sky.

"I've never bitten anyone else, you know," he murmured, whispering into her ear. He felt her soft, indrawn breath. He let his mouth settle against her skin, absorbing the rapid throb of her pulse. "I just needed to taste you...feel you. To know you'd be thinking about me every day."

He pulled back and looked down at her, filled with a new lightness, his voice mock-serious. "You did think about me every day, didn't you?"

She just groaned in response, her eyes closed, her body straining against him in frustration and need, and he chuckled.

"What?" he asked, his tone playful. "Are you wanting something...?"

"Yes!" she cried, her eyes flashing open, glaring at him.

"What's that then?"

"You know exactly what!" She continued to struggle against him despite her helpless position.

"This?" he asked, nibbling delicately along her neck.

"No!"

"Tell me..."

"Please Jarod..." she moaned.

"Please what?" He watched her, fascinated by the flush in her cheeks, the dilation of her pupils, the wild, fluttering desire that transformed his demure, dark-haired girl into a wanton.

"Please...fuck me." She whispered the words so quietly he had to strain to hear her, but they still hit him in the gut, nearly sending him right over the edge.

Oh god, did he want to. To fuck her and never stop. He flattened the length of his cock against the downy curve of her belly, closing his eyes as the sensation tore at his control. "You want this, hm?" he taunted her gently, grinding his erection slowly against her stomach, his voice as unsteady as his restraint.

She nodded, her movements becoming more frantic, her eyes glassy with need, eyelids fluttering as she struggled to focus.

He wasn't teasing though, when he kissed her. He didn't hold back, letting his lips slide over hers, his tongue seeking out the sweet recesses of her mouth. Her tongue danced with his, drawing him in, pulling him deeper.

When he finally drew back, she whimpered at him in protest, the look in her eyes vulnerable and accusing. How dare he stop, was that it? By the time he was done with her she'd be begging him for mercy, begging him to stop. Just the thought of it made his cock twitch. He wanted to hear it...hear that breathy voice of hers pleading with him. To stop, to not stop, to fuck her, to fuck her harder...

He took hold of her chin firmly, tilting it up until she looked him in the eye.

"No complaints, just do as I say."

She stared back at him, eyes wide. He watched the tip of her tongue dart out as she unconsciously licked her lips, and he knew his answering grin was a wicked one.

He released her arms and leaned over her, pulling the pillows from the head of the bed towards them. The images in his mind took shape without thought and he burned and ached to see her and feel her the way he wanted to.

"Turn over," he instructed, helping her along in his impatience, flipping her over onto her stomach before she could protest. "Up on your knees," he said, pushing the pillows towards her, gesturing that they should go under her upper body. She cautiously slid up to a kneeling position, the roundness of her sweet, swaying bottom nearly brushing up against his aching erection. Fucking, teasing little bitch, he thought with satisfaction, his gaze drifting down the curve of her back, the flare of her hips. If only she knew how goddamn lovely she looked. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to plunge himself into her right then. Not yet.

He moved up behind her on his knees, bracing himself above her, pushing her legs further apart with his, bringing their hips intimately close. She arched down under him, trembling as she adjusted to the weight of his body. As he moved, his erection slid tantalisingly against the soft skin of her inner thighs. Smooth, soft skin, the tickle of her pubic hair, a hint of slick wetness when he pressed closer. He sucked in a breath. She was so warm, her face pressed into the pillow, moaning for him. He'd barely touched her and she was already moaning in pleasure.

Leaning back to balance his weight, he circled her wrists with his hands, gripping fimly, twisting them around and back until he had her hands gathered together, pinned behind her back. He pulled, tugging until all her weight was on her knees, her only other support the pillows under her chest. She squealed in complaint at the shock of it, the tightness of the restraint, the bowing of her back. He rocked her back towards him, his knees pushing her thighs apart, her balance dictated by his hands on her wrists.

She was totally at his mercy, completely helpless. All her vulnerable places open and exposed to him. He knew that he created this for himself, a fulfilment of his desires. But he also knew that he did this for her. She begged to be pushed. Demanded to be used. The thrill of it washed over him like a prickly heat. With each liberty he took from her he could feel her arousal grow.

The urgency of the hallway, the need to have her and have her now...it drifted. He drifted, floating in that warm sea again, his desire a languid thing to be savoured, sipped. Her body was his to explore, and carefully gripping both of her wrists together in one hand he began his slow mapping of her body. Her back arched, thrusting her breasts forward. He slid his hands over them one at a time, tracing the curves, brushing his knuckles over each straining nipple, absorbing every choked whimper that shook her. The taut line of her belly filled his hand as he dragged her back against his throbbing cock. He lifted her arms up and away from her back so he could smooth his hand along the graceful curve of her spine, bent towards him in supplication.

Some distant part of his mind acknowledged what he was doing. Staking his claim. Taking possession. Did she feel it? Feel that she was becoming his? With each caresses, each touch, she belonged more to him.

He flexed his hips, sliding his erection down and underneath her, enjoying the slick friction of her along the length of his cock. God, she was so hot. So wet. And impatient. She was arching her hips up towards him with increasing frustration, begging him with her body.

He smiled, pulling her captive hands towards him, angling his hips so the tip of his cock rubbed and bumped against her clit instead, denying her what she asked for, but giving another pleasure in its place. She reacted like she'd had an electric shock, moaning and whimpering into the pillow. The frantic sounds only encouraged him to do it again, slow, teasing. So maybe he was still a bit of a bastard.

The hunger to be inside her was building again, and teasing her was beginning to be a game he was having difficulty playing. There was a heat and weight in his erection he'd never felt before. As if it was intoxicated...drugged by her juices, lost in a stupor of need.

Gathering her wrists he slid his arm around her waist, bracing himself as the tip of his cock settled against her slick entrance. He drew her back towards him with excruciating slowness, penetrating only a short way into that dark heat before pulling back with equal slowness. She writhed against his hold, wailing softly into the pillows, crying out even louder when he started his slow assault again. Again, only pushing into her a little way before dragging himself out again. He knelt over her, chest heaving with the effort it took not to just take what he wanted. She had to be ready.

This time she stopped fighting him, collapsing forward onto the pillows, her weight dragging on her arms. Her slow, sobbing breaths told him what he needed to know. With aching relief he plunged into her, deep, hard, ramming his cock into her welcoming heat, letting the thrill wash through him as she screamed her pleasure into the pillows. The bright thread of light exploded behind his eyes, competing with the red haze of need. The rest became a blur.

He took her, over and over, freely, without restraint. With every thrust she absorbed his ferocity, accepted the intensity of his onslaught. Nothing existed other than the tight heat that surrounded him, the delicate wrist he gripped in each hand, the sweep of dark glossy hair over her shoulders. Her body bent and bowed and flowed with his. They pushed each other higher, up that tensioning spiral of pleasure.

He wanted her to come with him. Wanted to feel her clench around him again in orgasm as he fell over the edge with her. Keeping her wrists held tight, he slid his hand along her hip, smoothing along the sweet indent of her waist. Lower and down under her belly, and his fingers were sliding into the wet folds at her centre, finding the little pleasure nub and swirling, circling, stroking. Her cries grew sharper, and she tightened around his thrusting cock, writhing back against him when her orgasm hit.

He was so close to the edge, the tightness pulling in from his whole body, the tension building and building and when she spasmed around him he lost his grip on her wrists. He grabbed her hips, pushing into her harder, deeper as the pleasure began to rise, began to flow and explode. He heard his rough groans mingling with her breathy cries, felt her trembling, shaking beneath him as he slowly, steadily collapsed on top of her.

Her head tossed on the pillow, her hair drifting to the side, and all he could focus on was the pale smooth skin of her shoulder. As the last surges of his orgasm ebbed, he knew he had to taste her again. Braced over her, he let his lips brush against her skin, scraping gently with his teeth before biting down, his arm encircling her waist, pressing her against him. He felt her arch, heard the whimper and the sigh.

Something completed for him. Came full circle. Reached a fullness he hadn't known could be. A swell of emotion rose through his chest and he found himself gripping her harder, tight to him, loath to let her go.

But he knew he was too heavy for her, and reluctantly rolled onto his side, dragging her with him until she was draped across his heaving chest. She lay still, her cheek pressed to his chest, as if intent on listening to the gradual slowing of his racing heart.

He stared down at her bent head, at the small hand draped across his stomach. Even with her warm body pressed against him as evidence, there was some part of him that still doubted her existence. Perfection was something he'd always held in suspicion, but he couldn't deny what he'd felt. What he still felt. He was only half of the equation, though.

She hadn't moved since he pulled her over top of him. He could tell by the occasional flutter of her eyelids that she was still awake, but he couldn't see her expression, and it was worrying him a bit. Not her reaction to the roughness of the sex, but the intensity of it. His intensity.