Chapter Fifteen

“Yes?” he asked softly.

“Yes.”

He bent over to kiss the rise of her breasts, lingering over each to weight them in his hands, kiss the sensitive curves and even to tongue the crease underneath where she imagined she had never been touched. He paid homage to every inch, then suckled at the taut peaks of her breasts until her knees melted at the storm of longing he evoked.

She started to kneel, thinking to repay the favor and demonstrate again that she know how to please him best but Phillip held her up with a smile, his grip gentle on her arms. He shook his head and wordlessly guided her up onto the bed, arranging her at its center to lie by her side.

He kissed her but this time, it was like coming home. She could taste his need and willed him to know hers. Phillip met her every move, countering each change in her mood as smoothly as a maestro bringing a living instrument into tune.

She reached down to seize his sex, determined to guide him inside of her, unwilling to wait but he evaded her touch by capturing her wrists and drawing them up above her head.

“Raven.”

“I need you to ride me until I’m senseless, Warrick. I need—I need you to make me cry,” she whispered.

He slowly shook his head.

“I need to feel, Phillip.”

“I know, my dearest. But not through pain. No more pain today. Come back to me, let me bring you back to me.”

He slid his hand down over her belly, through the dark damp curls above her folds and found what he sought. She bucked her hips upward against his hand, her thighs parting to demand more of his touch, as if to dictate the tenor of the intrusion and lure him into roughly pressing into her, into giving her the ruthless friction she wished. But Phillip refused and instead began the lightest assault, feather soft and tender until his fingertips were coated in the slick honey of her body. He found her clit and danced over the pearl in a circular dance, even as he kissed her throat again and renewed his efforts to win her.

She resisted him at first. The slow gentle pace of his touches, the soft slide of his kisses over her skin—here was the most tender assault that didn’t allow her to silence her thoughts or numb herself to what had happened. He forced her to be present, to be still, and to allow him to simply love her.

“Faster. Harder.” Serena begged him then bit her lip at the alien sound of her own pleas.

“Shh. Wait for it, sweetling. There. Yes?”

God help her, yes! Frustration yielded to the undeniable truth that her body was not complaining of pace, pressure or the philosophy of Phillip Warrick’s approach. She’d habitually expected a rush to her own releases, familiar with the healthy pattern of her desires but this—this was new. Slow and steady was not only winning the race but it was redefining where the finish line might be…

He kept kissing her while his free hand roamed to cup her breasts, pinching and caressing them in turn to heighten her anticipation. But the fingers at her clit never stopped dancing a slow minuet against her flesh—they never shifted pace. Instead her heart began to thrum and pulse to the rhythm he dictated and once they matched up, a chasm of bliss opened at her feet.

She began to come in a molasses fall of ecstasy that mercilessly stripped her of reason. The climax’s grip was so total that Serena feared she would come apart in his arms. She cried out, a mindless keening song of joy that transported her from herself. It was all she could manage to cling to him and pray that she hadn’t bloodied him too badly when she realized that her fingernails had dug into his back.

“Oh, God. That was…impossible!” she sighed. “A bit selfish of me, don’t you think?”

“It’s not a race, dearest.” Phillip shifted up onto his elbow. “But since you’ve so generously offered…”

“W-what did I offer?”

He was up in a flash, moving her easily into position. Her resistance was a mirage, her body still shuddering from the after-effects of an orgasm she had yet to overcome. Phillip moved behind her and Serena gasped at the discovery of kneeling to be pushed over onto her elbows, a wicked offering for her lover.

The tip of his cock was molten hot and so large against her sensitive flesh that Serena squeaked in surprise but a lustful part of her began to keen again, as if the raw hunger could accept nothing less than this—than all of him.

She deliberately lifted her hips to align her body to his and readied for his thrust. It came fast and hard, her channel tighter than tight as the angle gave him the deepest access to her inner core. He filled her completely, so perfectly, she nearly wept but his withdrawal came just as quickly and Serena threw her head back to revel in the sensations.

The line between conquest and surrender blurred and was lost.

Serena took and gave, her world defined by Phillip’s cock pounding into her body, by the greedy tug of her slick channel desperately trying to hold him, by friction and thrust, by everything that connected him in a new feverish dance that neither one of them could stop.

She sat up, so that with every stroke, they moved together. Phillip was lifting her up, gripping her hips, then cupping her breasts, encircling her in his arms until her cries intensified and he knew he might have taken her too far, but he couldn’t turn back. His own need for release was too powerful.

His body tightened in a molten pitch of tension before he climaxed at last, as if electrical arcs were firing up his spine, and he jetted inside of her with a cry of his own. He was grateful that she was facing away from him, for he feared his grimace of pleasure was not exactly his best expression.

Though truly…vanity was not high on his mental list of priorities.

But if I burst into tears—God, let me keep a small shred of dignity, please.

 

Serena dropped her head, resting back onto her elbows and accidentally sending another wave of shuddering stimulation up his frame.

Phillip instantly gripped her hips to still her with a playful growl. “Don’t. Move.”

She laughed. “As you wish.”

He took a few slow and careful breaths before he could extricate himself without crying out. “Dear mother of heaven—that was…a much better way to spend an afternoon.”

She rolled on her back, a sensuous siren looking up at him in open admiration. “What are you thinking at this moment? I am curious.”

“I am thinking that I will never again forfeit days or nights in your company. If I have the choice, of course.” He added the last to appease her but a satisfied voice in side of him was crowing endlessly. She was his. No matter what games or schemes swirled around them, no matter how many times she bid him to “stand aside”, she was marked for his, in ways that only they understood.

“Of course.”

“Better?”

“Nearly.” Serena sighed with contentment. “I am restored enough to be mortified at that scene.”

He lay back down next to her, stroking the black silken curls from her face. “You are human, Raven. Remember?”

“Yes. That was what frightened me. For a few moments, I feared I wasn’t anymore.” She shuddered. “It is a sensation I have no desire to repeat.”

“Are you abandoning your course?” he asked softly.

“No.” Serena shifted to sit up in bed, not bothering with the modesty of bedding as she faced him. “I want it over and done. It is the anticipation and delay taking its toll on my nerves. I am sure of that now.”

“How close is it?”

“I don’t know. I hope to drive him to ground before the end of the month.”

“And Tillman?”

Serena smiled. “Still jealous?”

Phillip nodded. “Naturally. But I don’t wish the man harm.”

“Nor do I.” Serena leaned over to kiss him, “Bed me, Phillip. Make me feel everything again.”

“As my lady wishes.”

He covered her with his body, conqueror and keeper, protector and slave. He was a warm shield from all that was pain and Serena sighed in contentment and drank in the healing balm of Sir Phillip Warrick’s passion and at last, of his trust.