Aequitas - Hope Anika (i like reading books txt) 📗

this, and I want you to regret nothing. Not with me.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said and kissed him again, her mouth sliding persuasively against his, her tongue teasing. “It just makes me want to prove you wrong.”

He shuddered violently. “Stop, Honor.”

She pulled back and blinked at him. “You don’t…you don’t want me?”

The look on her face shattered him. “Christ,” he muttered. And then, unable to resist, he kissed her.

Her mouth opened beneath his; when his tongue stroked into her mouth, she moaned, a low, heady sound that made him feel drunk. Her hands slid into his hair and clenched there, and she rose against him, her mouth hungry and demanding, and he was lost.

He took control of the kiss and plundered, kissing her the way he’d dreamt of: wet, wild, a mating of mouths so intimate, he might as well have been inside her.

Inside her.

The thought made him dizzy. He stood, lifting her with him, and stumbled toward the bed, coming down on top of her, pushing his way between her legs until she cradled his cock in the vee of her thighs. She made a startled sound that he swallowed, and his hands clenched into the bedcovers as he told himself to stop.

Stop.

Her legs lifted and wrapped his hips, and she ground herself against him.

Just fucking stop.

Her heat seared him; her mouth ate at his. She moaned again, and as the sound slid down his throat, his hand found the arch of her neck and wrapped her there, a dark, possessive hold.

Jesus Christ, you have to stop.

Her hands slid to his shoulders, and she tugged at his shirt.

“Off,” she demanded, panting as she broke their kiss. “Take this off.”

Cian stilled, fighting for control. She was an inferno against him, burning his resolve to ash.

“You’re not ready for this,” he grated.

Her fingers found the buttons, tore at them. “Please.”

“Nay,” he denied, ragged. “I won’t be a distraction.”

She stilled, her fingers clenching into his shirt. Her gaze met his, her pupils wide, her eyes wild with grief and need and pain. “Please.”

He flinched.

“Please,” she repeated. She ground herself into his cock again, and Cian couldn’t stop himself from thrusting against her—all that heat, burning him up—and ecstasy was like a live wire, twisting down his spine. “Pleasure—” Her breath caught sharply, and she arched against him. “You say it exists. Pleasure instead of pain. Show me, Cian. Please.”

He stilled; the beat of his heart was deafening. “Just a little.”

“Yes.” She nodded and licked her lips. “Just a little.”

A low groan rumbled in his chest. “Put your hands above your head.”

Honor blinked at him. “I want to touch you.”

“No,” he said.

“But…”

“If you touch me, I’ll take you,” he told her bluntly. Tension gripped him; he didn’t move. When she released his shirt and reached above her head, clasping her hands together there, he let his gaze slide down, to where his hand wrapped her throat, his skin dark against hers. He stroked her with his fingertips, and she made a soft, mewling sound that made his cock jerk in response.

“Do you want my hands on you?” he asked, his voice low.

“Aye,” she said, and when his gaze flickered to hers, she smiled hesitantly at him.

Smiled. For the first time in his bed.

She was beautiful.

He looked away; his hand trembled against her as he slid it down to where her pulse beat like a bird’s wings in the hollow of her throat. Further, sliding down into the vee of her dress, to where the plump mounds of her breasts beckoned, pale ivory kissed by golden flecks. His finger found the curve of her left breast, traced its shape, and she squirmed beneath him.

“Be still,” he murmured, and slid his finger toward the nipple that pouted in yearning, outlined in velvet. He circled it once, twice.

“Please,” she said again, her voice ragged.

His gaze lifted to hers, but she was watching his finger. Hunger surged through him, and he removed his hand, ignoring her protest. He wanted to see her.

He leaned back onto his knees, holding her still with a hard hand on her hips, disconnecting her legs from around him. Her thighs fell open, and he couldn’t stop from pushing beneath her dress to run one hand up their silken inner surface. Her scent filled his head; his mouth watered. She trembled as he climbed higher, as he reached the delicate silk that covered the notch at the top of her legs, as he ran a heavy hand over that silk, pressing his palm against her, her delicate flesh parting beneath his insistence. She moaned and lifted herself to the touch, but he kept going, up until he reached the narrow band of velvet that held her dress closed. He tore that band free, and then he unwrapped her like a present.

She wore the delicate black demi-bra and lace edged panties he’d bought to go with the dress. Pleasure lashed him at the sight. Her nipples pressed against the lace nap of the bra, and she was pale and round and so lush, his cock pulsed.

“Don’t tease,” she whispered.

But he didn’t listen. He was savoring her; no one would hurry him. Not even her.

He stared at her for a long moment, taking in the width of her hips, the indent of her waist. The ripe mounds of her breasts; the delicate line of her collarbone. She had a beauty mark just below her bellybutton. A small scar on her left hip. Her skin was like polished ivory.

“Cian,” she snarled, and the sound of his name made another jolt of ecstasy shoot down his vertebra.

He reached up to the clasp nestled between her breasts and released it. Then he peeled away the scrap of silk and looked his fill.

“Goddamn you—”

Her nipples were pale, a rose so delicate it was barely discernable. Hard, jutting into the air, quivering faintly. He reached out and rubbed one with his thumb, and Honor’s hips surged beneath him.

“More,” she demanded huskily.

“Aye,” he murmured and leaned down to suckle her.

She cried out, twisting beneath him as he pulled at her, strong, hungry tugs that weren’t enough.

Not nearly enough.

He pulled back and blew gently across her flesh. Then he moved to her other breast and bit down gently as he tongued her. Her legs twined with his, and her moans filled the air.

“More,” she said again, panting, and when he looked up, his mouth filled with her, she shuddered. “I need…”

“Aye, lass, I ken what you need,” he rasped. His hand slid to the vee of her thighs, his skin snagging the delicate silk that covered her. He cupped her boldly. “This is what you need.”

She made an incoherent sound, hot and damp beneath his hand. He tore away the silk and sank his fingers into her flesh, circling the tender bud of her clitoris, rubbing the entrance to her body.

“Oh!” She whimpered and thrust against him. “That’s…”

“Aye,” he grated and pushed one finger into her.

She arched again, a choked cry echoing between them.

“Sweet Honor,” he crooned. “So brilliant and beautiful and bloodthirsty. So tight and wet. I canna get enough of you.”

She trembled violently, so close to climax he could taste it. He teased another finger into her, rubbed that tender bud with his thumb. Then he curled his fingers up, found the spot he was looking for, and stroked hard.

“My bonny lass.” He met her gaze, daring her to look away, beyond pleased when she held his gaze and let him see her pleasure. “I want everything.”

He saw a flare of fear—her recognition that this would bind them, no matter what she told herself—but the pleasure was stronger, and when he leaned down and drew her nipple into his mouth, he grazed her with the edge of his teeth and demanded of her harshly, “Come.”

She did.