Page 67 of Billionaire's Sins
I blink at him, watch as the tenderness in his gaze slips away to be replaced by a coldness, a single-minded intent that sends a shiver of apprehension crawling down my spine.
"Edward—"
"Shh." He cups my breast, dragging his thumb across my sensitized nipple. "So, fucking beautiful." His voice is remote, his tone hard. Almost as hard as his shaft that’s still inside of me.
"Ed—" I shiver as he hooks his arms behind my knees, shoves them up so they are bent on either side of my chest. I am splayed out, open and vulnerable. A sacrifice on the altar of this priest who seems to have shed the last vestiges of his humanity along with his robe. "Ed, please—"
He shakes his head and I subside. I draw in a shuddering breath, watch as his nostrils flare. His shoulders bunch, then he pulls out of me, stays poised with his cock at the rim of my slit.
"You are going to come again with me."
"No," I beg. "Please, not yet."
"Yes," he insists.
"I can’t."
"You will." He pistons forward, and I am so wet, so ready, that he slips inside easily, his thick shaft sheathed inside me, filling me again to the brim. I’ll never be this…full again. This crammed with Edward.
"No." I surge forward, wind my arms around his neck, push up and fit my lips to his. I open my mouth over his, and maybe I take him by surprise, for he parts his lips. I thrust my tongue inside his mouth, suck from him, draw from that minty darkness, inhale that cut grass scent that is so very Edward.
His big body shudders, then he kisses me back. Of course, Edward takes control of the kiss. He angles his head, deepens the kiss. Pushes me back into the mattress, swipes his tongue across my teeth, drags it along the inner seam of my lower lip. He plunders my mouth like it’s his last kiss, his last time that he’s going to be this close and...No, no, no. I can’t let him go.No matter that he’s trying to make me hate him. As efforts go, it’s pathetic. If he thinks he can simply say and do things in the hope that it’s going to make me dislike him, he is so wrong. I cling to him as he pushes forward and thrusts into me. As he impales me over and over again. As he pistons his hips forward and rams into me with such force that both our bodies jolt with the action. As he hits that spot again deep inside me and the climax shudders out from the point of contact, races up my back, my neck.
He tears his mouth from mine and whispers, "Come."
And I burst into flames as he roars above me and empties himself inside of me.
He stays poised above me for a few seconds more, sharing my breath, his lips a hair’s breadth away from mine, his eyes open and holding mine, as if he can’t bear to shut them.
I hold his gaze, tracing the webwork of fine lines that radiate from the edges of his eyes. The thick hair that falls across his brow. The ridiculously long eyelashes that fan out above his cheeks. The patrician nose, the stern upper lip, that pouty lower lip, that I want to kiss. I draw my finger down the scar on his cheek, then tip my chin up. I raise my mouth to his and he moves away.
He releases his hold under my knees, pulls out of me, then rolls over the side of the bed. He turns to walk into the bathroom and I take in the marks on his back. What the—? Did someone whip him? Did he whip himself? And not too long ago, by the looks of it.
He comes back with a wet towel that he uses to wipe between my legs. He tosses the cloth aside, then turns to leave, when I jump up and throw myself at him. "Edward, don’t go."
He stays silent.
"Please, just hold me. I need you, Ed. Please."
He draws in a breath and his shoulders shudder. Then he turns. He pushes me back onto the bed. He pulls the covers up over me. I am about to protest when he slips in next to me. He presses down on my shoulder indicating that I should turn over, and when I do, he winds his arm around my waist and pulls me to him. I weave my fingers with his where they rest on my belly. His hand is so big that his palm covers the expanse of my stomach. My back is pressed into his chest; his half-erect dick settles in the valley between my arse-cheeks. His thighs cradle the backs of mine; his knees lock into the grooves behind mine.
His warmth envelops me. His scent is all around me. And I know I should turn around to face him, throw my arms around him and hold him close and tell him not to leave me, because I know he’s going to. As soon as I close my eyes, he’ll be gone, and I’ll never see him again. I half turn, when he slides his arm under my neck, curls that big forearm above my breasts. He tucks my head under his chin and orders, "Get some sleep."
I shouldn’t. I should ask him what happened that had him come to me and simultaneously decide to leave me. I want to tell him I didn’t tell him I was a virgin because I wanted him to be the first. My first. That there will never be anyone else. Instead, my eyelids flutter down and darkness drags me under, but I resist it.
Instead, I mumble, "Ed?"
"Hmm?"
"I saw the lash streaks on your back."
He stiffens, but doesn't say anything.
"Do you whip yourself, Ed?" I bite down on my lower lip. "Is that how you punish yourself? Is this how you deal with the aftermath of the incident?"
Tension radiates off of him and his big body seems to grow even more tense. Then he blows out a breath, "Sleep Ava, close your eyes."
I can't. I don’t want to. If I do, you'll leave and I don’t want that. I don't want you to leave.
