Fourteen

Dunn stood naked before her, his body aglow in the soft yellow light. He was something behold, his spare frame tensed with lust, his prick straining and hard. He was out of his mind with desire, that was clear. Yet he didn't move toward her. His blue eyes, dark and fathomless, held Caitlin's, as if he were looking for something, or doubting.

He was nervous, wasn't he? So odd for a man. Men were usually quick and demanding. They took what they wanted, then left without another thought.

Was it the scars on his back? Did he fear they would scare her away? Or his looks? He was too thin, it was true, but time would change that. And Caitlin hardly cared. He was all sinew and muscle. Strong and lean. His scars had been earned through noble means—he'd saved a woman from harm. And anyway, they only proved he was human. There was no shame in that. And his cock . . . any bit of hesitation Caitlin had felt disappeared at the sight of it. Indeed, she could hardly keep her eyes off it. It jutted out dark beyond his pale, gaunt hips—long, stiff, and demanding. It probably looked bigger for his scrawniness everywhere else.

Yes, there was fear in his eyes, shame even. But there was also need. Yearning. He'd called her beautiful. Beautiful . No man, none of them, had ever called her that.

Her cunt clenched, then throbbed. She knew if she put her hand there, it would be wet.

Perhaps she'd put his hand there, instead.

Jesus , she could take no more of this. She reached for him. "Come to bed."

She pulled him onto the bed, and they came to rest on top of the coverlet, both on their sides facing the other. The cotton was cool and soft under her naked body, and Dunn was warm and hard.

She waited for him to touch her, but even now, he didn't. He watched her. Waiting . . .

Bugger. She'd have to do this herself, wouldn't she?

She met his eye, silently asking one more time for permission. He didn't look away. Then, slowly, she leaned in until their bodies were flush. She could feel his cock poking into her belly, his heat spreading through her. She brought her hand up to cradle his cheek, dipped her head forward, and kissed him.

It seemed the right place to start. And it was good, her lips on his. His nervousness seemed to evaporate. Like the previous night, he opened to her in a way he never did during the day. Their mouths yielded to one another—lips rough, tongues smooth—moving together, working as one. He tasted of tobacco and warm breath. But it didn't last long. It wasn't enough. Not for either of them.

Caitlin broke away and rolled onto her back, grasping his hand and bringing it to the aching slit between her legs. She pressed his palm against the little button that lay at the center of that ache. And that was all he needed. That one little bit of encouragement, and he seemed to know exactly what to do. He angled himself toward her, his fingers wrapping around her mound, slipping between her folds.

Sweet Jesus.

She let her head drop back, her arms go limp, and gave herself over to the feeling—the heel of his hand, grinding against her button. His fingers, coarse and calloused, sliding through her smooth wetness. She pushed up with her hips, increasing the pressure just as his middle finger found her opening.

A long, guttural moan spilled from the back of her throat.

As if falling into her, his hand slid forward until his finger was sheathed fully inside. He no longer pressed against her button, but it didn't matter. Gad . Caitlin's eyes slid closed with a breath, and she lifted her hips again, bringing him as deep as she could. Moving in small circles until the tip of his finger reached just the right place.

Why had she not thought to have a man before?

But then his hand was gone. The mattress shifted as if he were getting up. "Dunn—" Caitlin's eyes flew open, but her protest died in her throat when she saw what he was doing. He'd pulled himself up, but not off the bed. He had settled himself on his stomach with his head between her splayed legs, and he was gazing at the space between her thighs with glassy, desirous eyes. He slid a finger back into her, then another, sinking deeper, stretching her wide. At the same time, his thumb came back to stroke her button. Back and forth, back and forth.

Caitlin's hips pushed against him. " Gor . That's good . . ." she panted.

His eyes flicked to her face. Then, with a soft groan—as if he couldn't help himself—he moved his hands to grasp her open hips, lowered his head, and brought his mouth to her cunt.

He licked the length of her, a glorious sweep of sensation. Then he sucked the pink flesh into his mouth, nibbling it, tasting it as if he really did mean to devour her. He licked her again and plunged his tongue into her depths, fucking her with his mouth. At the same time, his hand found her button once more, pinching, caressing, kneading her . . .

A whirlpool of pleasure swirled around her, and Caitlin was in the center of it. Tumbling. Spiraling.

But she needed more.

She pinched her nipples hard, and a blaze of scorching fire shot straight to her core, where Dunn was working away, all his attention focused on her cunt. More. Deeper. Wider. He was sucking on her button now, his fingers buried deep inside. How many were there?

Did it matter?

She was spinning. Faster. Dizzy. Lost in the cyclone of pleasure. She was the pleasure. It was all there was. She was not a wife, not a widow or a farmer or a convict or a whore . . . she was just . . . only . . .

She pinched her nipples again, and a deep, primal roar escaped her throat as the whirlpool sucked her down into its clear blue depths, past all the feelings, all the thoughts, all the cares, until she landed in a place of crystal and light. A place of complete and utter peace.

For a moment she floated.

All was well.

She was safe.

She breathed in. Out. Her body felt heavy, her muscles slack. Every worry evaporated to steam in the heat of their lust.

"Mrs. Blackwell?" Dunn's voice sounded from above.

Caitlin opened her eyes. When had she closed them? He'd moved next to her and was propped on one elbow, facing her.

What had just happened?

A giggle escaped her lips as she rolled toward him. "You must not call me that. Not after—" She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to.

"Caitlin." His voice was low and reverent, his eyes bright.

Too overcome to speak, she stared into those eyes as she stroked his cheek, the sharp grit of his day-old whiskers. Then she traced a line from his ear to his shoulder with her finger, smoothing it down his side to his back. At first, he leaned into the touch, but he tensed as she came to the ridges that marked him—the brand of the cat-o'-nine-tails. They were fresh welts, not fully healed. She'd put balm on them later.

But now wasn't the time.

She continued her perusal of him, brushing the back of her hand over his lean stomach. Lower. His breath hitched as she trailed her knuckles over his navel, his jutting hip bones. Then, finally, her fingers wrapped around his cock.

She pulled her gaze back to his face, curious what she'd find there. His eyes were wide, watching her intently, and still dazzlingly bright. He seemed to be barely breathing. She stroked once, firmly, and he gasped, almost as if she'd hurt him, though she knew she hadn't. "And now." She stroked again. "You must fuck me."

Michael's cock had never been so hard. His need had never been so great.

The way she'd come around his fingers, responded to his touch—lost herself entirely. He'd never seen a woman so undone. Didn't know it was possible, really.

She was so damn beautiful it hurt.

And now this goddess desired him, as worthless as he was, to fuck her. She'd said as much—his cock, literally, was in her hands. And no matter how unworthy he might feel, he could at least, follow her command.

In fact, he might die if he didn't.

Her fingers left his shaft, and she rolled onto her back, spreading her thighs wide.

Michael crawled to her, bracing his arms on either side of her shoulders. Her breasts were right there, within reach. Past any kind of rational thought, he acted on pure impulse, lowering his head and taking a nipple in his mouth, suckling hard, nipping just a bit with his teeth. She'd pinched herself as she came. She must like such play.

She uttered a sharp gasp of pain.

Shit. Michael's head flew up. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't you dare stop," she spat out indignantly.

Very well, then.

He suckled each breast in turn while grinding himself against her mound. The feel of her wiry hair against his hard cock would soon drive him mad, but he couldn't enter her just yet. He wouldn't last a minute once he did. And he must keep himself in check. Then she shifted, and the slit of her cunny opened. The sudden slickness almost made him come right there. Just like that.

He stilled. Control yourself, Michael.

She lifted her hips, sliding him against her, trying desperately to get them into position.

"Now." She sounded strangled. " Please ." Just as wrecked as he was.

Her wish. His command. He reached down and guided himself in, sinking inside her until she engulfed all of him.

Michael's eyes rolled up in his head. It was so. Damn. Good. Her perfect cunny spread out around him. Warm and tight and safe.

He stayed there, willing himself to stillness, allowing her time to adjust to him. Then he felt her fingers on his cheek. They threaded through his hair.

Inexplicably, a lump formed in his throat.

"Dunn. Are you all right?" Her voice.

Damn. He hated that name. It was all wrong. Not here. Not now. "Michael," he choked out. "It's— Michael ."

"Michael." She pushed up her hips, bringing him just a tiny bit deeper.

And the way she said it . . . the way she welcomed him into her body—

He swallowed the fool emotion away. This was just a fuck. Nothing more.

Time to get on with it.

He pushed hard inside her, till his balls were touching her arse.

She gasped, and her hand left his hair to grip the iron bedframe behind her. He thrust again. Harder. Pushing her up against the headboard. He shouldn't like the way her eyes widened in shock or fear, but he did. He came at her again, and she grasped the cold metal, knuckles white, holding her ground. Challenging him with her gaze.

"Michael," she whispered his name again. As if it meant something.

And his control snapped.

He'd show her.

He pushed her. Into the bedframe. Into the wall. Teeth clenched. Muscles pounding. Desperate and violent. She wanted a fuck, he'd give her one. Fast and hard and rough. He'd show her what he really was.

He slammed his body into hers, again and again until finally, finally , everything else fell away. The woman he was rutting into ceased to matter. She was faceless. Nameless. A vessel for him to fill. And he filled her. Pounded every bit of his vileness into her.

His balls tightened.

"Michael, you can—" Her voice came from far away, but it was enough to pull him back from the edge. He slipped out of her just in time, and his seed spilled, hot and insistent, splattering on her stomach, her thighs.

Then, silence.

Only the sound of their ragged breathing.

Michael stared down at what he'd done, the shock of it hitting like freezing water. His cock, still in his hand. The woman under him, her dark eyes wide, hair a mess. Her perfect body spattered with his spend and probably bruised by his force.

Goddamn. What had he done?

He opened his mouth to apologize or to somehow, somehow—

But there was nothing to say. No excuse. She'd wanted a lover, and he'd given her—he'd given her the beast.

He couldn't look at her. Couldn't speak to her. Couldn't be in this room for one more bloody second.

He sprang off the bed and bolted for the door.

"Michael—"

But he didn't answer. He pushed the door open, and, stark naked, he fled from the room.