Chasing Demons (Book 2) Rated R

Chapter 29

"I don't see how that's necessary. I've been perfectly clear about how I feel."

Bullshit.

I shrugged, and the strap of my gown slipped down my shoulder. Christian's eyes briefly flitted to my bare skin then back to my face.

"Like you said before. I'd like to be certain."

His blue eyes narrowed and his mouth clamped into a thin line.

"No."

"Yeah, that's not an answer I'm willing to accept."

Christian stepped around me again, but stubbornly, I went after him, my hands landing on his chest.

He gripped my wrists and moved them away, dropping my hands as if they electrocuted him.

"This is absurd, Aimee. I'm not doing this."

"Why? Afraid you'll bleed?"

We stared each other down. He towered over me, my face nearly level with the smooth line of his throat.

He was all angels and heat.

No, not just heat, but anger.

I set my jaw and tilted my chin up and glared at him with steely determination.

Oh, the way he looked at me then, with fire in his eyes, nearly made my knees shake.

The knife clattered to the ground and then I was somehow pinned to the door, his hands on either side of my face, and he was kissing me.

My lips parted in surprise and my gasp against his lips elicited a low, frustrated groan from his throat.

His fingers dug into my thighs, lifting me, my legs automatically going to hook around his waist.

The thin silk of my gown pooled around my hips.

My heart spluttered in my chest, and I couldn't kiss him fast enough, hard enough, could not touch enough of his skin.

Desire shot through me like a burning lance.

His sweater was an infuriating barrier. I could have shredded it to pieces at that moment, but thankfully, in a matter of seconds, he had set me down and it was gone.

All I saw was a flash of blue and midnight black and then his hot mouth was on mine again. His mouth moved in a frenzy, across my jaw, my neck, his teeth grazing me, biting me.

I tugged his belt lose, clumsy fingers yanking at the leather but still managing to free him of his clothing.

He groaned his desire into my ear. The silk of my gown, like a second skin, stuck to me with sweat, a hot wetness pooling at my center.

"Aimee," He whispered against my hair, that through his savage kisses had come undone from its knot and spilled around my shoulders.

His heart beat fast against my breasts where I was crushed to his body, but his fingers slowed, turning gentle on my hips, pushing my gown higher, until he brushed the underside of my breasts.

"Aimee, my Aimee."

I trembled as he took both breasts, forming a soft cradle for each of them with his hands.

"No," I gasped, my nails dragging across his wrists, squeezing down over the backs of his hands, forcing him to tighten his hold on my breasts. "Do not be gentle with me."

Because what I felt for him was fiery and wild and maddening and I wanted him to make love to me in the same way.

Like a beast being set free from his shackles, Christian growled and swung me onto the bed, landing on top of me, the hard planes of his body over my own driving me mad with wanting.

He pulled back, leaning onto his ankles, and then my nightgown became a shred of ribbons between his hands.

He drank in my nakedness and I bit my lip as both his hand and his dark eyes raked across my middle, down along my hips. He hooked one hand under one knee, then the other, forcing my thighs open.

I gasped when his fingers, with no warning, no preamble, delved deep into my wet center.

"Chris..." I moaned, my eyes drifting closed.

The palm of one hand pressed into my lower belly while two thick fingers swept in and out of me.

I panted as if I'd just run a race.

Even in the midst of battle, even when fighting for my life, my heart had never beat as fast or as hard as it did when Christian made love to me.

My back arched off the bed as his pace quickened, and deepened, my own wetness making his hand glide with ease.

I cried out his name as I shattered into a million, blissful pieces.

The orgasm wasn't over yet when he grabbed my hips, dragged me to the edge of the bed where he stood, and thrust himself into me, hilt-deep.

The remnants of my orgasm caused me to spasm against him. I gasped and shuddered, the orgasm stretching out as he swept against my soft, inner walls.

He groaned and buried his face into my shoulder, his fingers tangling with mine as he brought my hand up over my head.

His ragged breathing filled the room, that and the sound the bed made as he began to move inside me.

The nails of my free hand raked across his shoulder blade, down the deep valley between his back muscles, taught with power.

And I clawed at him, marked him.

"Closer," I whispered. My lips were on his temple. "I need you closer."

I tightened one leg hooked around his middle, which drew him further into me.

He shuddered and whispered to me, between harsh, breathy pants how perfect I was, how beautiful.

Tears escaped the edges of my eyes, without permission.

These were the tears I couldn't cry, with this prideful, stupid heart, but here, wrapped in his arms, skin-to-skin, with his heart beating against mine, where I felt truly and utterly safe, I could cry from how much I loved him.

With his eyes closed, he didn't see my tears, but I noticed the fluttering of his eyelashes when he threw his head back, and a look of almost painful pleasure passed over him.

Feeling him pulse inside me, knowing it was the proof of the satisfaction my body had brought him, sent me over the edge with him.

A rush of endorphins flooded my system. Stars burst behind my closed eyelids. My body relaxed and my mind quieted.

Christian shifted on the bed, landing to my left, but didn't release my waist, drawing me closer. His head became pillowed against my breasts as his breathing slowly returned to normal.

As we both lay there, reeling from pleasure, I ran my fingers through his black hair. Beautiful, rich, black hair that reminded me of a clear, night sky.

Christian made a small, satisfied sound.

His eyelashes brushed against my breast as he closed his eyes.

Minutes passed, maybe hours. At one point, his palm stroked down across my side, coming to rest feather-light against my lower belly.

I knew what he was thinking--that I carried his child in there. My heart clenched, wanting it to be real and not at the same time.

We fell asleep.

In the middle of the night, we awoke and wordlessly made love again.

And in the morning, when I woke up in a tangle of sheets, Christian was gone.