rose an octave.
But Benton didn’t stop there.
His lips found her neck once more and he sucked and kissed and left her writhing in pleasurable agony. Ecstasy built and crested once more inside her. Shocked, she grasped his lower back tightly and lifted her hips to grind her clit against him as it happened again. “I’m coming again!” Her voice was but a pleading breath in his ear. “Come with me, Benton. Come with me…”
One hand slipped under her hips and he held her there, his body sliding over hers, plunging into hers, his chest raking her distended nipples.
Jillian opened her eyes, mesmerized by Benton’s austere, rigid expression. Ruggedly beautiful in his intensity, he defied time and space, life and death, until all that remained was this moment, this experience. His eyes flew open. His gaze found hers and then his face contorted into a conflicting mingling of violent passion, awe—and unadulterated need.
A fine mist of perspiration broke out down the length of his spine just before he gave voice to a seductive, silky moan. Slowing his tempo, he pulsed inside her.
Jillian was exultant. Her whole body hummed with ripples of vibrant energy. She buried her fingers in his thick hair and delighted in the warmth of his weight as he collapsed on top of her. She kissed his temple and held him, forgetting, if only for a moment, he was not a real flesh-and-blood man.
He lay there for an eternity muttering antiquated terms of endearment before he lifted himself up onto his elbows and looked into her eyes. In a sudden motion that made her gasp, he caught one of her hands in his and interlaced his fingers with hers, bringing it up to the pillow next to her face.
Jillian did not move. He was still inside her, still hard, still solid. His fingers tightened around hers. His thumb caressed her wrist.
“I cannot offer you more than I have given.” His voice was but a hoarse, guilt-ridden whisper.
Jillian suddenly knew why he had stopped earlier. He had feared compromising her in some way. Her heart turned over hard. No man had ever had any qualms about leading her on. She searched his gaze, astonished by the pure sincerity evident in his eyes. Something surged inside her she couldn’t name.
What was this feeling consuming her? Why couldn’t she identify it? Categorize it? She forced herself to stop thinking. Tearing her hand away from his, she entwined both her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her, holding him there, whispering in his ear things she had never told a man before.
His arms slid under her shoulders. His long fingers splayed across her back. His mouth found her ear, where he kissed her and told her how beautiful she was to him.
Jillian had never known anything—or anyone—like this. The enormity of what she had just done sank straight to her soul but she could not regret it. Knowing he would have to leave her only made the moment bittersweet and she resolved to memorize every kiss, every caress.
And then he was moving again. Slowly. Deeply. His hips ground into hers, pushing her inch by inch up the bed. Jillian’s hands found the headboard and she pushed back, meeting his slow, determined thrusts with a resolve of her own.
He pushed himself up on his hands so that Jillian could see between their bodies, down to where they were connected. The sight of his firm, taut abdomen and his thick, hard cock moving in and out of her glistening, wet pussy sent ripples of heat through her body. She trailed her fingertips down his chest, her gaze following down and then back up to where the vicious scar marred his shoulder.
He grimaced and some old memory haunted his gaze.
Her gaze moved to his temple. The historian had told her Benton was killed with his own sword by a blow to the head. But there was no scar she could see. Why did he carry this scar but not the one that killed him?
He stopped moving and withdrew from her. “I know my wound is a gruesome sight.”
Jillian looked into his
But Benton didn’t stop there.
His lips found her neck once more and he sucked and kissed and left her writhing in pleasurable agony. Ecstasy built and crested once more inside her. Shocked, she grasped his lower back tightly and lifted her hips to grind her clit against him as it happened again. “I’m coming again!” Her voice was but a pleading breath in his ear. “Come with me, Benton. Come with me…”
One hand slipped under her hips and he held her there, his body sliding over hers, plunging into hers, his chest raking her distended nipples.
Jillian opened her eyes, mesmerized by Benton’s austere, rigid expression. Ruggedly beautiful in his intensity, he defied time and space, life and death, until all that remained was this moment, this experience. His eyes flew open. His gaze found hers and then his face contorted into a conflicting mingling of violent passion, awe—and unadulterated need.
A fine mist of perspiration broke out down the length of his spine just before he gave voice to a seductive, silky moan. Slowing his tempo, he pulsed inside her.
Jillian was exultant. Her whole body hummed with ripples of vibrant energy. She buried her fingers in his thick hair and delighted in the warmth of his weight as he collapsed on top of her. She kissed his temple and held him, forgetting, if only for a moment, he was not a real flesh-and-blood man.
He lay there for an eternity muttering antiquated terms of endearment before he lifted himself up onto his elbows and looked into her eyes. In a sudden motion that made her gasp, he caught one of her hands in his and interlaced his fingers with hers, bringing it up to the pillow next to her face.
Jillian did not move. He was still inside her, still hard, still solid. His fingers tightened around hers. His thumb caressed her wrist.
“I cannot offer you more than I have given.” His voice was but a hoarse, guilt-ridden whisper.
Jillian suddenly knew why he had stopped earlier. He had feared compromising her in some way. Her heart turned over hard. No man had ever had any qualms about leading her on. She searched his gaze, astonished by the pure sincerity evident in his eyes. Something surged inside her she couldn’t name.
What was this feeling consuming her? Why couldn’t she identify it? Categorize it? She forced herself to stop thinking. Tearing her hand away from his, she entwined both her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her, holding him there, whispering in his ear things she had never told a man before.
His arms slid under her shoulders. His long fingers splayed across her back. His mouth found her ear, where he kissed her and told her how beautiful she was to him.
Jillian had never known anything—or anyone—like this. The enormity of what she had just done sank straight to her soul but she could not regret it. Knowing he would have to leave her only made the moment bittersweet and she resolved to memorize every kiss, every caress.
And then he was moving again. Slowly. Deeply. His hips ground into hers, pushing her inch by inch up the bed. Jillian’s hands found the headboard and she pushed back, meeting his slow, determined thrusts with a resolve of her own.
He pushed himself up on his hands so that Jillian could see between their bodies, down to where they were connected. The sight of his firm, taut abdomen and his thick, hard cock moving in and out of her glistening, wet pussy sent ripples of heat through her body. She trailed her fingertips down his chest, her gaze following down and then back up to where the vicious scar marred his shoulder.
He grimaced and some old memory haunted his gaze.
Her gaze moved to his temple. The historian had told her Benton was killed with his own sword by a blow to the head. But there was no scar she could see. Why did he carry this scar but not the one that killed him?
He stopped moving and withdrew from her. “I know my wound is a gruesome sight.”
Jillian looked into his
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