bed, pushing her legs apart in the process. He noticed how she closed her eyes. He didn’t care. If she didn’t want to look at him, it didn’t matter. She’d gawked at him earlier, and those few seconds when her eyes had roamed his half naked body had given him some satisfaction. If she wanted to deny it now that there were still remnants of desire between them, then he’d allow it.
Smelling her arousal more intensely, now that her legs were spread before him, reminded him of how he’d feasted on her that night, how he’d enjoyed licking her, drinking her nectar. But he wouldn’t do it tonight. This wasn’t lovemaking. It was simply sex. If only he could convince his body of this fact.
Quinn moved between her thighs, centering himself over her sex. Without a word, he drove his aching cock into her, pushing deep.
Her eyes shot open, her lips parting on a moan.
Oh, fuck, he was so screwed!
Her slick warmth welcomed him home, her interior muscles gripping him like a tight fist, holding him there like a prisoner. With one single thrust, he’d sealed his fate. It couldn’t be. It was impossible, but just being inside her, without even moving, without doing anything, he was aware of the power she still had over him. The power she would always have over him.
“Rose,” he whispered, unable to stop his lips from moving.
His hand came up, wanting to caress her cheek, but he quickly suppressed the urge. This wasn’t lovemaking, he repeated his mantra. No emotions, no feelings should be involved. He had to remain unaffected. Maybe once he’d found release, he would feel differently. Maybe then, he would see her as just another woman.
Determined to destroy whatever power she had over him, he withdrew from her tight sheath, then plunged back in. It shouldn’t matter to him what she felt, whether she enjoyed this or didn’t, yet he found himself watching her for signs of pleasure. Every time she let a moan or a sigh emerge, his chest swelled with pride and his cock throbbed in anticipation. He sensed how he adjusted his rhythm to her breathing, how he longed for her hands to touch him.
But her hands remained at her sides. Why didn’t she touch him? He glanced at them and noticed how her nails were digging into the sheets, slicing them.
His head whipped back to her face, and he saw how she pulled her lower lip between her teeth, clearly trying not to cry out.
Fuck, pride be damned! “Touch me, Rose!” he commanded. “Do it!”
She instantly released her lip, a surprised look on her face. But moments later, her hands let go of the sheets and she placed them on his chest, stroking him.
He expelled a shaky breath, followed by a moan. Wherever she touched him, he was on fire. There was no use in denying it: her hands were magical. They conjured up memories of a life long gone, of secret kisses and stolen moments, of clandestine meetings and frantic touches. Of a forbidden love.
Everything felt like the first time. Her hands were just as soft as then, yet the shy hands of his virgin Rose were replaced by the experienced touch of a woman who knew what a man needed. Her nails dug into him, demanding, he’d increase his tempo and pound harder into her. Back then, he hadn’t been able to do that for fear of hurting her, but today he could drive into her as hard as he wanted, and she would welcome him. Her body was as indestructible as his, yet as pliable as ever.
“More!” she demanded, pulling him closer with her legs wrapped around him.
He had no objections. Riding her hard and fast was just what he needed.
The shy virgin from two centuries earlier had vanished. Quinn couldn’t say that he regretted that fact, because the woman who now writhed underneath him, whose body gave him such pleasure, was everything he’d ever dreamed of and more. She’d blossomed into the perfect lover.
Passionate and wild, she tantalized him with unscripted moans and sighs. Her body’s reactions to his powerful thrusts were
Smelling her arousal more intensely, now that her legs were spread before him, reminded him of how he’d feasted on her that night, how he’d enjoyed licking her, drinking her nectar. But he wouldn’t do it tonight. This wasn’t lovemaking. It was simply sex. If only he could convince his body of this fact.
Quinn moved between her thighs, centering himself over her sex. Without a word, he drove his aching cock into her, pushing deep.
Her eyes shot open, her lips parting on a moan.
Oh, fuck, he was so screwed!
Her slick warmth welcomed him home, her interior muscles gripping him like a tight fist, holding him there like a prisoner. With one single thrust, he’d sealed his fate. It couldn’t be. It was impossible, but just being inside her, without even moving, without doing anything, he was aware of the power she still had over him. The power she would always have over him.
“Rose,” he whispered, unable to stop his lips from moving.
His hand came up, wanting to caress her cheek, but he quickly suppressed the urge. This wasn’t lovemaking, he repeated his mantra. No emotions, no feelings should be involved. He had to remain unaffected. Maybe once he’d found release, he would feel differently. Maybe then, he would see her as just another woman.
Determined to destroy whatever power she had over him, he withdrew from her tight sheath, then plunged back in. It shouldn’t matter to him what she felt, whether she enjoyed this or didn’t, yet he found himself watching her for signs of pleasure. Every time she let a moan or a sigh emerge, his chest swelled with pride and his cock throbbed in anticipation. He sensed how he adjusted his rhythm to her breathing, how he longed for her hands to touch him.
But her hands remained at her sides. Why didn’t she touch him? He glanced at them and noticed how her nails were digging into the sheets, slicing them.
His head whipped back to her face, and he saw how she pulled her lower lip between her teeth, clearly trying not to cry out.
Fuck, pride be damned! “Touch me, Rose!” he commanded. “Do it!”
She instantly released her lip, a surprised look on her face. But moments later, her hands let go of the sheets and she placed them on his chest, stroking him.
He expelled a shaky breath, followed by a moan. Wherever she touched him, he was on fire. There was no use in denying it: her hands were magical. They conjured up memories of a life long gone, of secret kisses and stolen moments, of clandestine meetings and frantic touches. Of a forbidden love.
Everything felt like the first time. Her hands were just as soft as then, yet the shy hands of his virgin Rose were replaced by the experienced touch of a woman who knew what a man needed. Her nails dug into him, demanding, he’d increase his tempo and pound harder into her. Back then, he hadn’t been able to do that for fear of hurting her, but today he could drive into her as hard as he wanted, and she would welcome him. Her body was as indestructible as his, yet as pliable as ever.
“More!” she demanded, pulling him closer with her legs wrapped around him.
He had no objections. Riding her hard and fast was just what he needed.
The shy virgin from two centuries earlier had vanished. Quinn couldn’t say that he regretted that fact, because the woman who now writhed underneath him, whose body gave him such pleasure, was everything he’d ever dreamed of and more. She’d blossomed into the perfect lover.
Passionate and wild, she tantalized him with unscripted moans and sighs. Her body’s reactions to his powerful thrusts were
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