Page 33 of Conail (Members From Money Season 2, #150)

He labored over her and was determined to take his time.

Even if it killed him. He would use his body to transmit what his heart was not yet ready to face, to say.

The gnawing hunger for her was relentless.

He felt like tiny little ants were crawling up and down inside him.

It had only gotten worse since she came into his bedroom.

Truth be told, it had started when he danced with her at her brother's wedding.

The scent, the sight, the feel of her had set him off until he did not know if he was coming or going.

It had taken a Herculean effort not to just tear the dress off her while they were downstairs. He had been acutely relieved when she refused the offer of tea.

Now, she had been the one to take the initiative and he was going to make up for his horrible gaffe. Starting with carefully taking off her dress. His breath hitched when he saw what she was wearing underneath it.

Dear God, if he had known -- had any inkling that it was a slender wisp of black silk teddy that stretched to the limits over her overflowing breasts and swollen belly, he would have dragged her into the barn and taken her -- ruthlessly, mindlessly, until he was swimming in her essence.

"Oh Christ!" he felt himself swelling, stretching, throbbing -- his mind buzzing.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady himself.

This was utter and complete madness, he thought hazily as she stretched out on the bed, head cradled by his mound of pillows.

She had removed the dangling earrings and put them on the side table.

And was captivatingly naked. He had never seen a more beautiful woman.

Whereas he had taken utter care to take off her clothes, it was the opposite with his. With careless disregard for the fine threads, he dragged impatiently until he was naked. His eyes flew to hers and noticed where hers was concentrated. He was throbbingly aroused.

"Don't be afraid." If she told him to stop now, he was going to die. "Please."

"I'm not."

Pathetically eager, he lowered next to her and explored her face. He had to concentrate on something else, something mundane, or he was going to end up coming prematurely.

"The wedding was lovely." He trailed a finger over a smooth cheek, marveling at the texture of her skin.

"What?" She blinked at him in confusion. The sight of his magnificent body, the fullness of his very impressive sex had thrown her for a loop.

"The wedding -- your brother's. The bride was beautiful." He was teasing her left lobe, circling the tiny hole there.

"I don't--"

"The chapel was quaint. I don't much go for churches--"

"Stop. I don't want to talk about my brother. I'm dying."

"So am I," he admitted hoarsely. His eyes were a swirl of misty greens, reminding her of a painting she had seen inside a gallery -- of wood and forest smoke.

"I want to seduce you."

"You already are."

Bending his head, he flicked his tongue over her lobe, before pulling it between his teeth and nibbling. Heat shot to the core of her and had her turning towards him. Her fingers tangled into dense dark brown hairs -- her senses tingling as she felt the unsteady drumming of his heart.

But he did not stop there. He went for the hollow of her throat. When she arched her head, he ravished the skin until her pulse was bounding like a wild thing.

Moving slowly down to the top of her breast, he lavished the skin with kisses, tasting the dewiness, the flavor of the perfume she had sprayed on and the bath beads she had used.

She tasted of hope and light -- honey and sunshine and he could feast forever.

Her hands clutched at his hair as if she was trying to drag his head.

Her fingers went lax at first when he seized the nipple, tongue rolling over the tight bud until she felt as if she was going to die from the pleasure.

Then she tightened her hold in the denseness of his hair.

He was suckling -- fiercely, ardently -- until she was sobbing, her body vibrating.

He did not want to stop. The taste of her was designed to drive a man crazy.

He was susceptible to her -- his body craving hers like a newborn craving his mother's milk.

He transferred to the other nipple and by the time he had pulled it between his teeth, she came -- violently.

Feeling the change, he reached down and simply pressed his palm over her sex.

The scream rent the air and had the tears falling from her eyes.

She could not bear it. How could she bear such insanity?

Conail knew he had to end it soon or run the risk of it being all over. He wanted to flood her with his seed. Or taste her come on the edge of his tongue. He wanted his mouth on the very core of her.

He spent time lavishing her swollen stomach, jolting when he felt his son move as if in approval.

Yasmine could not take anymore. Her body was weak and vulnerable.

But when she reached for him, he was already hunkered between her thighs.

Cupping her hips, he lifted her against his mouth.

When his teeth and tongue started to explore, she felt as if she had been transported to the very edge of a cliff, looking down from the lofty height.

His tongue slid in smoothly, tasting the muskiness and drove himself mad as he drove into her relentlessly.

He wanted her screaming his name -- wanting him with a mindless frenzy that was now taking him over.

She came again, her body lifting weightlessly.

She cried out his name, fingers clutching at the sheets as sensations tumbled throughout her body until she felt as if there was nothing else.

He waited her out, loving the taste of her on his tongue. This time he wanted it to be different. With that in mind, he bent her legs at the knees.

"Tell me if I'm hurting you." His voice was unrecognizable.

A harsh, hoarse sound that grated inside his throat.

His body was already coated with a fine sheen of moisture as he strained for control -- one that was slipping away by degrees.

He wanted to take her like an animal in heat.

He was so painful, he could not stand it.

"You won't." She was still crying, her fingers tight on the material of the sheets. "Please. I need you inside me."

His control snapped like a useless twig. With a feral growl, he lifted her to meet his thrust and plunged so deep, her eyes widened in shocked pleasure.

He stopped a moment, his heart pounding so hard, he could almost feel it popping out of his chest. Throwing his head back, he lifted her feet and placed them flat on his flesh.

He really tried to slow things down and could admire his remarkable restraint when it lasted a few minutes.

But the feel of her wrapped so tightly around him, the sensation -- the drunken power of being so deep inside her -- he could almost imagine he was touching her womb where his baby nestled -- was too much.

He increased the pace and was off like a rocket.

He drove into her with a relentless power that stripped the civilized veneer that had always been part of his makeup. He was animal -- mating for life. He was beyond being gentle. He had tried to remember that she was pregnant and so far, had not had an easy time of it.

Nothing mattered, none of it mattered except the passionate woman beneath him.

He was lost in a swirl of emotions and feelings so intense, it pierced him like an arrow.

He faintly heard her cries -- her moans only served to plunge him over the edge.

He came then, his body driving into hers, fingers biting into her ankles as he lifted her up and off the bed.

His seed flowed deep and long inside her and the shudders that wracked his body had him driving even deeper.

It took considerable effort on his part not to simply collapse on top of her.

In some infinitesimal part of his brain was the knowledge that he would crush her and their unborn baby.

That was the part of him that had him shifting to the side.

But even so he was loath to break the contact.

Gathering her against him, he spooned her, his breath strangling, his body shuddering from the aftermath.

She clung to his hands around her swollen belly, the tears still coursing down her cheeks. It was frightening, the love she had for this very contrary man. And absolutely empowering.

"I hurt you." He murmured after a few pregnant moments of silence. He knew he dug his fingers into her hips when he was driving into her and felt wonder at the loss of control. Even now, he could still feel her wrapped around him.

"A little."

"I apologize."

Moving his hand, she shifted so that she was facing him and was immediately struck by the difference on his face. He looked relaxed, the deep lines of cynicism no longer there. His lips were curved, his eyes luminous as he met her gaze.

"I'm sure I put some marks on you as well." She traced a few scratches on his chest in bemusement.

"Battle scars." He touched her cheek gently.

"Hmm. I'm starving."

He chuckled. "No insane craving?"

"Something normal. Like a sandwich. I didn't eat much at the reception."

He was immediately concerned. "Were you unwell?"

She shook her head. "Miserable and trying not to show it."

He was instantly contrite. "Why don't we go see what's in the kitchen?"

She nodded. Planting a kiss on her forehead, he rose and went to find her something to wear, coming back with a thick angora sweater and a pair of socks.

"Thanks. I seem to be making a habit of wearing your clothes."

"They look better on you." He dragged on a pair of sweats and a thin light blue sweater. "I was thinking you should move in." It was said casually and without looking at her.

"Really?" She stopped in the middle of adjusting the hem of the sweater to stare at his bent head.