Page 25 of The Wrong Husband (The Davenports #6)

Phoenix

I wore this for him.

His eyes flash. Those arctic irises of his turn into winter steel. Hard. Unyielding. With riptides of fury beneath the surface that call to me to get lost in them.

If I give in, I’ll never find myself again. He’ll drown every logical thought in my head and make me subsume myself in him, until I forget who I am. It’s my last bid at some kind of freedom. A desperate attempt at holding onto a part of me I’ve never shared with anyone else. Not even Drew.

But watching his nostrils flare and the anger fill every crevasse on his face, I know genuine fear.

It’s a reminder that he has many hidden parts.

He’s only shown me the profile he thinks I can cope with.

Of course, I meant it when I said the softer parts of him are hidden inside.

I feel them. Sense them. Know I am right, but to see his features turn to marble, and his expression freeze, sends a chill up my spine.

"What did you say?" He leans in close, until our noses bump, his eyelashes tangle with mine, and his breath is hot on my cheek. Sleet and magma. How could he be two completely opposing forces of nature at the same time?

"Repeat it to my face." He bares his teeth, the incisors sharp, the gleaming white teeth reminding me of the predator trapped under his skin. The one he’s kept on a leash.

It didn’t occur to me until now, he must be exercising a great deal of control by holding his emotions in check. The frozen countenance he presents to me hides an inferno inside. Or maybe I did know but chose not to acknowledge it, until now.

"I…" I swallow. "I said?—"

He cants his head, the tic of a savage beast waiting to pounce on me. A tremor grips me—a mix of being scared and being so very turned on. Moisture trickles down my inner thigh.

I’m sure I’ve gone past the stage of soaked panties to dampening the blanket that lines the floor of this basket we're in.

"I said… I might have worn it for you," I admit grudgingly.

"Hmm…" A wicked look flickers in his eyes. "Good save, but perhaps… It’s a little too late?"

Before I can react, he snaps the thin panel that connects my bra cups. I gasp. Then he reaches down and tears off my panties. Cool air flutters over my exposed nipples and cunt. "What are you doing?" I rear up.

He flattens his palm on my sternum, so I’m pushed back. He holds me there, then surveys my flushed and naked body, taking his time. Dragging his gaze from the top of my hair, which must be haloed around my face, down to my toes, which I’ve curled in a vain bid to try to draw into myself.

"You’re magnificent," he rumbles. The anger in his gaze is replaced by a worshipful glint which draws some of the tension from my shoulders.

I’ve never been defensive about my curves.

I love my body just the way it is. It’s helped me withstand the rigors of training to be a doctor, and the demands of my job as an ER specialist. It’s helped me help people and save many lives.

Not even Drew’s occasionally thinly veiled barbs where he'd imply I'd be better off on a diet, so I’d have no qualms about my plus-size figure.

But for a second there, as I was bared to his gaze, I felt a moment of worry that I wouldn’t measure up to his expectations.

Not when he's tall and broad, with sculpted features and a body fashioned from bricks of muscle. But the admiration in his gaze, the lust in his eyes, and the hint of red that laces his cheekbones tells me I needn’t have worried.

He finds me irresistible, given how he’s unable to take his gaze off my body.

It's intoxicating to have his full attention. He looks at me like I’m the only thing that matters, and I drink it in like oxygen.

He straddles my hips, then cups both my breasts in his palms and squeezes. Tendrils of heat lasso around my center. He squeezes my nipples, tweaking them with enough force that I cry out.

"Who do these breasts belong to?" He presses them together, then leans down and draws one of them in his mouth. He sucks deeply. Enough for my womb to contract in response. Then moves his mouth to the other and treats it similarly. He releases it with a pop, then stares at me.

"Tell me,” he demands. "Who do these belong to?"

"You," I shudder.

Satisfaction is fierce in his eyes. Without releasing his hold on me, he slides down my body, so his shoulders force my thighs apart.

Still keeping his eyes on me, he licks up my pussy lips.

I cry out, throw my head back, and pant loudly.

Ohmigod. The sensations, the feelings, the way my womb feels ready to ignite turns my veins into liquid flames.

He continues to knead my breasts and pluck at my nipples, then stabs his tongue inside my melting slit.

My hips bow off the floor. I push my pelvis up so his tongue slides further inside of me and his nose brushes against my clit.

A whimper is drawn from me. I dig my fingers into his hair, tugging on the short strands.

Wanting to hold him closer. Wanting to push him away.

The contradictory feelings I have for him are not a surprise.

Everything about this man puts me in conflict with myself.

He swept in and turned my life upside down. I’d resigned myself to a life where I would never find love, and then he appeared. He draws the kind of pleasure from my body I didn’t think I was capable of feeling.

An intensity of emotions seems to give rise to a war beneath the surface. Hope and dread in the same breath. Desire laced with guilt. Longing wrapped in fear. A gown made of satin and thorns. Love mixed with…

Hold on. Love? What makes me think of love?

Everything between us has been carnal. Lust. The rush of endorphins must have addled my brain.

My vitals must be off. The increased capillary profusion must be carrying an overflow of blood to my non-vital regions.

Specifically, the one between my thighs.

That must be the reason I’m thinking of this four-letter word so quickly after meeting this man.

I must grow still, for he notices the change in my body language.

"What’s wrong?" he growls against my swollen cunt.

When I don’t reply, his eyebrows knit. Determination turns his jaw into sculpted marble. He swipes his tongue up my pussy, from puckered hole to clit, and my thighs tremble. He curls his tongue around the swollen bud, then bites down gently on it. My entire body jolts.

"Connor!" My eyes flutter in response to the pain that whiplashes through my cells.

"Eyes on me," he orders.

I can’t disobey him. My eyelids open as if they’re linked to the command in his tone.

I watch as he continues to eat me out. He curls his tongue around the diamond hard nub of my clit; I moan.

He licks his way down to my weeping slit, thrusts his tongue inside and does something indescribable; my eyes roll back in my head.

The combination of him eating me out and pinching my nipples has every part of my body vibrating with tension.

Little balls of fire erupt in my bloodstream, in my cells, from each pore in my body.

Surely, this is an acute sympathetic nervous system response, which only happens in times of extreme arousal. My libido seems to spike like a cytokine storm, sending alarm bells ringing through my brain. "I’m close," I gasp. "So close."

The pleasure is too much, the waves of sensation flooding my body with dopamine.

It blends with the red lashings of pain that radiate out from my nipples, which he continues to pluck.

He maneuvers my body like a fine surgical instrument he’s going to use in an operation aimed at cutting me off at the knees and turning me into a blubbering mass of need.

Of yearning. Of hope. Of pleasure. Of everything I’ve denied myself all my life.

"Connor," I groan. "Please. Please," I warble, half out of my head with the sensations, not caring if I make sense or not.

"Who does this pussy belong to?" His words vibrate against my core, pushing that tsunami of feelings further up my spine. Up toward that edge. The horizon I’m aiming for.

"You." I lock my ankles around his shoulders. "Only you."

A shiver grips his big body, a trembling signaling that I pleased him. The tension coiled under his skin turns his muscles into a vibrating pillar of strength—all of which is focused on where his lips are on me, between my legs. He doubles his efforts.

Licking. Sucking. Biting down on my cunt. Then squeezes my nipples with such intensity that pain lashes across the backs of my eyes, turning my eyeballs into circular blasts of delight.

My breathing fractures. The tension along my sacrum tightens, and heat coils low in my abdomen.

My pelvic floor contracts in spasms I can’t control. My inner muscles clench involuntarily, a reflexive cascade driven by the overstimulation of sensory afferents.

Pressure peaks at the base of my spine, and a full-body tremor arcs through me—autonomic, unrelenting. The edges of my vision blur as blood rushes to my head, and a rush of dopamine ignites behind my frontal lobe.

"Come for me, right now," he snaps.

I shatter. My climax crashes over me, the pleasure laced with fury roaring through me, ripping through the chains I placed around my emotions.

Myself. My heart. My very soul. Sweeping away the woman I was.

The one who blamed herself for everything that happened in her life.

It sweeps me over the edge and then, I’m in free fall.

Without gravity. Weightless. I float back to earth.

Through white space. Through timelessness.

When I come back into my body, it’s to find he’s licking up the moisture on my inner thighs.

I flush, the honeyed heat crawling through my veins to settle in parts of me he’s awoken. His eyes are molten, a myriad of emotions in them which I dare not question. I feel raw. Like he tore off the bandage I’ve wrapped myself in for so long.

He crawls over me and presses his lips to mine. I taste myself on him, the sweetness of my cum overlaid with his muskier taste. It’s a concoction which goes straight to my head. Is there a me and him in any other way than this? There could be, if I agree to marry him.

"Eyes on me." His growl slices through my thoughts as precisely as a scalpel. But not to cut. To claim. "When I’m with you, I demand your complete attention. You will not think of anything else when you’re with me. You feel me, Fever?"

"Fever?" I ask thickly.

"You’re in my veins. A virus without a cure. You’ve infiltrated my blood. Taken residence in my cells. I don’t think I can be rid of you."

I allow myself a chuckle. "You sure know how to romance me."

He nods, his expression serious enough to burn. "I know your language. I know what turns you on. I know what you like. I know the words that mean so much to you." He kisses me again, his lips hard, the contact sweet. His taste sinks into my palate. Coats my tongue. Laces my bloodstream.

He’s taken residence inside of me as much as he claims I have in him. And the feeling is… A lot. Overwhelming. It suddenly feels like too much. I tear my mouth from his and take big gasps of air. And when I push at his shoulders, he instantly pulls back.

"What’s wrong?"

I shake my head, ashamed of my reaction. It’s not anything he did. In fact, I love his possession. His dominance. His ability to command my thoughts and make me forget. Too bad, he can’t change the past.

He cups my face, and my gaze is drawn to his. "Whatever it is, I’m here for you. I can help you. I’ll make sure no one ever harms you again." His words are soft, but his tone is steely. His gaze piercing. All knowing. Like he's looking into my soul, discovering my secrets.

I wish I could tell him everything. I wish I could share what’s holding me back from opening myself up to him. But I can’t. This is something I need to deal with myself. This guilt which is eating away at me—I need to come to terms with it myself. So, I pull away from him.

"I’m hungry." I glance past him at the packed basket in the corner of the balloon. "Are you going to feed me?"