The Stranger I Married Part 17

"Just for curiosity's sake," he began, pus.h.i.+ng up from the bed to stand over her. His hands went to the placket of his trousers. "Are you deranged?"

She pushed up onto her elbows, her mouth watering as he shoved his garments to the floor and was suddenly, gloriously naked and impressively aroused.

He pounced on her with little finesse. "Your mental malady will not dampen my ardor, so you needn't worry about that. You can spout all the gibberish you like while I ride you. I will not mind a bit."

"Gray, really."

Catching her knee, he shoved her thighs wide and settled his lean hips between them. "A wife is cherished and treated with a gentle hand. A mistress is a convenient c.u.n.t to rut in. Are you certain you wish to alter your status in our bedroom?"

It was then she realized he was still angry, his jaw clenched dangerously. The heavy heat of his erection was like lightning striking her skin. Gooseflesh spread over her body, and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s swelled painfully. "You don't frighten me."

His body was so hard and hot to the touch, it burned her. "You do not heed warnings very well," he murmured in a low tone, and before she could process it, he'd thrust his c.o.c.k into her. Not quite creamy for him and still a bit sore, she cried out and arched upward, the entry both painful and unexpected.

His hand fisted in the length of her hair, keeping her head back and her throat exposed. It also kept her helpless and rigidly in place as he began to f.u.c.k her with fierce, powerful lunges.

"When we are through with each other," she gasped, her determination unwavering, "we will separate. I will return to my old residence. We will be friends, and you can regain face."

He rammed into her, striking so deep she lost her breath.

"You can have only me," she managed a moment later, moisture flooding her s.e.x as he took what he wanted and excited her by doing so. "Slide between another woman's sheets and you void our arrangement."

Gray lowered his head and sucked hard on her neck. He grunted with every deep plunge of his c.o.c.k, his heavy b.a.l.l.s slapping against her with each downward stroke. The result of having her head held back was her b.r.e.a.s.t.s thrusting upward, and the coa.r.s.e hairs on his chest sc.r.a.ped across her nipples. She whimpered at the feeling, her wits slipping rapidly.

She should not feel so good. Her position was uncomfortable, his touch bruising, his mouth and teeth hurtful against her tender throat. His hips pummeled hers, his shaft a thick intrusion that pumped through swollen tissues...And yet the absolute certainty in his touch, the complete lack of hesitation, his supreme arrogance in using her body for his pleasure was nearly rapturous.

"Yes..." As her body s.h.i.+vered on the verge of climax, she moaned a low plaintive sound. She clawed at his sides, dug her heels in his a.s.s, and gave as good as she received.

"Isabel," he growled, his mouth pressed to her ear. "Brazen enough to tackle a man naked, but so swiftly mastered by a hard c.o.c.k."

It would not be like it was before! "My rules," she reminded, then she sank her teeth into his chest.

"d.a.m.n your rules." Gray yanked out of her, his free hand gripping his c.o.c.k and pumping, guttural sounds accompanying the spurting of his c.u.m across her belly. It was base and raw, very different from his lovemaking of just a day before, and it left her writhing in an agony of l.u.s.t.

"Selfish b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

Tossing his leg over her hips, he rolled and came over her, straddling her. His beautiful mouth was hard, his face flushed and eyes glazed. "A man is not required to pleasure his mistress."

"So you accept the arrangement," she bit out, her teeth clenched together. She was in control, regardless of how he might wish it otherwise.

As his hands began to rub his seed into her skin, his smile was cold and tight. "If you have a wish to make a devil's bargain, so be it." He caught her nipples between damp fingertips and rolled them.

Isabel slapped at him. "Enough!"

"I should allow you to leave, all angry and hot and wet. Maybe then you would feel a little of what I do."

"Spare me," she scoffed. "You had your pleasure."

He hummed a soft chastising sound. "Do you truly believe I could be sated while you are not?"

"Do I misunderstand the s.e.m.e.n on my stomach?"

Gray leaned back to give her an unhindered view of the hard length of his c.o.c.k. The sight of it was nearly too much for her overheated body. Even his arrogant smile did nothing to dampen her desire. He was built for a woman's pleasure, and he d.a.m.n well knew it.

"I believe we have already established your stamina, Grayson."

His gaze narrowed, which aroused her suspicions. She could see his mind at work. Considering something devious, no doubt. "Any man kneeling over your creamy c.u.n.t would be ready to rut in it."

"How poetic," she murmured dryly. "Be still my heart."

"I save my poetry for my wife." He slid downward, his smile wicked enough to make her tense in apprehension. "If it were she in my bed, I would not leave her so distressed."

"I am not distressed."

He licked the edge of skin that prefaced the damp curls of her s.e.x. She gasped.

"Of course not," he said, grinning. "Mistresses do not expect o.r.g.a.s.ms."

"I always have."

Ignoring her, he dipped his head and swiped his tongue through the lips of her s.e.x. Her hips arched involuntarily. "I would tell my wife how I love the taste of her and the feel of her petal soft skin. How the scent of our combined l.u.s.t arouses me further, and keeps me hard despite the many times I come on her."

She watched his strong hands with their neatly trimmed nails and unfas.h.i.+onable calluses press her legs open wider. The sight of his dark skin against her paler flesh was erotic, as was the lock of dark hair that fell over his brow and tickled her inner thighs.

"I would tell her how much I love the color of her hair here, the rich chocolate with glints of fire. It is like a beacon that lures me to her, promising untold delights and hours of pleasure." Gray pressed a kiss against her c.l.i.toris, and when she keened softly, he suckled, stroking his tongue leisurely back and forth across it.

Releasing the counterpane she held so tightly, she reached for him, her fingertips sliding through the thick silk of his hair to caress the sweat-dampened roots. He made that noise she adored, a cross between an arrogant grunt and a groan of encouragement, and then he rewarded her with faster licks.

Draping her legs over his shoulders, she tugged him closer, lifting her hips to swivel against his expert mouth. Any moment she expected him to stop, to tease her cruelly by leaving her wanting. Desperate to come, she begged, "Please...Gray..."

He mumbled rea.s.surance, his large hands gentling her as he brought her to o.r.g.a.s.m with the gentle f.u.c.king of his tongue. She froze, every muscle and sinew locked with the pleasure that unfurled slowly and increased in intensity until she s.h.i.+vered uncontrollably.

"I love that," he murmured, shrugging carefully out from under her and crawling up the length of her body. "Almost as much as I love this." He surged into her spasming depths with a growl.

"Oh my G.o.d!" She could not open her eyes, even to look at him, something she enjoyed so much she often stared. She was drunk on him-the smell of him, the feel of him.

The sight of him would ruin her.

"Yes," he hissed, sinking deep, his c.o.c.k as hard as stone and hot enough to melt her. Curling his arms beneath her shoulders, Gray embraced her from head to toe. His mouth to her ear he whispered, "I would tell my wife how she feels to me, so hot and drenched, like dipping my c.o.c.k into warm honey."

She felt the tight roping of his abdomen flex against her belly as he withdrew in a slow, torturous glide and then pumped back inside.

"I would love her body the way a husband should, with care for her comfort and an eye toward her pleasure."

Her hands caressed the curve of his spine, cupping his steely b.u.t.tocks. She moaned as they clenched on a perfect stroke. "Keep doing that," she whispered, her head falling to the side.

"This?" He withdrew, and then, circling his hips, screwed back into her.

"Mmmm...A little harder."

The next pump of his hips struck deep. Delicious.

"You are a demanding mistress." As his mouth followed the curve of her cheekbone, he chuckled.

"I know what I want."

"Yes." His hand stroked her side, cupped her hip, and angled her perfectly for his measured thrusts. "Me."

"Gray." Her arms tightened, her body awash in l.u.s.tful longing.

"Say my name," he urged hoa.r.s.ely, his c.o.c.k shafting her c.u.n.t in long, rhythmic plunges.

Isabel forced her heavy eyelids to open, and met his gaze. The request was not frivolous. His handsome features were open, boyish, stripped of their usual arrogant a.s.surance. A mistress would not use his name. Neither would most wives. The intimacy was telling. And with his body riding hers with unfailing skill, devastating.

"Say it." Now it was a command.

"Gerard," she cried, as he made her come in a white hot flare of heat.

And he held her, and made love to her, and crooned praise to her.

Just as a husband would.

Chapter 11.

"What have I done?"

Although he heard Pel's whisper, Gerard remained still with his eyes closed, feigning sleep. Her head rested on his bicep and the soft curve of her a.s.s pressed against his hip. The air around them was redolent of s.e.x and exotic flowers, and he felt like he was in heaven.

But obviously, his wife did not.

She heaved a forlorn sigh, and pressed her lips to his skin. The urge to roll and embrace her tightly was nearly overwhelming, but he resisted it. Somehow, he needed to puzzle her out. There was a key to her, if only he could find it.

To bargain with him for his fidelity...That was what she had done. He was flattered and touched, but decidedly curious as to her motives. Why not simply ask him to be true to her? Why go to such lengths-threatening to leave him-to accomplish her aim?

Constancy toward one woman was unknown to him. His needs were sometimes violent as they had been today, and while some women served such a purpose, others, such as his wife, were made for lovemaking. Opening his eyes was not required to know that Isabel's body was bruised by his ardor. If he subjected her to such treatment often she would grow to fear him, and that was something he could not bear.

But for now, she was his and promised to his bed. That would bide him some time to do a bit of research. He needed to learn more about her, so he could understand her. With understanding would come the ability to keep her happy. Or so he hoped.

Gerard waited until Pel was asleep before leaving the bed. Despite how he wished to linger, it was time to find Spencer and attempt to explain. Perhaps Spencer would understand, perhaps he would not, but Gerard could not allow the situation between them to remain as it was for a moment longer.

He blew out his breath. A temper was something he was still becoming accustomed to. Prior to four years ago, he had never felt deeply enough about anything to become angry over it.

Walking past the full-length mirror, Gerard paused, having caught a glimpse of himself as he pa.s.sed by. He turned, and stared at his reflection, noting the bite mark on his chest. Swiveling at the hips, he perused his back and the scratches that laced either side of his spine. Just above his b.u.t.tocks, two round shadows hinted at bruises to come, marks left by his wife's heels as she spurred him on.

"I'll be d.a.m.ned," he breathed, his eyes wide. He looked nigh as bad as Pel. No pa.s.sive lover was she. He was well met.

Something wondrous tingled in his chest, and then burst forth as a low chuckle.

"You are an odd creature," came the sleep-husky voice behind him. "Laughing is not the first thing I think of doing when I see you naked."

Heat rushed over his skin. He moved back toward the bed, and as he did so, he could not help but notice the marks of his teeth on her neck. His blood heated and rushed at the sight. He was a primitive beast, but at least he knew it. "What is the first thing, then?"

Pel pushed herself up to a seated position. Disheveled and flushed, she looked ravished and it was an air of satiation that would linger around her throughout the evening, an unspoken claim.

"I think your a.s.s is divine, and I wish to bite it."

"Bite it?" He blinked. "My a.s.s?"

"Yes." She tucked the sheet beneath her arms, her face devoid of the humor that would have revealed she was teasing.

"Why on earth would you wish to do such a thing?"

"Because it looks taut and firm. Like a peach." Licking her lips, she arched a challenging brow. "I wish to see if it's as hard when clenched between my teeth."

His hands moved without volition to cover his rear. "You're serious."

"Quite."

"Quite." Gerard studied his wife with a narrowed glance. It never occurred to him that Isabel might also have some...quirks in the bedroom. Since she had indulged his anomalous cravings, he supposed it was only fair that he indulge hers, even if his flesh did tighten warily at the thought.

Her amber eyes darkened and heated, a sensual invitation to dally, and he could not refuse. Not when her capitulation was so fresh. He had wanted this, wanted her willing, and if that meant allowing her to bite his a.s.s, he would bear it. It would only take a moment. Then he would dress and speak to Spencer.

"Odd, this," he muttered, lying facedown beside her.

"I did not suggest this very moment," she said dryly. "Or even that I wished to make the thought a reality. I simply answered your question."

He heaved out a relieved breath. "Thank G.o.d." But when he moved to leave the bed, she dropped the sheet and bared her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Groaning, he asked, "How in h.e.l.l is a man expected to go about his business when you tempt him so?"

"He isn't." Wiggling her courtesan's body out from under his sheets, she stunned him with her beauty so that he lost the sense to move as she crawled over him. "Or are you comfortable only when you are the biter?"

Isabel straddled his back in reverse-her feet by his hands, her hips at his shoulders, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s at the small of his back. The lush feel of her curves and the seductive heat of her sleep-warmed body made him hard again.

And he had thought himself spent for a while.

Encircling her ankles with an apprehensive grip, Gerard waited. Then he felt her hands, so tiny and soft, stroking along the curve of his b.u.t.tocks before squeezing gently. That he could not see her actions only increased the surprising eroticism of the act. Ridiculous though it was, the thought of her admiring another man in such a manner unnerved him.

"Have you always had this fascination?"

"No. You have a singular a.s.s."

He waited for more, but she said nothing further. Instead she began to hum a soft appreciative sound, and his c.o.c.k grew so hard it hurt to be p.r.o.ne. The tips of her fingers kneaded his flesh, rubbing and pressing in a way that made every hair on his body stand at attention. Gooseflesh dotted his skin. Closing his eyes, he buried his face in the bed.