I sob, then scream as I climax again. His rhythm is harder now, faster, rougher. He pants over me, and I love the pleasure infusing his face. He’s so close.
I clench my muscles around him, holding him like a fist.
“Fuck.” He pulls out and spurts hotly all over my belly, a white stream shooting out in a silken arc.
His head lowers, his face buried in my neck, his breath hot and irregular. I caress his hair, running my fingers through it.
Not once during the entire frenetic time did he make it hurt. But the sense of heavy guilt is gone, along with unease and apprehension.
I finally understand that tenderness and pleasure, too, can be an effective weapon against old pain and regret.
Chapter Thirty
Dominic
I watch Elizabeth sleep. She’s so beautiful, her face relaxed. The pleasure I found in her was brilliant…cleansing. It didn’t leave me feeling cheap and needing a shower like with other women over the last ten years. Without thinking, I run my fingers through her hair.
Make it hurt.
Doesn’t she know how dangerous it is to ask a man to hurt her like that in the middle of sex? She didn’t set any boundaries, no safe word, nothing. And I know she’s not into pain. We screwed like bunnies on Viagra ten years ago, in every position, everywhere we could find privacy. But never once did she hint or ask for anything rough.
She shifts, revealing the scar.
It’s jagged and faint. How the hell did she end up with that? She isn’t exactly the type to get into something like a knife fight. Even if I were to believe that she did it to herself, most people don’t hurt themselves by stabbing themselves in the side of the chest.
At the softest brush of my thumb over the scar, she flinches and whimpers. A mixture of anger and protectiveness surges over me…and I can’t believe I still have these feelings toward her. But I do. I’ve always felt this way. It’s as inescapable as gravity.
Unable to sleep, I slip away, going to the living room. I consider closing the door, but don’t, just in case she needs me.
She’s in bed, sleeping. What can she possibly need you for?
I don’t know. But I don’t care that I’m being illogical at the moment.
I park my ass in an armchair and call Antoine. It’s late, but he never sleeps.
Sure enough, he answers on the third ring. “Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Because I have a mystery that’s keeping me up.”
“Mystery? I thought you went to a beach party.”
That info came from Brian. My assistant is tight-lipped, but Antoine is the head of my security. “I need a thorough dossier on Elizabeth,” I say. “How soon can you pull one together?”
“No time at all. I already did it.”
“What?”
“I know you didn’t ask for it…yet. But it isn’t like you to go into battle blind, so I knew sooner or later you’d get around to asking. It was kind of a preemptive strike.”
I can’t decide if I should be thrilled or alarmed that he knows me so well. When he asked if I wanted one a few weeks ago, I told him no because I’d decided I already had her figured out.
“So. You want it now?” he asks smugly.
“Yes. Email it to me.”
“You also want the stuff on her brothers?”
“You looked into them, too?” Maybe I don’t give Antoine enough to do.