Beth Kery - Because We Belong

“Most women wouldn’t say I hold myself back in the slightest, Francesca. Just the opposite, in fact.”

“Oh. I see,” she said, her cheeks growing hotter yet. Was she depraved because she liked it when he lost himself in the moment and was focused entirely on finding pleasure in her flesh?

A laugh broke free of his throat. “It’s a good thing one of us does,” he murmured, pushing the grape between her lips. Despite his stated confusion, she felt his cock stiffen even further next to her hip. The conversation was arousing her, too, for some reason.

“It’s just . . .” She hesitated as she chewed, meeting his stare. “I know you often hold yourself back until the end.”

“With good reason,” he said, frowning. “I would never want to hurt you.”

“I know, and I don’t want to be harmed,” she assured, adding hesitantly. “But you could be freer with me. Once in a while. It wouldn’t cause any lasting harm. I . . . it . . .”

“What, Francesca?” he asked tensely, the grapes forgotten.

“It turns me on when you use me for your pleasure.”

For a moment, he just pinned her with his stare. Then his mouth shaped a curse. He whipped the blanket off her legs, exposing her full nudity.

“I know you’re trying to tempt me into coming again in that sweet mouth, but it’s not going to work, lovely. Not until I’m ready, it’s not,” he said grimly as he lowered on the bed and rolled over until he was between her spread thighs, belly down.

“I wasn’t trying to tempt you into anything,” she said, laughing breathlessly.

He gave her a half-amused, half-impatient glance. Her breath caught when he lowered his head to her spread pussy.

“Bend your knees and spread your thighs more,” he ordered. She slid her feet along the sheet toward her shoulders, highly aware of his stare on her pussy.

“Ian?” she asked shakily when he plucked another grape. Her eyes widened when he pushed the dusky purple fruit between her labia and pressed it against her clit, up and down, around and around. He pressed hard. The grape’s skin broke, cool juice running over her feverish flesh.

“You said it yourself. I need to eat, too,” he said gruffly before he lowered his head between her thighs and began to feast with a suddenly ravenous appetite.

“Oh God,” she muttered, her eyes rolling back in her head. Her fingers threaded into his thick dark hair, holding him against the very core of her while Ian worked his magic. He pushed at the back of her thighs and her feet came off the bed. She abandoned herself to pleasure, her consciousness drowning in it. His mouth and tongue were wet, firm, and delicious on her sex. The whiskers on his moving jaw agitated the tender flesh of her inner thighs, the low-grade burn amplifying her arousal. Despite her rapture, Ian’s focus on making love to her was even more intense. When the pounding started at the cottage front door, it penetrated her awareness before it did Ian’s.

“Ian, stop,” she gasped. She scraped her nails against his scalp to get his attention. He rubbed her clit with a stiffened tongue and she moaned, pushing her to him despite what she’d said. The knocking resumed. She heard someone call Ian’s name. “Ian, it’s your grandfather. Ian.”

He opened his eyes and lifted his head. Her clit twanged in deprivation from pleasure and acute longing when she saw how beautiful he looked, his lower face slick with her juices, his eyelids heavy with arousal, the slits of his blue eyes burning with a barely banked flame. He blinked and for a moment he seemed to come back to reality. His nostrils flared and he inhaled, undoubtedly catching her scent. He gave her pussy a blazing glance and cursed before he rolled off the bed.

“I’ll go and see what he wants,” he said, grabbing his shirt and shoving his arms through the sleeves. He wiped off his face with the napkin near his plate. “You stay here. And don’t you dare get dressed,” he grated out with a hard glance before he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Despite his pointed warning, she did get up and scurry into her clothing, James’s voice resounding from the nearby living room leaving her feeling self-conscious. Besides, she could hear what he was telling Ian.

The front door slammed closed. A moment later, Ian walked into the bedroom. She sat at the edge of the bed, putting on her boots. His gaze ran over her clothed body. He frowned.

“You heard?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he said, retrieving his socks and shoes and sitting on a chair to put them on. “I left my phone at the house because I didn’t want to be disturbed coming out here. But you know how Lin gets when she’s on a mission. There’s been a couple glitches with the press conference tomorrow, and I need to get back and deal with them. She couldn’t reach me, so she called the house phone and spoke to Grandfather. After I deal with those things, I really should work on a statement for tomorrow.”

“It’s okay. I understand,” she said truthfully, tying the lace on her boots. She could just imagine the gargantuan task laid before Lin of coordinating a press conference on a day’s notice from across the ocean.

“You’ll come back with me?” he said, standing.

She gave him a knowing, wry glance. It wasn’t really a question. He didn’t want her out here alone. She sighed, not feeling up to arguing with him after their intimate, stolen moments together.

“Okay. I can firm up the sketches I’ve done so far up at the house,” she conceded, putting on her coat and standing to grab her things. He finished dressing and waited for her near the door. He remained unmoving when she approached. She stood before him and looked up at him solemnly.

He touched her cheek. “I hate it when we have to part.”

She blinked, recognizing he was speaking about their interrupted lovemaking, but so much more.

“We don’t have to be apart,” she said softly, feeling his stare and stroking finger in places beyond the flesh. “Not in any permanent sense of the word. Not unless you choose it.”

“I didn’t choose any of this. Fate did. I’m just trying to deal with the fallout.”

“You’re wrong,” she replied steadfastly. “You can choose, Ian. Your past? Or your future.”

He dropped his hand. She sensed his rising frustration at their disagreement, but she didn’t apologize. She started to move past him to the hallway, but he caught her arm.

He pulled her against him, his kiss possessive . . . hungry. She understood that he was reaffirming his right to touch her that way, and she reciprocated without hesitation. Her still-aroused sex throbbed. The time for pretending she didn’t crave him—love him—with every ounce of her being had passed. She figured the realization had hit when she’d stood in the woods sketching earlier, wrestling with her warring emotions, and heard him calling for her, so desperate in his need.

* * *

Elise came to visit with her in her suite early that afternoon, bringing the sad news that Lucien and she planned to return to Chicago the day after tomorrow.

“Lucien hinted very vaguely that he and Ian might take a trip together sometime in the near future,” Elise said as she looked over Francesca’s shoulder at her completed sketches. “Do you have any idea where they are going?”

Francesca glanced back at Elise uneasily. “No. I don’t know precisely what they might be doing or where they are going, but I can tell you, I don’t think it’s a good idea at all.”

They’d agreed that the brothers were likely doing something associated with Trevor Gaines, and Elise didn’t appear very pleased about the concept of the upcoming trip, either.

After Elise left to go riding, Francesca had gotten down to about an hour of some serious sketching, rising out of her trance at around three o’clock. She was restless. This was about the time Mrs. Hanson often took her tea, and Francesca had grown in the habit of sitting with her in Ian’s kitchen while she’d spent so much time in the penthouse. It was a tradition she missed.

She was walking down the grand staircase, planning on going to the kitchen, when she saw Ian crossing the Great Hall toward the front doors with that familiar long-legged, purposeful stride. Her heart did its typical jump upon seeing him unexpectedly. She noticed he’d shaved and changed his shirt since they were out at the cottage. How he managed to look so distinct and sophisticated and elementally male at once never ceased to fascinate her.

He turned and paused when she called out to him.

“Where are you off to?” she asked, approaching.

His blue eyes flickered over her body, lingering on her breasts. She’d showered after her return from the cottage and changed clothing. His small smile was like a warm, sexual caress. Their differing backgrounds and styles of dressing had been a point of self-consciousness and awkwardness on Francesca’s part since the beginning of their relationship. Ian, on the other hand, was typically sublimely nonchalant in regard to how she dressed, expecting everyone to treat her like a queen no matter how she was garbed.

I want you to know that I am far from being critical of your appearance. Whether you’re in pearls or your Cubs T-shirt, I find you to be extremely attractive. Perhaps you haven’t noticed?

She shared his smile at the memory of him saying those words to her in that dry, sardonic tone of his.

“I don’t have the type of clothing in storage here at Belford that I’d like for the press conference,” he said. “I packed light for my stay. A haberdasher I know in Belford is going to set me up and deliver a suit in the morning. Speaking of clothing,” he said, his gaze rising from the red C logo on the T-shirt she wore to her face. “I see you’re wearing one of my favorite outfits.”