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Bound by him, p.3
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       Bound by Him, p.3

           Red Garnier
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  She was his woman, his love, the one thing that would make three years of misery worth it. He covered one breast with his hand and thrust his tongue into the warm depths of her mouth, faster and harder, finding there was no fight left in her, only surrender.

  She went weightless. Her hands fisted in his hair, never once pushing him back, instead her fingers bit into his scalp as she jerked him closer. A groan tore out of him, and he deepened the kiss until both of them were clutching frantically at each other’s bodies . . .


  Whitney had to stop him, had to . . .

  But she felt powerless and intoxicated, aching for Andrew to take away all the hurt that he’d put there.

  She shuddered when he drew his head back, his arms still like steel around her.

  She ached for his strength. The ways he made her feel protected and safe. Ached to forget he’d ever hurt her and pretend he’d never left.

  But this man wasn’t her loving Andrew anymore. Even in those sharp designer clothes, he didn’t look even half as polished as he used to. There was a rawness in his stare, a new ferocity in the depths of his gaze, that both terrified her and sent her senses reeling with arousal.

  He spoke tenderly to her, but there was an iron resolve behind his words that made her tummy clench in both need and dread, for she knew exactly what he wanted.

  And this terrifyingly sexy new version of him didn’t look like he was going to take no for an answer tonight.

  “Tell me everything. I need to know,” she pleaded. She would put the past behind her once she knew, knew why, why, why.

  He pressed his lips to her neck and rocked her against his body, soothing her like he used to. She could melt against him, dissolve into the air he breathed.

  “Tell me you want me,” he quietly growled, kissing her earlobe. “Tell me you need me, adore me.”

  She didn’t know what kind of mad devil possessed her. But it was the same one that gripped her when it came to this man. She just didn’t know this ripping, screaming need could so easily overpower every instinct of self-preservation inside her, every ounce of self-control, self-respect, and brainpower.

  With a tiny moan she couldn’t quite finish, she pushed up onto her tiptoes and took his lips with hers, desperately loosening his shirt from the waistband of his slacks as she stuck her tongue into his warm mouth. His stomach contracted under her fingertips when she felt warm, muscled bare skin under her touch, and her pulse jumped from the mere thrill of touching him.

  Responding to her more aggressively, he backed her into the wall and pulled up the skirt of her dress, never taking his mouth from hers.

  He slipped his hand between her thighs and a shot of excitement knifed through her as he cupped her pussy. “Wet.” He kissed her heatedly, passionately. “So damned wet for me. Hot for me.”

  She gripped his hair in her fists as he stroked her, moaning softly when he thrust two fingers in at the same time. “Andrew.”

  “I’m so swollen my piercing is biting into my flesh, and it’s killing me,” he said, his voice seductive as velvet as he rolled her clit under his thumb and continued sliding and withdrawing two fingers inside her. “I need to bury myself inside you and fill you up with me.”

  He drew back to look at her, and her breath stalled. The need in his eyes, the lust enlarging his pupils, that was hers, only hers. The knowledge made her desire soar to levels beyond her comprehension, and she pulled clumsily at his shirt.

  “Take this off,” she said urgently. “Take it off, take it off.”

  He jerked at it, withdrawing his hand from her pussy to pull it off his shoulders, and her insides gripped at the sight of him. He looked like he’d been doing push-ups all day, all this time. His chest was army ripped, tanned, and one of the most erotic, sexy things she’d ever seen in her life.

  A sound of need choked her as he pulled down his slacks and his erection popped free. He set his clothes on the sofa and came back.

  A spiral of desire whirled inside her belly as he approached.

  His cock bobbed, his piercing glinting in the soft light, and she licked her lip anxiously, sure that she would pass out from arousal. He was bigger than she remembered, swollen, red, the head bulbous, his piercing huge. Oh, God, she wanted every inch inside her. Every inch. Inside her.

  Rabid desire mingled with love shone in his eyes as he came within touching distance. He scooped her up and carried her to their bedroom—no, it was now his bedroom—then set her on her feet at the foot of the bed so he could undress her.

  She trembled as she watched his face. He was fully concentrating as he knelt at her feet, sliding a hand up her dress to tug her panties down her legs, then his eyes watched her reaction as he rose to unzip her dress. She let him, remembering how many times he’d done this, loving it this time even more.

  When her dress pooled at her feet, he unhooked her bra. All of a sudden, she stood before him, naked. She felt virginal and prized as his intense gaze coasted along her figure, heating every inch that it caressed.

  She didn’t think the look in his eyes could possibly get any fiercer.

  It could.

  His eyes glowed with a desire so deep, her core boiled as he visually gobbled her up. He took in her rounded shoulders, the generous swell of her breasts. They felt heavy and full under his stare, her nipples eagerly jutting forward. His heated gaze then coasted down her abdomen, past the flare of her hips, until it snagged on the small thatch of silken curls between her legs.

  The raw, unabashed look that settled on his face was so galvanizing, it sent a tremor through her. Face tight with lust, he eased her down onto the bed and came with her, one of his legs tangling between hers as he trailed one hand up her side.

  Ripples of pleasure spread through her as he palmed one bare breast, the warmth of his hand seeping through her skin. He avidly watched as he tweaked the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then his eyes flicked up meaningfully to hers. “I claim what’s mine,” he rasped as he bent his head to suck the tip of one breast into the hot cavern of his mouth.

  She arched with a soft cry, tunneling her fingers through his hair. “Andrew.” He cocked his head to lave the other breast, claiming it with a heated whisper against her skin. “Mine.” And then proving it, reminding her, as he drew the bud deep into his mouth until Whitney was tossing her head, breathless and in pure, red-hot bliss.

  As he continued torturing her with his lips, he took her hand in his and curled her fingers around the throbbing length of his erection. He was so big, she couldn’t form a fist. He was so hot, he scorched her. And he was so beautiful, she couldn’t breathe. He held her gaze as he squeezed his fist around her, forcing her to tighten her hold, and said gutturally, “Yours.”

  Her throat closed with emotion and she nodded her head, completely eroticized. His piercing hung from the underside of his shaft, just a hair from where the crown began, and the thick gold hoop dangled heavily from his erect cock.

  Tantalized beyond her mind, she stroked her fingers along the smooth gold ring first, noticing she could slide her little finger through the opening of the hoop. Andrew slid his hands into her hair again, his breath in her ear. “Only yours . . .”

  He planted a titillating kiss in the hollow of her neck, then another on her chin, breathing heavily as she tentatively caressed him.

  “When did you get pierced?” she asked, frightened and excited by the novelty. His cock glinted with the gold hoop, thrilling her so powerfully, she quivered to her toes.

  “The day I left you, so that every erection reminded me I couldn’t have you.”

  His words both confused and mesmerized her. “What do you mean?”

  “When I left, Whitney . . . I wanted to mark my cock for you, so that every time it hardened I would dream of all the ways I would pleasure you when I returned. I imagined the ecstasy you would feel . . . how you’d be undone with it. We both would.”

  Feeling desperately possessive, she stroked his pulsing
length, up and down, gently at first. A trickle of liquid rose to the slit, milky white against his tan. Her mouth watered as she wiped it up with her thumb and her mouth watered even more when a new drop of semen rose forth. She picked it up with her finger and brought it to her mouth, her tongue coming out.

  She licked it.

  He lost it.

  His eyes almost frighteningly dark, he spread out her arms and pulled her legs around his hips with thrilling intent.

  He grabbed the base of his cock and teased it across the entrance of her pussy, the move somehow also scraping his piercing over her folds.

  Eyes wild, he trailed the swollen head of his shaft to fondle it across her clitoris, and a drop of semen dribbled off the tip and onto her clit. He pressed the liquid in with his thumb, rubbing it on her flesh, his eyes on fire as he slid down her body again.

  Red-hot fingers of pleasure slid along her spine, her vagina contracting painfully when he thrust his tongue into her sheath only fleetingly, testing her entry.


  He sucked the nub of her clitoris into his mouth, and her vagina clenched with each melting pull of his mouth. Taking advantage of each tightening sensation, he thrust two fingers inside her. She caught her breath at the agonizingly delicious invasion, then cried out, “Please” and locked his face to her. Passion pounded the blood through her sex, her heart, her head. His fingers quickened, and suddenly they shifted places, and his thumb rolled her clit around in delicious little jabs while his tongue speared into her, pushing her to the brink.

  “Please, please, please . . .” she begged. “I need you . . . I need you . . .”

  He released his breath in one low hiss, coming up to wedge himself between her legs. “You’re so excited, so wet, Whitney,” he told her, and she mewed and rocked her hips, eager for his cock. He pinned her hips down and pushed the first few inches of his erection into her. She yelled out, and he growled and held her pinned, watching with glimmering eyes as he plowed another two inches inside of her.

  Pleasure engulfed her, made her strain to get more of him, hard and pulsing, inside her.

  His head fell back on a groan and she could see that he fought for control. He pushed farther in, gaining three more inches. Then, when they both moaned in unison, he thrust inside her, the flesh of their abdomens slapping as he went completely in.

  The groan that tore out of him was erotic—fierce. There was nothing else. No absence. No past. No future. Only the slick sound of their flesh slapping, their breaths tearing out of their chests as he began a frantic rhythm.

  The ring slid inside her walls, up and down, as he pumped her, and her spine arched, her eyes wild as she gripped him. He scraped powerfully inside her, introducing her to a pleasure she had never, ever, imagined before. She screamed and convulsed in orgasm, crying out his name, her nails biting into his straining shoulders.

  He didn’t stop when her tremors subsided. He continued plowing into her, slower, but deeper, reminding her of all those nights she had been in his arms, living and dying in the same second.

  “Andy,” she gasped, frightened at the intensity, hanging onto him as her hips wildly swiveled up to his.

  “Say you’re mine,” he demanded, his breath ragged and harsh, his face contorted in ecstasy as his fingers dug into her pelvis.

  His scent, hot and musky, roiled around her as he pulled her arms high above her head and pinioned her there for his thrusts, his eyes so fierce with love she felt drowned in it, in him, in the ecstasy of his every hard thrust. “Say it, Whitney. Say that every inch of you burns for me. Screams for me. Say that your body is my home. Welcome me the fuck home.”

  His words electrified her. As she climbed higher and higher to the peak, she strained up to latch onto his lips, fiercely answering his demands with her lips, her tongue.

  His shoulders were her only anchor, his hands gripping and holding her, telling her wordlessly to let go . . . and he would catch her. He would hold her. He would complete her again for the first time in three . . . awful . . . lonely . . . years . . .

  Her climax sloshed over her in a wave of heat, and she shattered into a million glowing pieces, his name tearing off her lips the instant she heard him growl out, “Whitney”—and that single word, in his voice, from his lips, poured through her like a salve until her tremors finished.


  Whitney lay there, her eyelids heavy, her red hair a fan behind her, and Andrew was still bursting full with everything he needed to give her. Everything he hadn’t been able to give her.

  He slid between her parted thighs, not caring that his semen was all over her, too thirsty for her taste not to lower his head and lick her.

  Her pussy creamed even more, and as soon as he prodded her entry with his tongue, her juice sluiced down his throat in a buffet for all his senses. He was drowning in her. Her feminine scent, her heat, the shallow little sounds of her rapid breaths. A growl rumbled up his throat as his thirsty lips moved on her clit, lightly at first, then with more force as he could feel the pleasure building inside her again until she whimpered.

  Her pelvis pumped up to his mouth, her hands cradling the back of his head almost lovingly as he brought both his hands to stroke her inner thighs, and then used them both to part her labia wider and push his tongue even deeper into her until another orgasm crashed through her.

  His ears roared from the force of his desire, listening to her gasp and moan in her climax. He needed her again, was starved for her, wanted to be one with her.

  As soon as her shudders subsided, he splayed her open beneath him and sprawled his body above hers, pinning her down with his weight, and she wrapped her limbs around him, supple and warm. “Please.”

  His heartbeat roared in his ears as he found her center and rubbed the length of his erection along her slit. Soaked wet with her orgasm, it beckoned him. Inch by pulsing inch, he impaled himself in her, his mind whirling to absorb every inch of the way she looked beneath him, a part of him afraid he was dreaming her. Fantasizing her. A part of him afraid that he’d wake up in the morning to a cold bed, hard and small beneath him, and no Whitney.

  But she was too real, the heat of her body burning him, heating up his bedroom. She was all creamy skin and rosy cheeks, coated with perspiration, scented of sex and vanilla and him . . .

  He growled and thrust into her. She gasped and angled her pelvis to draw him in deeper, and he barked out in pleasure. “Yes,” he gritted, and scraped his lips up the curve of her tender neck. “I’m home.”

  Tight as a fist, she rippled wet and hot around his pulsing length, her nails digging into his ass as she urged him closer. She was teeth-grindingly snug—and he gloried in the way she embraced his body, embraced his cock.

  “Work your legs higher, show me you want me here,” he rasped, and she locked her ankles at the small of his back so that when he thrust once more, she screamed and he yelled in unison. This union between them—it had been kept from him for three years. Three. Fucking. Years. It tore through his insides like a firestorm, ripping his emotions open. His muscles spasmed as he rammed her with more force, burying himself up to his balls. “You feel so fucking good . . .”

  “Andy.” Feverish, she pushed her breasts up to his diaphragm in a sinuous arch of her spine as she clawed at his body with her fingertips, and when he pinioned her arms above her and laced his fingers between hers, their tattoos came skin to skin, and he started fucking her for real.

  She went crazy. Crying out in delirium, she writhed beneath him and sank her teeth into the curve between his neck and shoulder, pulling his flesh almost painfully hard.

  The pace he set mounted into a frenzy of slapping flesh, gasps and moans, and slick sounds of their mouths melding. Bubbling little sounds tore from her lips, turning into moans that caressed him down to his scrotum. He felt completed. His orgasm there, poised at the brink, held back only as he waited for her.

  His breath tore out of him. Every ounce of desire he’d felt for her,
of longing, of fear for her, had been worth it if only to come back here and bury himself inside his woman’s wet heat. “Shatter for me,” he commanded, and she broke apart at the words.

  She just broke apart.

  The second she did, he came undone. He felt the milking contractions of her sex as the never-ending orgasm coursed through her, until his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and a heart-stopping climax whipped him into a maelstrom of sensation.

  Pleasure barreled through him, tearing her name from his lips as he bucked over her, filling her with his liquid heat and his desire for her.

  Minutes later, he settled down and held her small, sweat-slickened body against his side, his chest overflowing as he gazed down at her flushed cheeks, her closed eyelids, with a soft smile on her lips. It felt like the world had finally been set to rights with Whitney beside him.

  She was so tired, she didn’t utter a word of protest. She curled up closer as though in need of his touch, her breath warm against his neck as she dozed off with her cheek pressed to his shoulder.

  He stroked her hair between his fingers and watched her sleep, remembering the first time he’d seen her. He’d been at Daniel Lexington’s place. She was Daniel’s little sister’s best friend, and Andrew had been bowled over at the sight of that red hair, the soft smiles she gave him from afar when their gazes met.

  “Who’s the titian-haired girl?”

  “Whitney Donahue, the heiress to the Donahue fortune when she turns eighteen. Right now she’s in guardianship, with some uncle on her father’s side.”

  He’d been captivated right there. By her shy smile—especially. He’d started looking out for her at every Lexington event, somehow thinking in his head, I’m going to marry this girl. When she turned seventeen, Andrew hadn’t seen her for months, and Chloe said she hadn’t been feeling well.

  He’d lingered outside the building where she lived, until he saw her come out, and he’d strode up to talk to her. The way she’d smiled when she saw him . . . he’d never forget that smile. Like he was the center of . . . everything. But he noticed her face was swollen—and she said she’d fallen. The discovery that she’d been enduring physical abuse for years, since her parents had died, had made Andrew angrier than he’d ever been in his entire life.

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