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Slender fingers cupped his balls now as the fingers of her other hand gripped the shaft. And stroked.
Kell drew in a hard breath.
"Let's see if you like this, eh?" He landed a light slap against her rear. Watched her jerk. Felt her
moan.
Not hard. Emily wouldn't like a hard caress. She was delicate yet strong. But her flesh was sensitive,
easily bruised and easily stung.
He wanted to deliver the lightest touch. Just enough to make her feel the flames, to tempt her, to see
how much more she could stand before he went further.
She wiggled her pert little rear and mouthed the head of his cock with enough hunger to send flames
racing up his spine. Damn. She would kill him before she finished tonight.
He landed another tap to her rear, grimacing as she tightened, then allowed his fingers to trail along
the shallow cleft as she stilled. Like a little fox, waiting, cautious, wary.
He drew back, watching the shudder that raced through her then feeling her mouth draw on his cock
again. She was sucking him like a dream. Like a hungry goddess, licking and mouthing his dick as her
playful fingers played on his balls and his shaft.
He tapped her rear with his fingers again, just a bit harder, and before she could process the added
burn, moved his fingers down her cleft, curved beneath her thighs, and filled her tight, hot pussy with
two fingers in a sudden, stretching thrust.
Enough of this playful teasing. He pumped inside the clenching tunnel with the fingers of one hand
while the others gripped her hair, held her to him and pumped her mouth with slow, steady strokes.
"Enough teasing, sugar," he growled. "You'll take me now, eh? Now, before we both die from the
need."
Chapter Nineteen
Kell pulled at Emily s hair and her mouth sank deeper on his dick, her expression transforming in her
pleasure as the pressure on her scalp became a delicate pain.
Hell. Damn it to hell. He loved a woman that liked her hair pulled.
He pulled again, felt her moan, watched her lashes flutter against her cheek as her suckling grew
harder. Deeper. The stroking motions of her fingers over his shaft became firmer, stronger, as the
fingers cupping his balls twitched and flexed until he felt the sweet bite of her nails against the tender
flesh.
He pulled again, one hand moving to cover hers on his erection as his hips began to move. To thrust
into her mouth, to gain control before it was too late to control.
Force of will, he told himself desperately. That was all it took. Pulling from the heated suckling of her
mouth nearly destroyed him.
The edge was so close. The hunger rising so sharply inside him that he took time only to push her
around on the bed, lift her hips, and begin penetrating her.
Emily stared across the bed in shock, her gaze locked with her own in the mirror across from her
before she lifted it to Kell.
Did he know his expression was tortured? Tormented? Nearly as much as hers. He was pushing
inside her by slow degrees, making her feel every bite of the impalement, every inch that stroked
across every nerve ending.
He had one hand locked in her hair, the other clamped on her hip, and behind her, his face was a mask
of lust and need. But his eyes. His eyes were filled with something. Something hot, possessive,
challenging.
She bucked in his grip, pulling away and smiling in triumph as he slipped from her. She watched his
lips firm, watched the determination that crossed his expression before he stilled her movements and
began pushing inside her again.
Oh God, it was too good. It was delicious. It was burning and tingling and sending wicked, wicked
fingers of sensation to race around her already swollen clit.
"Come 'ere, chère." His voice was hoarse as she pulled forward again, almost dislodging him.
"Sweet little fox. My own little fox." He surged forward, burying another inch as her back arched.
Emily saw the frank triumph in his expression then. The dark shimmer of male satisfaction on his
piratical face. The days' growth of beard and emerald eyes made him look wicked enough. But that
lust and triumph in his expression only made it more so.
"Kell!" Her thoughts were scattered as he burrowed in deeper, his fingers pulling and releasing at her
hair, his possession filling her, stretching her.
"Tell me what you like, eh love," he groaned, retreating, penetrating, never filling her enough, never
hard enough or deep enough.
As his fingers eased in her hair she jerked forward again, dislodging him once more. A frown edged
at his brow. Both hands clamped on her hips, and before she could draw a breath and prepare for it,
he was plunging inside her.
"Ah God!" He stilled, trembling nearly as hard as she was shaking. "Fuck. Emily. No condom," he
panted, a rivulet of sweat running down the side of his face to disappear into his beard.
No condom.
She stilled, trying to breathe, trying not to clench around the brutally hard flesh inside her. She saw
his face then. Saw the struggle in his expression, the need, the force of emotion. And suddenly, she
didn't care. She had no intentions of letting him go. Ever. Super Glue would have nothing on Emily
Stanton when it came to Kell.
"I don't care," she whispered. "I don't care, Kell."
He was staring at where their bodies were interlocked, sweat now beading his face as he swallowed
convulsively. His fingers clenched on her hips. The muscles in his thighs tightened and he began to
withdraw. Slowly, so slowly.
Emily dragged in a whimpering breath, both at the retreat as well as the sensations. She wouldn't push
it. She wouldn't demand. Having Kell's baby would be more joy than she could imagine, but
A ragged, tortured groan left his throat. A second later, he was buried inside her once more and he
didn't stop. His hips moved quickly, hard. Each thrust built in pleasure, the feel of his flesh bare
inside hers, the stretching heat, the need building and building as she kept her gaze locked on him.
She had to. If she didn't center herself she would fly away. She would explode into fragments that
might never find form again.
She arched in front of him, her fingers digging into the blankets as the thrusts increased. Her ragged
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