And God help her, but she wanted him, too. She felt so powerful looming over him. She was in control, and that was the most stunning aphrodisiac she could imagine. She felt a fluttering in her stomach, then a strange sort of quickening, and she knew that she needed him.
She wanted him inside her, filling her, giving her everything a man was meant to give to a woman.
“Oh, Daphne,” he moaned, his head tossing from side to side. “I need you. I need you now.”
She moved atop him, pressing her hands against his shoulders as she straddled him. Using her hand, she guided him to her entrance, already wet with need.
Simon arched beneath her, and she slowly slid down his shaft, until he was almost fully within her.
“More,” he gasped. “Now.”
Daphne's head fell back as she moved down that last inch. Her hands clutched at his shoulders as she gasped for breath. Then he was completely within her, and she thought she would die from the pleasure. Never had she felt so full, nor so completely a woman.
She keened as she moved above him, her body arching and writhing with delight. Her hands splayed flat against her stomach as she twisted and turned, then slid upward toward her breasts.
Simon let out a guttural moan as he watched her, his eyes glazing over as his breath came hot and heavy over his parted lips. “Oh, my God,” he said in a hoarse, raspy voice. “What are you doing to me? What have you—” Then she touched one of her nipples, and his entire body bucked upwards. “Where did you learn that?”
She looked down and gave him a bewildered smile. “I don't know.”
“More,” he groaned. “I want to watch you.”
Daphne wasn't entirely certain what to do, so she just let instinct take over. She ground her hips against his in a circular motion as she arched her back, causing her breasts to jut out proudly. She cupped both in her hands, squeezing them softly, rolling the nipples between her fingers, never once taking her eyes off Simon's face.
His hips started to buck in a frantic, jerky motion, and he grasped desperately at the sheets with his large hands. And Daphne realized that he was almost there. He was always so careful to please her, to make certain that she reached her climax before he allowed himself the same privilege, but this time, he was going to explode first.
She was close, but not as close as he was.
“Oh, Christ!” he suddenly burst out, his voice harsh and primitive with need. “I'm going to—I can't—” His eyes pinned upon her with a strange, pleading sort of look, and he made a feeble attempt to pull away.
Daphne bore down on him with all her might.
He exploded within her, the force of his climax lifting his hips off the bed, pushing her up along with him. She planted her hands underneath him, using all of her strength to hold him against her. She would not lose him this time. She would not lose this chance.
Simon's eyes flew open as he came, as he realized too late what he had done. But his body was too far gone; there was no stopping the power of his climax. If he'd been on top, he might have found the strength to pull away, but lying there under her, watching her tease her own body into a mass of desire, he was helpless against the raging force of his own need.
As his teeth clenched and his body bucked, he felt her small hands slip underneath him, pressing him more tightly against the cradle of her womb. He saw the expression of pure ecstasy on her face, and then he suddenly realized—she had done this on purpose. She had planned this.
Daphne had aroused him in his sleep, taken advantage of him while he was still slightly intoxicated, and held him to her while he poured his seed into her.
His eyes widened and fixed on hers. “How could you?” he whispered.
She said nothing, but he saw her face change, and he knew she'd heard him.
Simon pushed her from his body just as he felt her begin to tighten around him, savagely denying her the ecstasy he'd just had for himself. “How could you?” he repeated. “You knew. You knew th-that that I-I-I—”
But she had just curled up in a little ball, her knees tucked against her chest, obviously determined not to lose a single drop of him.
Simon swore viciously as he yanked himself to his feet. He opened his mouth to pour invective over her, to castigate her for betraying him, for taking advantage of him, but his throat tightened, and his tongue swelled, and he couldn't even begin a word, much less finish one.
“Y-y-you—” he finally managed.
Daphne stared at him in horror. “Simon?” she whispered.
He didn't want this. He didn't want her looking at him like he was some sort of freak. Oh God, oh God, he felt seven years old again. He couldn't speak. He couldn't make his mouth work. He was lost.
Daphne's face filled with concern. Unwanted, pitying concern. “Are you all right?” she whispered. “Can you breathe?”
“D-d-d-d-d—” It was a far cry from don't pity me, but it was all he could do. He could feel his father's mocking presence, squeezing at his throat, choking his tongue.
“Simon?” Daphne said, hurrying to his side. Her voice grew panicked. “Simon, say something!”
She reached out to touch his arm, but he threw her off. “Don't touch me!” he exploded.
She shrank back. “I guess there are still some things you can say,” she said in a small, sad voice.
Simon hated himself, hated the voice that had forsaken him, and hated his wife because she had the power to reduce his control to rubble. This complete loss of speech, this choking, strangling feeling—he had worked his entire life to escape it, and now she had brought it all back with a vengeance.