And she was. She was holding nothing back, opening herself to him, straining to give him pleasure, racing after her own.
God help her.
“Go up on your toes again,” he ordered harshly, still plunging his cock into her faster and faster. “I’ll keep you steady. Do it, Francesca,” he said sharply when she didn’t immediately respond, she was so lost in pounding pleasure. She did what he’d demanded, flexing her calves and raising her heels. She gasped when he thrust. How did he always divine the mechanics of sex so well? The position raised her ass, giving him a new angle of penetration. It tightened her muscles around him, made her feel him inside her body even more acutely. His guttural grunt told her he’d felt the fresh pressure, too, and that he liked it. A lot. He pulled his leg back, so that both of them were behind her, and drove into her with increased force, making a scream pop out of her throat. It hurt a little, he took her so hard, but it aroused her much, much more.
“Just a few more seconds,” he grated out. “Stay up on your toes. It feels so fucking good. I’m going to come in you.”
Her eyes sprang wide when he plunged deep and she felt him swell huge. His cock jumped inside her, making her stifle another shout. She felt the warmth of his semen as he began to ejaculate, heard how he trapped his desperate roar in his throat so that he made a wild, muffled, growling sound as he came. It was difficult to say why she loved it so much, having him take his pleasure even while she was slightly uncomfortable. He gave her so much bliss so often and so precisely. She relished the chance to give him an equally searing release.
After his last shudder of orgasm had shaken him, he continued to hold her tightly against him, breathing harshly.
“Put down your heels,” he said eventually, his voice sounding both harsh and fond at once. She hadn’t even realized she’d remained under his command, even after his moment had passed.
She did as he directed, sighing in relief at the release of tension. She’d wondered why it was so arousing for her to sacrifice a little in order to give him pleasure, but when he put his hand between her thighs, she no longer cared. It was enough that it was true. Her body knew what it wanted, what it loved. She was soaking, aroused to the breaking point. She could hear his fingers moving in her well-lubricated flesh and the sounds of his satisfied grunt at the flagrant proof of her arousal. Her clit sizzled beneath his expert touch. In a matter of seconds, she was coming against his hand while his cock twitched high inside her.
* * *
The entire experience hadn’t only been an erotic and intimate one for Francesca, but also an intensely emotional one. She hadn’t been aware of any tears falling, but they must have at some point. A few minutes later, while they showered together, Ian gently washed her cheeks clean of them. He looked into her eyes as the hot water rushed around their naked bodies.
“I know,” he said quietly. “I know how hard this is for you. All of it. I’m sorry.”
She swallowed thickly. There. He’d apologized. Was she petty to be gratified? She didn’t think so. Wasn’t it better that he felt he at least had the power to apologize for his actions? Before, it’d been as if he didn’t apologize because it was like saying he was sorry for a tornado, hurricane, fate, or some other force of unpredictability.
Didn’t saying he was sorry imply—even in a small way—that he realized he had some choice in how he responded to all of this?
His thumb moved, stroking her cheek as she looked up at him soberly. “I just want to know for certain that I deserve to be by your side,” he said, his deep voice sounding hollow.
She shut her eyes upon seeing the pain he usually shielded so well. That dreaded feeling of helplessness hit her like a slamming wave. There was nothing she could say. He knew how she felt.
She went up on her toes again, ignoring the soreness of her calves, and took him into her arms, pressing their warm, wet bodies tightly together, using the only weapon she possessed to shield him from his misery.
Chapter Twelve
He’d said he’d take his fill of her that night, and he did just that after they returned to bed, making love to her with an almost wild desperation until they both collapsed and fell into exhausted sleep. The thought occurred to Francesca that he reminded her of a man feasting madly the night before he was forced into a barren imprisonment, but then she quickly shoved aside the thought, finding it unbearable to consider for long.
When they went down to breakfast the next morning together, she took his hand in hers when they reached the Great Hall. He turned, blinking at her gesture, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. She just gave him a small smile and didn’t let go, even when they walked past several of the staff and into the dining room, where James and Gerard already sat reading their papers and breakfasting.
The house staff, a technician that Lin had hired, and Anne were all bustling around in preparation for the press conference. It was to be held in the reception room, since it was large enough to seat the thirty or so reporters that had been invited, but small enough for good acoustics.
Lucien and Elise hadn’t come down yet, but Gerard, James, Francesca, and Ian were sipping coffee and eating the breakfasts they’d served themselves from the sideboard, when Mrs. Hanson entered the dining room with a gray-haired, stern looking, thin woman. Francesca blinked and set down her fork when she saw Clarisse hovering behind the two older women, obviously uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry to disturb you during your breakfast, your lordship,” Mrs. Hanson apologized.
“Don’t be silly. Is something wrong, Eleanor?” James asked, looking politely puzzled.