He had carried her up to the bedroom, not in his arms like a doting lover, but in a fireman’s hold like a marauding Viking.
Not until he had her through his personal sitting room and in his bedroom did he put her down or more to the point throw her down, right in the middle of the bed. He didn’t utter a sound, not even a grunt of effort.
Some sanity had returned at that point and her hands flew up to adjust the fallen neckline of her dress while he turned on the light at the bedside table.
“Don’t,” he barked when he saw her movements and, at the sound of his rough voice, her hands stilled, holding the bodice in place over her breasts as she struggled into a semi-reclining position.
He was staring at her and she was immobile in the face of his blazing eyes. She watched him in fascinated silence as he shrugged off his jacket and threw it on the floor. His hands moved and he yanked at his tie viciously. In one tug, it came loose and he threw it to join his jacket. Then he went to work on the buttons on his shirt.
“Douglas…” Julia was trying for a conciliatory tone, she was half-mad with wanting him, half-sane enough to realise her own fear. She sought control of the situation, time to think. He was furious, she knew, even though she wasn’t entirely certain why, and a fury the strength of his was a frightening thing.
But it was also something else.
It was magnetic.
She wanted this, she was forced to admit. She was no fool and she tried never to fool herself.
At the same time she was terrified of it.
He wasn’t helping her, looking at her as if he would be hanged in the morning and she was his last meal.
He had the last button undone on his shirt then his arm reached out abruptly, grabbed her by the waist and jerked her to her feet in front of him.
“Who chose this dress?” he asked, his hands sliding down her sides slowly.
“Charlie,” she answered nervously.
“Remind me to thank her,” he remarked right before he bunched the material at her hips and savagely pulled it up over her head, forcing her arms up with it. In a split second it, too, fell on the pile with his tie and his jacket.
His hands settled on her waist, the heat of them searing her bare skin and making her shiver as he roughly pushed her a couple of inches away from his body, holding her suspended, for she would surely never have been able to stand on her own at that angle.
Rather than cover herself, her arms fluttered down to her sides and she watched helplessly as his eyes drifted over her hungrily. She was wearing nothing but her black gloves, a pair of black, lace edged, garter-less stockings, black lace underwear, her pumps and his emerald.
“Jesus,” he murmured, looked in her eyes again and she could have drowned in the depths of his, they had turned to ink.
He pulled her in his arms, her bare skin crushed against the edges of his partially opened shirt and she barely had time to savour that sensation before she was falling backwards, one of his arms around her waist, the other one thrown out to control their fall. Her back no sooner hit the bed when he was gone, pulling away from her, his hand reaching for her panties.
“Douglas, we need to slow down.” This was going too quickly for her, she needed to think, she needed her clothes, she needed…
“Slow is not an option,” he declared as he pulled the lace expertly down her legs and it too joined the pile of clothing.
She gasped at the quickness of his action but his body covered hers before she could think or move and she became aware that he was still nearly fully clothed while she was nearly naked. She felt exposed and vulnerable.
This, she didn’t like.
He kissed her again and all such thoughts flew right out the window. Her body ignited as if the time between the white-hot passion of the stairwell and now had simply melted away.
He sucked her tongue into his mouth and she took the opportunity to explore it boldly. His hands were all over her, her hands roamed over him. Her skin tingled where he touched it and she moaned low in her throat.
He pulled his mouth away. “Take off your bloody gloves,” he commanded and, for once, she obeyed happily, shakily removing her gloves and flinging them wherever they would land.
The minute her bare hands touched the skin of his back under his shirt, there was no time to think, there was only time to feel. She felt his mouth on hers, on her neck, at the base of her throat. She felt the edge of his teeth drag against her nipple then pull it hungrily in his mouth then move to the other, only to do the same thing. She felt his hands roaming the skin of her sides, her bottom, her hips, her belly, against the silk of her stockings and then up, between her legs.
“Oh!” she cried, as he found her with his thumb, a fleeting, joyous pressure that sent her neck arching back and her mouth opening in a silent groan of pleasure. Then it was gone, only to be replaced with one, long finger sliding slowly inside her.
Her breath dragged out of her while his finger moved and his thumb again found its spot. She started panting, actually panting, as her stomach clutched and then dropped away and she pressed her hips urgently against his hand.
It was her turn to touch him, her hands insistently roaming, her mouth at his neck and throat, her tongue darting out to taste the salt of his skin against the hard muscle as she rode his hand like a madwoman. She was close, the pressure was building, she felt she only had to reach for it and the wild joy he was promising would be hers.
“Do you want me?” His mouth was at her ear but his finger had slid away, his thumb disappeared.
“Yes!” She didn’t hesitate, wanting it all back, wanting it immediately and willing to do anything to get it.
His hand was still gone and she arched her back, her breath ragged, her fingers desperately running down his arm to find his hand and pull it back to where it was. But this was thwarted, Douglas captured her hand in his and pulled her arm over her head, his body settling on hers as he caught her other wrist and imprisoned both over her head in one of his hands.
Then she felt him yanking at his trousers, then parting her legs and settling between them and, finally, she felt him there, just at the edge and not moving any closer.
She wanted him closer. She needed him closer.
She needed him inside her.
She realised her eyes were closed when they flew open and she saw him watching her, his indigo gaze boring into hers.
“Douglas,” she whispered and the minute she uttered his name, he slammed into her with a heady ferocity that she welcomed without question. Her hips lifted to receive him, her legs moved to open herself to him, one wrapped around his hip, the other curling around the back of his thigh.
He let go of her wrists and both of his hands went to pull her hips boldly upward to meet his thrusts, deepening them, his open lips on hers, receiving her moans in his mouth, every once in awhile his tongue shooting out to duel with her own.
She’d never, not once, climaxed simply with a man inside her but she felt it building now, felt her muscles tensing with anticipation, her legs tightening, her fingers clawing, her mouth searching… and then he was gone. His body completely still, he was suspended where she could feel the promise of him but she didn’t have him.
She arched against him in desperation, pressed her hips down, sought him soundlessly and through all this he withheld from her.
She bit her bottom lip, her nails dragging down his back and when she could take it no more, when she thought she would likely die if she didn’t feel him inside her again, she pressed her mouth against his, looked into his dark eyes and begged, “Please.”