Only You - Lord of the Manor book 1

Chapter 23

'Please. Please, stop.' I cry.

'You stop, Louis. Just stop.' Slipping his index finger under the material, he traces left to right, in slow, soft, measured strokes while continuing the invasion of his lips on my ear and neck. I could cry with frustration.

The warm friction buckles my knees, sending violent quivers over my entire body. I hear him laugh lightly, deep at the back of his throat, sending vibrations down my spine and a slow steady beat to my core. I clamp my thighs together, moving my hand from his arm to his chest and pushing in total vain. I don't even know why I'm bothering now. I'm a heartbeat away from surrendering to him. He's persistently pursuing me in lust, and I've fallen hard for him – really hard. My head feels like it could explode, and I'm not sure if it'll be in pleasure or confusion. I'm so bloody confused.

When his lips reach mine again, I still resist, trying my hardest to block it all out. My poor brain is being thrown a million different commands – fight him; resist him; accept him; kiss him; knee him in the bollocks.

And then his hand is delving into my shorts, his fingers separating me, causing electricity to spark violently through me. He brushes over my entrance, so very gently. I jerk, my mouth opens and I let out a cry of pleasure. He takes full advantage of my lapse in willpower, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, exploring and lapping every corner, his finger slowly circling my burning core. I kiss him back.

'Let my hand go.' I pant, flexing the muscles in my arm.

He must know that he's got me because my hand is released on a moan and he's griping the nape of my neck immediately. I throw my arms around his neck to pull him closer to me – just like that.

His hips thrust against his own erection, increasing the pressure of his assault on my core before removing his hand and making quick work of lubing his fingers up.

Does this man always travel with lube in his pocket?

As fast as his gone, he's back and his fingers enter me. My muscles grip him hard. I moan.

He pulls away from me, gasping and heaving, looking at me through his hooded, glazed eyes. 'I thought so.' he says, his husky tone pushing my building orgasm higher.

He crashes his lips back on mine, and I accept it – all of it. Once again, I'm a slave to this beautiful, neurotic man. My willpower has diminished and my weaknesses have been weakened.

I run my hands across his suited back, my fingers delving into his hair as he continues his excruciatingly slow, controlled drives with his fingers. I could cry with pleasure and frustration, but how can I resist this? I'll never escape him.

Now that I've stopped fighting him, his tongue is working my mouth at a calmer, steadier rate. The hotness of our combined mouths feels natural and absolute. My thighs tighten with the building climax threatening to attack me from every direction, and my grip of his hair increases. He gets the message, hardening his kiss, the strokes of his fingers becoming harder and he moves his other hand and firmly grasps me where I need him most as I'm bulldozed by pleasure and rocketed skyward. My mind goes blank, except for the bliss of release riding through me. I bite his lip. He groans. Holy fucking shit!

His strokes ease up, and I release his lip from my clenched teeth. I think I can taste blood, but my eyes won't open to confirm it. It would serve him right.

'Remember yet?' he whispers softly against my lips. I sigh, pulling my heavy eyes open to meet his green gaze. I don't answer him; he knows the answer to that question. But as always, I never forgot. He doesn't demand an answer. He just leans down, dropping a gentle kiss on my mouth, my tongue sweeping across his bottom lip, licking away the small drop of blood that I've drawn.