“Let me.” His voice was a cross between a snarl and thunder.
His face turned to stone as his thumb rocked me in the perfect way and his cock drove into me in ultimate rhythm.
I gave up being self-conscious or worried or tender or shy.
I threw myself into the carnage we created, my knees heating from carpet burn; my heart well and truly expired. “Elder...El...God, El.”
My head fell back, my eyes closed, my body swayed as my hips rocked, forcing myself down and onto him, filling me with him, consuming him, riding him, buying him, forging him to me for eternity.
I’d never been so free, so liquid, so dazed.
It was a dance.
A waltz.
A fucking on the floor with my lover panting and writhing beneath me.
“Come, Pim. Ride me.” He grunted and groaned. “Fuck, yes, ride me. Take me. Fuck, I want to come. I want to watch you break apart. I want to feel you.”
His face twisted into something demonic. “Ride me, Tasmin. Fucking ride me.”
So I did.
Time lost all meaning as we merged into one. We no longer fought to stay in sync; we were in sync. Our breathing, our thoughts, our bodies, our orgasms.
We drove each other up and up and up. We drove each other insane and crazy and wild.
And when there was nowhere else to climb and nowhere else to venture, we fell.
Ripple after ripple turned into a tide which turned into a waterfall.
His hand on my clit pushed me from orgasm to bitter splitting, and I jerked as if someone cut all my strings, crumpled me up, and threw me down to earth to forever be his.
He roared.
I screamed.
We rode out the waves, his heels driving into the floor to climb higher into me and my knees bleeding from rocking so hard.
We were determined to mark each other. Blinded and deaf to anything but crawling inside each other in every way possible.
And when the last clench wrung us dry, and there was nothing more than agonising echoes, we crashed together—boneless, broken, and utterly burned out.
Slowly, his cock softened inside me.
Slowly, the angry drive diminished from his eyes.
Slowly, his touch turned soft and adoring instead of rageful and controlling.
Finally, he kissed my forehead and brushed sweat-tangled hair from my eyes. “It’s time for us to go home.”
I nodded, too weak and sated to speak.
I stayed in my sex daze as he rolled me off him, and we both winced at him pulling free. My body mourned him, but my heart was glad for a reprieve.
Doing up his trousers and smoothing his shirt, Elder gently scooped me into his chest and pulled me to my feet. I allowed him to do his best to fix my broken dress, smiling as he used his cravat to wrap around my bodice and keep my corset together, so I didn’t flash the masquerade guests.
I snuggled into him as he wrapped his arm around me, plucked the penny bracelet from the floor where I’d tossed it, found my shoe and discarded knickers, and unlocked the door.
Guiding me through Hawksridge Hall, I feared we’d bump into the master and mistress in our current state of undress. We looked as if we’d gone to war and both sides had lost.
But both sides won instead.
I hugged that happy lucky conclusion.
I was right.
He was wrong.
My theory on three was cemented.
As we stepped into the cool English night and kept to the shadows to avoid peering eyes, I whispered, “You owe me an apology.”
His eyes flashed, knowing full well what I meant.
I’d promised this would happen, and I’d promised the loser would owe the winner commiseration.
I waited for him to deny he’d been able to stop willingly. That we’d slept together and stopped without the need for any third party interference.
He merely guided me down the steps and onto white gravel. “I owe you nothing. Don’t try that again, Pimlico. Do you hear me?”
He was back to calling me Pimlico.
I was glad.
For a second there, I’d been two people blended into one.
I was back to one.
The better one.
The stronger one.
The one who had just won.
I smiled and made no promises.
Because we both knew I’d proven a point.
He’d stopped at three.
We’d found our middle ground.
And we both knew what that meant...
There would be no denying me now.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Elder
WE DIDN’T SAY goodbye to anyone.
It was the height of rudeness, but with my blood coursing through my veins and overwhelming tenderness commanding me to care for Pim, I couldn’t bow to social niceties.
I couldn’t waste time finding Jethro Hawk to thank him for his hospitality. I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye knowing full well I’d broken every rule of guest etiquette. He must never know we’d christened his quaint sitting room not once, or twice, but three fucking times.
So uncivilized but so ridiculously good.
Even now, with rational thinking part of my arsenal again, I couldn’t understand how I’d stopped. All I could remember was the driving obsession to claim again and again. She’d felt so good, so hot, so wet. All other thoughts apart from quintessential fucking didn’t factor in my brain. I was utterly obsessed, one-tracked, consumed. Yet when I’d done my best to stop after the second time, and Pim had chased after me, denying me the right to protect her, the sense of calm after my third release shocked me stupid.
All my life I’d known three was my tic, my twitch, my go-to number.
But why had Pim dared risk her well-being to see if it worked in sex too?
How did she know?
Silly woman.
Silly, incredible, sexy-as-fuck woman.
Sitting beside her, I wasn’t raging with regret for hurting her but comfortably exhausted—almost at peace for indulging in what I’d wanted for months and finding both of us survived.
She’d tested her theory...just like she’d warned me. I only wished she hadn’t done it in someone else’s home.
But then again, in a way, I was glad.
We’d crossed boundaries at Hawksridge Hall. We’d gone to battle and come out a little bloody, a little banged up, but with better awareness of our opponent.
Pim had known the risks and broken me anyway.
She’d opened her heart and body and trusted me.
Trust.
That one terrible gift.
If I’d known she’d throw that back in my face after I gave her the penny bracelet, I would never have taken her to Hawksridge. I would never have let myself be alone with her.
Stepping into that room, she’d given me no choice—almost as if she’d heard my fleeting thoughts about leaving her somewhere in England. Of putting her in a safe house, surrounded by guards, and preventing her from being beside me when the Chinmoku hit.
The idea had come to me while talking to Jethro. He was a man who’d lost a lot to gain so much. I understood the lengths he would go to protect his wife, and it made me aware how selfish I was being by keeping Pim by my side.
I loved her...therefore, it was my duty to protect her.
And I can’t do that with her on the Phantom.