Bending her over the window seat, he looped her bound hands over the ancient iron window latch, imprisoning her there.
She let out a whimper as he flung her skirts above her waist, and another as her underthings disintegrated in his hands.
He tested her slit as he freed his erection. A river of moisture drenched his fingers and his desire flared impossibly hotter.
He breached her body with one brutal thrust. Claimed her with the second. Branded her with his third. She cried out only a little. Her feminine muscles bearing down against his invasion for only a moment before drawing him in.
Mine. He drove forward.
Only mine. He seized the soft flesh of her ass, spreading it for his view. Watching his cock spear into her with deep, devastating thrusts.
The sight was too much, and he roared his brutal anger out against the window as pulses of fire poured into her receiving body. Sweat bloomed beneath his clothing, his hair fell into his eyes. His hands clutched at the globes of her ass with bruising force, as agonizing torrents of pleasure burst through him.
Thunder roared back at him from the sky, and the first drops of the coming storm pelted the window. It cooled his fire, but only a little. Once the orgasm passed, Dorian paused only to pull the pins out of her tidy hair, remaining buried deep inside her warm, wet flesh.
He bent over her, the width of his shoulders engulfing the slimness of hers. “I’m like this all the bloody time around you. I hate it. Do you know that? I have no control. I just want to fuck and fuck and fuck until nothing matters anymore. Until we can no longer move our limbs or lift our heads to eat.” He flexed his still-hard cock inside of her. “This is supposed to go away after I come. But it doesn’t. Not with you, wife. My passion is this insatiable perversion.”
Her hair tumbled down her back, falling in a tumultuous curtain of silvery ringlets across her face and onto the red window seat.
“It will destroy you,” he bit out, burying his hand in her hair as he surged forward again. “It will consume you.”
“Dorian—please!” Her voice trembled, her muscles clenched around his shaft.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped as a new blaze ignited on the embers of his previous climax. She would hate him. He already hated himself. But she felt so good, and he’d waited so long. “I’m sorry but I—I can’t stop.”
“No,” she gritted out, her voice low and guttural. “Please—faster.”
He fucked her then. One hand bracing her hip, the other grasping the hair at her scalp, imprisoning her head and exposing her throat as he pistoned into her tight body again and again.
Little pants of demand escaped her. Tight whimpers of pain or pleasure. Then she bucked against him, a reedy cry becoming a shrill one. She twisted and writhed, pulled and arched as her intimate muscles drew another soul-shattering climax from him. He could feel his seed leaving him and pouring into her. He sank deep enough to touch her womb with his own flesh. That such a thing was possible seemed like a miracle. She was a miracle. He’d found her. After all these years.
Mine.
His body and mind, for once, were in agreement. She could never doubt his claim on her. A claim he’d staked seventeen long years ago.
My Fairy.
The words echoed against the window. They both stopped breathing.
A tremor visibly ran down her spine and passed between where they were connected, undulating up his spine and ending at the base of his neck.
“Dougan?” she gasped.
CHAPTER TWENTY
He was gone.
Farah leaned her weight on shaking, outstretched arms and tried to absorb the paralyzing shock. The brittle sound of breaking glass and splintering wood echoed down the hallway and carried for some distance. Then all was silent.
This couldn’t be real. Couldn’t be happening. Had she really heard that name whispered against her neck? Felt the truth of it shudder through her in that unmistakable voice?
Against the soft window cushion, she struggled to catch her breath. Aftershocks of the mind-shattering climax still caused her inner muscles to clench and pulse. The slick leavings of their sex quickly became cold, exposed to the empty solarium with its marble floors and many windows.
That name. She’d never forget how he said that name. Farah realized that Dorian Blackwell had been very careful never to utter that name to her before.
And now she knew why.
She had to get to him. Now.
Shimmying her back and legs so that her skirts slid back into place, she began to tug at her bindings. She could say one thing about her husband, he certainly knew about restraints.
Shouldn’t this window latch give? In her stupefied desperation, she simply struggled fruitlessly for a moment. Grunting and straining, she pulled this way and that. She needed just a few inches and she could probably shimmy off the point at the top. Damn her short legs. Maybe if she could somehow lift her skirts over her knees so she could climb over the window seat and stand on it …
She froze as heavy footsteps shuffled down the hall.
“My lady!” Murdoch’s horrified exclamation echoed in the solarium.
“Please release me.” She pulled against the cords biting into her wrists as she struggled to look back at him. Remembering her discarded drawers, Farah grimaced with mortification. However, if anyone was to find her in such a state, she could only ask it be Murdoch. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before.
“There are limits to my loyalty,” the Scotsman growled as he climbed onto the ledge and began to work at her husband’s masterful knots. “I’ll kill him for this.”