Chapter Four

A side of Roane Kendrick had never seen surfaced, although she had sensed deep down he was as manly in bed as out. He could be a charmer when the need arose, but he could also be ruthless. That’s why she’d fallen in love with him, the enigmatic, dangerous, and thrilling Roane Bradfield.

She knew now she could never have married Pitt. Her fiancé would never treat her so roughly, whisper shameful words in her ear, or take her like a whore. Lord help her, she reveled in every sinful word coming from Roane’s mouth.

Her thighs were damp with her juices, her nipples harder than stones. All she could think of was taking Roane deep inside her. She didn’t want to recall the merriment taking place below, worry about what would happen tomorrow, or what she would say to Pitt. She knew only one thing—Roane had come back to her and she wanted him more than ever.

Every rough gesture from the man sent a thrill down her spine. With Roane, she had met her match, found what she had been craving. What made her think she could be happy with Pitt?

Stiff and hard, his manhood pressed into her lips, igniting a fire an ocean couldn’t squelch. She had never imagined anything so thick and long. The tip was like a mushroom cap, undeniably different from the rest of his shaft. Looking at his manhood, her womb clenched and ached. She had never seen anything so glorious. She couldn’t imagine that steel rod fitting inside her, and yet she longed to find out if it would.

Before she could contemplate the dilemma further, Roane placed a hand to the back of her head and slipped his manhood into her mouth. He tasted salty and musky, how she imagined he would taste, only better.

She ran her tongue over the tiny slit at the top and then lapped up the moisture trickling out—his essence, and obviously the liquid that made a woman with child. Without conscious thought, she brought a hand to the long shaft and slid it up and down, attempting to get a better feel for the mysterious member. Above her, Roane groaned and jerked his hips forward. Ah, so he likes that.

Reveling in her newfound power, she wondered what would happen if she did the same with her mouth. Commanding her throat to relax, she swallowed the length and then retreated. Again he rewarded her with another guttural moan. Heady sensations, pleasing a man; and readily adaptable. His hands gripped her head and pushed it forward, forcing her to take him down her throat. Her eyes watered and she gagged before gaining control of her reflexes.

This time on the retreat, she sucked gently. His pelvis bucked forward. A series of groans, followed by, "Yes, Kendrick, God, yes," emboldened her. He rocked her head forward and back when she increased the tempo and sucked harder. His cock leaked and she swallowed the warm spurts, the taste not unpleasant.

"Whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same," he murmured between raspy breaths.

A chill coursed through her. Where had she heard that before? Whatever our souls are made of, ours are the same? A book, she had read it in a book—Wuthering Heights. Oh, she couldn’t think of that now. Roane had come back to claim her and she was dizzy with elation.

His hips launched into frenzied motion. Clasping her head forcefully, he drove his cock in and out of her mouth. The only control she had over the situation was the degree of suckling him. His manhood seemed to expand and lengthen even further as she set about pleasing him in earnest. She tugged, lapped and sucked, stopping now and again to run her teeth over the sensitive slit.

The tempo increased to desperate measures, her moaning around his thick erection, him ramming his rod in and out of her mouth. His harsh, ragged groans increased with his thrusts and finally short bursts of warm liquid filled her mouth.

Above her, Roane’s body went rigid and he writhed and moaned his pleasure. She had never seen anything so enthralling. With his cock still inside her mouth, she swallowed the salty matter and wondered if the act between them was over.

How she wanted him, ached with a need foreign to her. Now that she knew how the hard, thick shaft felt in her mouth, she yearned to feel it throbbing inside her. A deep furrow marked Roane’s brow and his dark, compelling eyes narrowed. There could be no doubt in her mind anger had claimed him again. Confound it, what had she done now? He was the most enigmatic man she had ever encountered.

"That, Kendrick, was not the act of a novice."

Therefore, by pleasing the brute, she’d riled him again. Seething with unmitigated fury, she bounded to her feet. "Nothing I say will make you believe me! You haul me into a room against my will, lock the world out and set upon me like an enraged beast. When I attempt to please you with my clumsy actions, you accuse me of performing better than a whore."

"Moments ago, did you not suck me with the skill of a professional?"

"How dare you!" Her hand came out, but he caught her wrist and twisted. "Ouch! Turn me loose, you brute! First you accuse me of seeking out Pitt’s bed, and now I am a soiled dove of the night?"

He turned away from her, but not before she saw a flicker of pain cross his eyes. She noticed something else too... a visible trembling of his hands he couldn’t seem to control. Tiny beads of perspiration marred his forehead and his pallor had taken on a dull, gray hue.

Whatever the affliction, it did not exist before the war. She would have noticed. Her heart went out to him. What had he witnessed or done to cause such tremors? Guilt wrenched her conscience. Adding insult to injury, he arrived home to find her promised to another. No wonder he hated her, treated her so callously.

"Roane," she said softly. "What happened? Let me help you."