Chapter 37 37
“No,” she retorted.
His hand slid down to cover her belly. “And this, this is mine.”
“No” she answered again, tensing as he leisurely stroked her hip, then boldly put his hand between her legs, touching her intimately, possessively, his palm covering the apex of her thighs.
Stefan leaned closer still, his mouth near her ear. His deep voice rumbled suggestively through her. “And this is mine, most definitely all mine. Mine to do with as I please. However I please.”
The heat of his hand against the warm core of her sent shock waves through her. Her legs trembled. “No.”
But he didn’t remove his hand. He pressed his palm up, rocking the pad of his palm against her softness, against the growing dampness, rocking against the sensitive, small ridge where every nerve ending seemed to ache. “Say what you want, but I know you, Alana. You're angry at me because I was a dick, but you want me. I know how to pleasure you.”
“Stefan…” she said breathlessly, aware of his body covering hers, pinning her against the wall. He was big and hard and his stubble-roughened jaw scraped her brow. There was no point denying it anymore. Not when he proved it this way and she was too helpless, too damn aroused by him to move. “You hurt me,” she said then,
“I know. I'm sorry, Alana,” he said truthfully.
“Stefan.” Her voice broke, and she didn’t know what she wanted from him in that moment—love? Forgiveness? Mercy?
But he was in no mood for mercy and his name spoken with such desperation seemed to only push him beyond the point of reason. He reached for her gown, grabbed at the fabric, bunching the material into folds to find her bare thigh beneath.
Her mouth parted in a silent gasp, desire flooding her, need and memory. And when his hand slid between her thighs to pluck aside the scrap of her thong panty, his palm pressed warm and hard against her body. Alana grabbed at him, grabbing for help, for relief, for something to explain the dark mad passion she’d fallen into.
The problem was, and always had been, that his touch made her feel. Not just physically, but emotionally. His touch made her want him, need him, love him. And as he rubbed his palm slowly across her, his fingers trailing, teasing, she shuddered. This shouldn’t be happening, this wasn’t supposed to be happening, yet he was right. He knew her, knew how to arouse her, control her with just a touch. She was his… Her body was at least.
Her shudder riveted him, and Stefan's gaze locked on her face, fixed on her parted lips, watching the tip of her tongue press against the edge of her teeth.
She felt helpless. And he knew it.
And he acted on it. Still watching her with that fierce possessive ownership, he caressed her along the seam of her, along the tender lips and then between she panted, overwhelmed by sensation.
He was teasing her, tracing her, toying with her and her legs buckled. She arched against his hand, against the maddening touch which reminded her of everything and yet gave too little.
And then he slowly slid his finger inside her, slowly drawing out the desire, building on the pleasure. More, she thought wildly, blindly, more. But he wasn’t going to be rushed, and he refused to hurry.
He touched her slowly, almost lazily and her skin beaded damp, her muscles clenched in concentration. She wanted more, needed more and she pressed herself forward, pressing against his hand.
A flicker of triumph shone in Stefan's eyes and with a deep, deliberate stroke of his finger he showed her how she loved to be touched. Showed her that he knew her body better than she did. Showed her how much she wanted him. But he’d never touched her in anger. He wasn’t hurting her— far from it, the feeling was shocking, intense—the raw sexual edge took her breath away, but she knew control was tenuous at best.
He stroked her deeply again, a long, knowing touch inflaming all her senses, even as her body tightened, struggling to take him, grip him, which he had no intention of letting her do. This was torment.
This, she thought, was punishment.
Her elbows were pressed against the wall, her hands up against his chest, arms immobile between them. He’d imprisoned her so she couldn’t defend herself, couldn’t cover herself. Could only feel. Remember. Crave.
And she craved, horribly, desperately, wantonly. She knew he could do what he wanted. She’d let him take her and use her at will. Shameful, but it had always been this way between them. He was the only man who could strip away her inhibitions, who could make her be the wild child she’d always wanted to be.
From far away she heard footsteps. Alana struggled, felt Stefan's lips on her neck, felt the nip of teeth. “Someone's coming,” she choked, her body convulsing as he stroked her harder, faster.
“So are you,” he answered without the least bit of humor.
She shivered as his thumb flicked over her slick, sensitive skin. “Stop, Stefan. Stop, please.”
“I'm so tired of fighting with you,” he said, “We're done with that, understand?”
She closed her eyes, knowing what whoever that was would see —her leg up, wrapped around Stefan's waist, Stefan's hands beneath her gown, hands hidden between her bare, exposed thighs. Blood roared through her head.
“Please, Stefan.”
“Feeling a little exposed?” his voice sounded in her ear, deep, rough, mocking. “Welcome to my world. That's how I've felt for a while now. Being so mad at you, but wanting you so badly. Wanting to stay away from you, but constantly thinking of ways to get through to you. You drive me crazy,”
He bit her earlobe gently, and when his tongue slid out and he slowly licked the spot he'd bitten, Alana moaned and pushed herself into his palm, wanting more and yet wanting to push him away.
“No more fighting, Alana,” he said.
She nodded, “Ohh Yes please, Stefan… Stefan please,”
He let her go.
He even adjusted her thong, straightened her gown, made sure the fabric hung in proper folds. “Beautiful,” he said, but his sarcasm was like shards of glass scraping across her skin.
She trembled as she leaned against the wall, her skin still damp, her muscles strung tight, her body quivering from the onslaught of tension and sensation. Stefan had virtually destroyed her. An annihilation of the self and senses.
His lower lip curled, jaw hardening to granite. He looked so pleased with himself. “Ready to head back to the party?”