Beth Kery - Because We Belong

She did, and there was that familiar stab of pain as the head of his cock slipped into her ass. As always, however, it was quickly gone. He remained still, waiting for her to recover. Then she pressed again, gasping, and he slid deeper, his stalk penetrating her. After they paused that time, and her pain had gone, he held her hips in his hands and began to gently pump. The lubrication eased things, but she could tell by his grunts of mixed arousal and concern that her ass muscles were clenching tightly around him, clamping his cock and resisting him.

Or was she resisting him?

Maybe even though she’d decided to give herself no matter what, part of her was still wary. Perhaps doubt still resided secretly in her mind and flesh. Anal sex had always been intensely arousing for her with Ian, the vulnerability required in the act amplifying the eroticism and excitement of sharing it with someone she trusted. She didn’t want doubt and fear to steal the moment from her.

She exhaled, willing her muscles to relax.

Ian flexed his hips and slid further into her with a rough groan. “God that’s good, Francesca,” he muttered. He hadn’t fully penetrated her yet, but he began to thrust, gently fucking her asshole. A jolt of arousal stabbed through her. She started to bob her bottom against his cock, but he gripped her tighter, his thumbs pressing into her buttocks.

“Hold still. I’ve got it,” he rasped.

She stared at the baseboard, trying to keep still and panting, while he sawed his cock back and forth, back and forth, building a careful fire in her flesh. He had to bend his knees slightly, because of their disparate heights, and she wondered if he was uncomfortable. By the time he fully sheathed his cock inside her and pulled her ass against him, his full testicles pressing against her cheeks, she was on the verge of igniting. For a moment, he just held her.

“I can feel you perfectly. You’re so hot,” he said. She clamped her eyes closed at the sound of his barely leashed restraint.

“I can feel you, too. You’re so . . . deep,” she said in a strangled voice, her entire focus on his cock throbbing in such a vulnerable place.

“I have to move.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

Still holding her hips and buttocks tight, he took a step forward with his right foot, so that his hard thigh pressed against her hip, his other leg remaining between her thighs. It brought down his height sufficiently. He began to fuck her with long, firm strokes. A helpless, aroused whimper leaked out of her throat.

“All right?” he asked her, even though he didn’t stop thrusting his hips, sinking his cock in and out of her.

“Yes,” she moaned emphatically. As always, it felt so good to give herself to him in this way, somehow both sublime and raunchy at once, riding the very edge of sharp eroticism. He began to fuck her harder, shifting his weight forward slightly on his front leg with each thrust, batting her bottom with his pelvis, the resulting whapping sound exciting her. His hips and ass found their rhythm, that stab and rolling motion he did so well that it made her eyes cross every time. She began to keen in pleasure, her ecstasy mounting as he began to ride her even harder, and the sounds of his satisfied grunts and groans struck her ears, twining with her cries.

“That’s right,” he growled. “Now you’re giving yourself. I can feel it.”

And she was. She was holding nothing back, opening herself to him, straining to give him pleasure, racing after her own.

God help her.

“Go up on your toes again,” he ordered harshly, still plunging his cock into her faster and faster. “I’ll keep you steady. Do it, Francesca,” he said sharply when she didn’t immediately respond, she was so lost in pounding pleasure. She did what he’d demanded, flexing her calves and raising her heels. She gasped when he thrust. How did he always divine the mechanics of sex so well? The position raised her ass, giving him a new angle of penetration. It tightened her muscles around him, made her feel him inside her body even more acutely. His guttural grunt told her he’d felt the fresh pressure, too, and that he liked it. A lot. He pulled his leg back, so that both of them were behind her, and drove into her with increased force, making a scream pop out of her throat. It hurt a little, he took her so hard, but it aroused her much, much more.

“Just a few more seconds,” he grated out. “Stay up on your toes. It feels so fucking good. I’m going to come in you.”

Her eyes sprang wide when he plunged deep and she felt him swell huge. His cock jumped inside her, making her stifle another shout. She felt the warmth of his semen as he began to ejaculate, heard how he trapped his desperate roar in his throat so that he made a wild, muffled, growling sound as he came. It was difficult to say why she loved it so much, having him take his pleasure even while she was slightly uncomfortable. He gave her so much bliss so often and so precisely. She relished the chance to give him an equally searing release.

After his last shudder of orgasm had shaken him, he continued to hold her tightly against him, breathing harshly.

“Put down your heels,” he said eventually, his voice sounding both harsh and fond at once. She hadn’t even realized she’d remained under his command, even after his moment had passed.

She did as he directed, sighing in relief at the release of tension. She’d wondered why it was so arousing for her to sacrifice a little in order to give him pleasure, but when he put his hand between her thighs, she no longer cared. It was enough that it was true. Her body knew what it wanted, what it loved. She was soaking, aroused to the breaking point. She could hear his fingers moving in her well-lubricated flesh and the sounds of his satisfied grunt at the flagrant proof of her arousal. Her clit sizzled beneath his expert touch. In a matter of seconds, she was coming against his hand while his cock twitched high inside her.

* * *

The entire experience hadn’t only been an erotic and intimate one for Francesca, but also an intensely emotional one. She hadn’t been aware of any tears falling, but they must have at some point. A few minutes later, while they showered together, Ian gently washed her cheeks clean of them. He looked into her eyes as the hot water rushed around their naked bodies.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know how hard this is for you. All of it. I’m sorry.”

She swallowed thickly. There. He’d apologized. Was she petty to be gratified? She didn’t think so. Wasn’t it better that he felt he at least had the power to apologize for his actions? Before, it’d been as if he didn’t apologize because it was like saying he was sorry for a tornado, hurricane, fate, or some other force of unpredictability.

Didn’t saying he was sorry imply—even in a small way—that he realized he had some choice in how he responded to all of this?

His thumb moved, stroking her cheek as she looked up at him soberly. “I just want to know for certain that I deserve to be by your side,” he said, his deep voice sounding hollow.

She shut her eyes upon seeing the pain he usually shielded so well. That dreaded feeling of helplessness hit her like a slamming wave. There was nothing she could say. He knew how she felt.

She went up on her toes again, ignoring the soreness of her calves, and took him into her arms, pressing their warm, wet bodies tightly together, using the only weapon she possessed to shield him from his misery.

He’d said he’d take his fill of her that night, and he did just that after they returned to bed, making love to her with an almost wild desperation until they both collapsed and fell into exhausted sleep. The thought occurred to Francesca that he reminded her of a man feasting madly the night before he was forced into a barren imprisonment, but then she quickly shoved aside the thought, finding it unbearable to consider for long.

When they went down to breakfast the next morning together, she took his hand in hers when they reached the Great Hall. He turned, blinking at her gesture, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. She just gave him a small smile and didn’t let go, even when they walked past several of the staff and into the dining room, where James and Gerard already sat reading their papers and breakfasting.

The house staff, a technician that Lin had hired, and Anne were all bustling around in preparation for the press conference. It was to be held in the reception room, since it was large enough to seat the thirty or so reporters that had been invited, but small enough for good acoustics.

Lucien and Elise hadn’t come down yet, but Gerard, James, Francesca, and Ian were sipping coffee and eating the breakfasts they’d served themselves from the sideboard, when Mrs. Hanson entered the dining room with a gray-haired, stern looking, thin woman. Francesca blinked and set down her fork when she saw Clarisse hovering behind the two older women, obviously uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry to disturb you during your breakfast, your lordship,” Mrs. Hanson apologized.

“Don’t be silly. Is something wrong, Eleanor?” James asked, looking politely puzzled.

“As you know, Ms. Everherd is the housekeeping supervisor. She came to me with a concern this morning, and I thought it best . . . well . . . with everything that’s been going on,” Mrs. Hanson said delicately, “that she report it to you straightaway.”

“What’s wrong, Ms. Everherd?” James asked.

“The staff has been informed about tightening up security around Belford Hall, your lordship, and we’ve all taken pains to be ever so careful. Most of us have, that is,” Ms. Everherd said, glancing behind at Clarisse, her mouth set in a severe line. Clarisse looked very pale and younger than usual.

“Your lordship, I do apologize,” she said quietly, her blue eyes shiny with anxiety. “I reported it to Mrs. Everherd as soon as I realized it was missing. It seems I’ve misplaced my passkey.”

“Again,” Ms. Everherd said severely.

Clarisse blushed and stared at the carpet. Francesca experienced a sharp pang of discomfort for the friendly young woman. She wished she could excuse herself and vacate the room, sure Clarisse didn’t appreciate being called out like a child in front of an audience.

Gerard tossed his napkin on the table. “Really, Clarisse? When we’ve made it clear how important security is, especially with this press conference this morning.”

“Do you know when you misplaced the key, Clarisse?” Ian asked her.

“No, sir,” Clarisse said miserably. “It might have been anytime between yesterday afternoon and this morning.” She blushed bright red. “I thought I used it to get into work this morning, but Catherine, the assistant cook, said I came in the back door with her.”

“She’s a featherhead,” Ms. Everherd declared in a hard voice. “This isn’t the first time Clarisse has lost her passkey.”

“It’ll be all right,” Ian said calmly. “I can get her a new passkey when I finish up here and delete her old code.”

“Clarisse, you really should be more careful,” Gerard chastised mildly as he stirred cream into his coffee. “As if Ian doesn’t have enough to be worried about with this press conference. Now our security has been breached.”

“It’s not all that bad. A lost key doesn’t equate to catastrophe. It can be rectified easily enough,” Ian said evenly. Francesca gave him a thankful glance for sparing Clarisse more shame. The maid looked miserable.

“It’ll all be taken care of, no harm done. Thank you all,” James said, including Clarisse in his glance, “for bringing the issue to our attention so it can be rectified.”

Francesca felt extremely awkward when the three women filed out of the room. She considered Clarisse a friend, and hadn’t enjoyed sitting at the table like one of her condemners.

Everyone continued eating in silence. Everyone but Ian, that is, Francesca realized. She slowed in chewing her toast when she saw the way Ian was sipping his coffee and studying Gerard through a narrow-eyed stare.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Gerard waited patiently in James’s private office. He knew James would be near Ian’s side for every second of the press conference, always ready to show absolute support for that apple of his eye, his tragic, perfect grandson. Gerard rolled his eyes at the thought. Gerard had used James’s office in the past and was very familiar with the venerable room. When he’d mentioned he had important business to attend to and needed to miss the press conference, James had insisted he use his office, just as Gerard had known he would.