by Maya Blake
She slid her hands higher, closer to the exposed skin of his chest, his throat. At her first touch they both groaned. Gael dragged her closer still, his hand moving to her hips and positioning her more firmly in his lap until the bottom of her robe fell open, her legs moved to either side of him. When she was situated to his liking he speared one hand through her hair, using his hold to angle her head, fusing their mouths closer together.
The kiss was like nothing and everything she’d ever dreamed of. Goldie felt as if she was flying and drowning at the same time. Her lungs screamed with the need for oxygen. She wanted to deny their request, to just keep experiencing the incredible sensation of kissing Gael Aguilar.
Only the pressure of his hand in her hair finally broke her free. But it was only so he could set her back a scant few inches, stare up at her with a face masked in raw, edgy lust.
‘I want you, Goldie. I want to have you. Right here, right now,’ he rasped, low and deep, his eyes dark with ravaging hunger and fierce intent.
Beneath her, his hips flexed, his powerful erection nestling deeper between her thighs, ramming home to her the strength of his desire.
Need pounded with relentless force through her. A need she knew she should fight. But for the life of her she couldn’t summon the willpower. All the same, she tried.
‘Gael—’
He closed the gap between them, forcing her answer back down her throat as he kissed her again, showed her with his mouth how feeble any protest she wanted to attempt would be. Groaning, she slid her hands up his strong neck, noting the raging pulse beneath her touch, glorying in it for a second before her fingers spiked into his hair.
His guttural groan was one of encouragement. Of ferocious need. They stayed like that for endless minutes, her on top of him, kissing him as if her life depended on it.
All too soon, he forced her head back again.
‘Don’t deny me, Goldie. Don’t deny us both,’ he rasped.
His accent was more pronounced, his voice curling around the words, burning them into her skin the way his eyes burned for her.
At twenty-four, Goldie knew she was an anomaly in the virgin stakes, and would probably draw mockery from Gael if he knew the depth of her innocence. But it was an innocence she was proud of—an innocence she’d fought to retain simply because she knew what throwing it away on the wrong person would make her feel further down the line. She’d watched her mother throw her body and her emotions away on the wrong men for far longer than she wanted to dwell on.
She’d already made a mistake that might have had disastrous consequences tonight. Was she risking making another?
She sucked in a deep breath—which emerged in a rush when Gael leaned up and slowly licked her lower lip. Her whole body shook with the headiness of that bold claiming. The fingers she had locked in his hair tightened, encouraged him as he kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw, her earlobe.
‘Let me have you, Goldie mia. Por favor,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Let’s turn this unfortunate night into a better one. A memorable one. I can make it so good for you.’
She groaned beneath the weight of his torrid, tempting words even as she fought to rationalise what was happening. Could she do it? Could she give herself to him for just one memorable night?
The answer burned hot and urgent beneath her skin. But Goldie ignored it for a moment, pulled her dwindling faculties together for long enough to separate what was happening here from the history she knew and had fought hard to prevent repeating.
Where her mother had fallen down had been when she’d imagined herself in love with the men who had ultimately used and betrayed her. Nothing so fanciful was happening here tonight. Gael wanted her body. She wanted his. Their needs were mutual. The only emotion present here was the hunger that demanded to be answered.
‘Say yes, mi dulce.’ He kissed her cheek one more time, then drew back to spear her with flaming eyes. ‘Say yes.’
The word, eating her alive, burst free. ‘Yes.’
His harsh exhalation preceded his forceful rise from the sofa. The moment he was upright he urged her legs around his waist. Then, with one hand banded around her, the other fisted in her hair, he made his way unerringly down the hall and into the master suite.
The room, like the rest of the penthouse, was luxury personified. Tasteful and expensive antique furniture mixed with contemporary designs to produce a breathtaking setting fit for a king.
Or for an impossibly sexy, arrogant, ravenous Spaniard, whose sole attention was fixed on her with a feverish intensity that made every single one of her senses jump in mingled excitement and trepidation.
Burnished eyes trapped her in place as he set her down and started to undo the remaining buttons of his shirt. With each further expanse of golden skin revealed her mouth and fingers tingled with the need to touch, to taste.
‘Take off your robe, Goldie,’ he commanded gruffly as he shrugged off his shirt and tossed it aside.
Her fingers twitched, but for the life of her she couldn’t move. Because he was perfect. Not a spare ounce of flesh resided on the upper half of his body. She’d been so right to compare him to that Roman statue. His musculature was streamlined, a true work of art that filled her with awe. And with a great, demanding need.
Between her thighs her flesh pulsed with an unfamiliar urgency. An urgency so great she wondered how she was still standing.
‘Goldie.’ His voice was a furnace-hot warning. ‘Are you deliberately keeping me waiting?’
Her head moved in a slow shake and her hand reached for the belt. ‘No. I just...wanted to look at you.’
His breath was expelled harshly, almost as if she’d surprised him. Colour slashed high on his cheekbones and he closed the gap between them, speared his fingers into her hair. He angled her face up but didn’t kiss her, merely traced that hot gaze over her face.
‘You can look at me all you want later. Right now I want you naked and beneath me. So the robe, bellezza Goldie. Take it off.’
With quick, jerky movements she pulled the belt loose and shrugged the robe off her shoulders, leaving only her cotton panties on.
His gaze stayed on hers for a long, absorbing moment before he slowly stepped back. His exhalation was half a groan, half an expression of wonder. The fingers of one hand traced her pulse, her collarbone, then moved down to the delicate space between her breasts. Then he moved behind her, fingers still on her skin, tracing over her shoulders to the top of her spine.
A shudder rushed over her—the beginning of many that rolled in a never-ending reaction to Gael’s touch on her body. His fingers drifted down her spine, then back up again, eliciting a deep moan she was helpless to stop. In the next instant his nails were dragged lightly down her body and he groaned at her deep shudder. She swayed beneath the onslaught of fierce desire. It triggered a frenzied response and suddenly he was back in front of her, his fiery gaze moving down her body, savouring her anew.
‘Santo cielo, you’re exquisite,’ he murmured huskily.
Catching her around the waist, his movements a touch uncoordinated, he tossed her onto the bed and tugged at his belt.
Goldie brushed her hair out of her eyes, the better to see him, and then almost wished she’d averted her gaze when his body was revealed in all its manly, almost intimidating glory. She swallowed hard when she took in the fullness of his manhood.
Heavens.
A trace of that arrogant smile touched his lips as he moved towards her. ‘Your beautiful eyes stare a little too hard, guapa. Do you wish to unman me before we even begin?’
She blushed, hot and fierce, drawing a low laugh from him. She dragged her gaze up with monumental effort. ‘You’re laughing, which tells me you don’t think my unmanning you is a possibility.’
His laughter drifted away, replaced by deep, stark
hunger. He stalked to the bed, prowled to loom over her. One finger traced over her nose to her mouth, testing the suppleness of her lower lip before he demanded entry. When she took his digit into her mouth, he groaned.
‘With a woman as intoxicating as you, everything is possible.’
His kiss this time was ten times more carnal, devastatingly brutal in its hunger. Luckily Goldie was equally ravenous for this new, dizzying sensation that threatened to drown her. But she hung on, clung to Gael’s broad shoulders as he took her on a frighteningly exciting journey.
Even after he broke away and started to trail his mouth down her body she was still lost in that intoxicating kiss. It was only when he reached her breasts, tweaked and sucked on the stiff, needy peaks, then dropped lower to kiss the sensitive skin below her navel, teasing her panty line with his teeth and lips, that she fell into a different but equally exhilarating dimension of pleasure.
Her panties were tugged off in quick, expert movements. Then he was parting her legs, kissing his way up her inner thighs.
Goldie didn’t even attempt to halt what was coming. She wanted it all. Was greedy enough to raise herself onto her elbows, stare in wonder as he drew inexorably closer to the bundle of need between her thighs.
His gaze locked on hers in that final second before he tasted her, his nostrils flaring one last time as he drew in her essence. He muttered something hard and pithy under his breath. Then he swiped his tongue boldly across her flesh.
Her hips jerked as sensation pounded her in a merciless wave. She collapsed back against the pillows, her breath emerging in shameless pants as pleasure surged through her. When Gael found the bundle of nerves that screamed for attention she cried out, her eyes squeezing shut to savour the sensations she knew instinctively would blow her away. The pressure between her thighs increased, and his tongue flicked urgently against her flesh as he groaned through his own pleasure.
Between one breath and the next she was flung into nirvana, her mind and body no longer her own as pure bliss buffeted her. Her moan fused into one long, earthy sound, and her convulsions were endlessly thrilling.
The moment her pulse began to slow she felt him move, heard him reach across her body. She opened her eyes to see him tearing open a condom, rolling it over his impressive girth.
Goldie debated then whether to tell him that she was a virgin, that he was about to be her first. But she knew then that two things might happen.
Firstly, he might not believe her. She hadn’t forgotten the occasional glimpses of censure he’d sent her way a few times since they’d met. Men like Gael had cynicism bred into their DNA. She couldn’t explain any other reason for those looks.
Secondly, he might believe her and think she had an agenda in all this—a motive for giving herself to him. It couldn’t be further from the truth. Theirs was to be a coupling bred solely of attraction and need. Nothing more.
So she bit her lip and forced herself to meet his gaze. Whatever he saw in her face satisfied him enough to make him lower his body to hers, to free her lip from her teeth and take her mouth in a possessive, incandescent kiss.
After an age, he lifted his head.
‘Touch me, Goldie. Hold on to me when I take you. I want you to know who it is that possesses you tonight.’
The raw demand robbed her of her already short breath. ‘Gael—’
‘Sí, say my name like that. Just like that...’ he commanded gruffly as he positioned himself between her legs. One hand gripped her thigh, and the other fisted in her hair. The easy strength with which he held himself poised above her was testament to his powerfully honed physique, which was a beautiful sight to behold.
His fierce arousal spoke of a different power altogether—one that made her heart palpitate with trepidation even as her senses flared in anticipation.
Remembering his instruction to hold on to him, she slid her arms around his waist, caressing the corded muscles in his lower back.
Hazel eyes darkened as they met hers. His head dropped and his mouth fused with hers as he penetrated her with one sure, focused thrust.
Her muted scream rose and died between their kiss. But not the pain. God, not the pain. That held her rigid for a few endless seconds.
Above her, Gael’s eyes flared, probed. He raised his head and stared at her. ‘Goldie...?’
She wasn’t sure whether it was a question or an observation. She registered her lost innocence and held on to him, unable to form words as the pain lingered, then faded to leave behind new, breath-catching sensations.
‘Gael...’ she murmured.
He shook his head, perhaps answering his own question. Perhaps caught in the burgeoning rapture of their union. He moved. He groaned. His head went back as he withdrew and thrust again.
‘Dios mio, you feel sensational,’ he muttered roughly.
‘Gael...’
He withdrew and thrust again, his mouth dropping to hers for a searing, groan-laced kiss. ‘Yes, Goldie. My name on your lips. Don’t stop. I want to hear it.’
And she wanted to say it, she realised. So she did.
He set the pace—slow at first, then faster, building a conflagration within and between them that soon raged out of control. With it came a feverish need to touch, to kiss, to taste, to bite. Her nails raked and dug in as he took her higher. His fingers fisted in her hair, and he devoured her mouth as pleasure overtook them.
When the bough broke her cries mingled with his unfettered roar. Guttural words in Spanish poured from his lips as his climax pulled him under. Then Gael half collapsed on top of her, catching himself at the last moment to roll them over.
Hearts racing, they gulped air into their starving lungs, their hands unable to stop moving over each other’s sweat-coated flesh.
But eventually their heartbeats calmed. Hands stilled. Breath was restored.
Gael pulled himself free, unable to find adequate words to sum up what had happened in the last hour. He left the bed and entered the bathroom without looking at the woman whose body he’d just shamelessly gorged himself on. He wasn’t usually so lacking in after-sex small talk, but for the life of him he couldn’t seem to locate his tongue.
Entering the bathroom, he shut the door behind him, then leaned weakly against it. His body still thrummed with what he could only describe as the most sensational sex he’d ever had in his life. But already tendrils of regret burrowed beneath his skin.
This shouldn’t have happened. Not like this. Not when the phone call with his mother and her blatant confirmation that she was once again embroiled in an affair with Tomas Aguilar had set him on the finest, most dangerous edge.
Because the mere mention of his father’s name had triggered more memories. Memories that had left him deeply puzzled as to why his mother—who should know better—was once again taking this degrading path.
For Tomas Aguilar, Katerina Vega had been a salacious means to a calculated end the first time round. Tomas had admitted as much when Gael had confronted him on his twenty-first birthday. Just as he’d admitted what Gael had always been too afraid to learn—that he’d been an unfortunate consequence of that game of emotional roulette.
Personally, his illegitimacy had long ceased to distress him—simply because he didn’t give it much cerebral capacity. It was a buried burr, cemented over with time and distance, and he’d learned to live with it. The taunts from his childhood were in the past, as was the village where he and his mother had been relentlessly stigmatised as outsiders and homewreckers. Even his inability to sustain a relationship past a month or two had worked out for him in the long run by diverting his focus to empire-building.
And yet all these years later he’d yet to succeed in getting that last damning statement out of his head.
‘Tú estás un error...’
‘You are a mistake.’
; Gael knew it was partly that voiced statement that made him feel relief each time he left Alejandro’s presence. His half-brother was a lot of things, but Gael knew he was not a mistake to the parents who’d created him. And while Alejandro had preceded Gael in leaving Spain, for reasons similar to his own, witnessing him taking steps to confront his past...and succeeding...left Gael still feeling an annihilating bitterness every time he thought of Tomas Aguilar.
So he’d chosen not to think of his father at all.
But now, with his mother’s actions—which he was growing more convinced were of her own volition this time—he couldn’t think of anything but!
He’d let his emotions get the better of him tonight. Perhaps even taken advantage of Goldie because of it.
Cursing, he moved from the door to the sink. About to remove the condom, he looked down. Froze. And cursed some more.
No. It couldn’t be. She was in her twenties. She couldn’t be a virgin. And yet the evidence of blood, the confirmation of his suspicion when he’d taken her, was glaring and unmistakable.
Dios mio.
Shock morphed into a different sensation. Had this been a trap? A way to secure a surer payday?
Disposing of the condom, he washed himself and stalked back into the bedroom, ready to confront her.
Except Goldie was curled on her side, fast asleep.
For ten minutes he paced the room, unaccustomed indecision plaguing him. Then, once he knew there was only one way to play this, he turned and headed for his dressing room.
CHAPTER SIX
THE WORST POSSIBLE CHOICE in a sea of bad choices.
She’d gone to sleep dreading those words were true but they were the first to slam across her mind the moment Goldie woke up. Because even before she opened her eyes she knew things wouldn’t look better in the bright light of day.
Not after Gael had hurried away after making love to her as if hell’s demons snapped at his heels.
Not after being left alone with nothing but her thoughts to occupy her.
