by Dani Collins
She swallowed, hot all over.
“I imagine you’re in the shower with me. For instance,” he provided in a drawl that somehow pulled all her nerve endings tight. “If you’re looking for a seductive move, I guarantee you an invitation to join you will always pique my interest.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t appreciate you making fun of me.”
“I’m not joking,” he assured her, but amusement lurked around his mouth.
“Fine,” she said with annoyance. “Let’s move this to the shower, then.”
* * *
“Poppy.”
His voice caught like a hook in her heart, pulling her around without even touching her before she could hurry down the hall.
She caught her breath. If he said he didn’t want to, she might lose her nerve and never find it again.
“What?” she demanded when he waited until she quit spinning her gaze around the room in avoidance and made herself look at him.
“This isn’t a test.” His voice grew grave. Tense. “If you’re not ready, say so.”
“I said I want to!” She waved in the direction she’d been headed.
He came toward her, brows raised in a mild scold. “You’re nervous. Maybe instead of barreling into the shower, we should slow down.”
“I want the awkwardness over with,” she admitted, bordering on petulant.
He gently peeled her hands off her elbows and held them in a loose grip. “But if I’d been in less of a hurry last time, I might have noticed you were new to this. I want to be sure you’re with me every step. Why don’t we start with a kiss?”
“Really?” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”
“Humor me.” He stepped in and stole a single kiss, one of those deliberately light ones that made desire soak through her like gasoline.
She shifted lightly on her feet, instantly restless, but not in a hurry to go anywhere. “You could try that again.”
He did, lingering. Taking his time finding the right fit, playing with levels of pressure.
While she shyly returned his kiss, her whole body became sensitized to everything around them. The lamplight chasing them toward the hall, the scent of faint cologne against his cheek and the slight rustle of their clothing as they stopped holding hands and reached to touch. Her hand came to rest on the fabric of his shirt, curling into a fist that crushed the fine linen while her mouth moved with tremulous passion beneath his, encouraging him.
That bashful invitation seemed to test his control. He growled and deepened the kiss. His hands found her waist and drew her fully against him.
All the memories she had convinced herself were fantasy were becoming real. He was here. She was in his arms, in his home. This was her new life. It was too much. A small cry sounded in her throat.
He lifted his head. Both of them tried to steady their breath.
She suddenly remembered him saying, You deserve better than the lowlife who took your camera.
She had known she did, but she hadn’t believed she deserved him. Not for more than a brief hour. At the time, she had countered, She didn’t deserve you, either. I hope you find someone better. She had wanted him to see her as an option. To want her.
Did he? She could tell he was affected by their kiss, but he was pulling himself back under control as she watched.
This was the true source of her apprehension. That she would lose herself to his touch again and whatever grip or autonomy she had over her life would slip away. After their first time, even before she had learned she was pregnant, she had known her life would never be the same. Every other man would be compared to him and fall short.
After tonight, he would know he could do this to her. He could break down her barriers without effort, own her body and soul. Her eyes began to sting at her defenselessness.
His hands moved soothingly across her lower back. His eyes had gone more blue than gray and were shot with sparks of green, hot as the center of a flame. As he slowly drew her in again, he made a noise that was a question.
She settled gladly against him. Melted into him.
If she had had the strength of mind, of willpower, she might have balked. But she wanted this. She craved his touch like she’d been sucked into quicksand and suddenly found the vine that would pull her free.
He lowered his head and took another thorough taste of her, long and lazy and luscious. The stab of his tongue acted like alcohol, shooting pleasurable trickles of heat through her veins. She grew loose of limb and warm and weak. She moaned softly and curled her arms around his neck, encouraging him.
He settled into a passionate kiss, not aggressive, but full of confidence. Unhurried and possessive. Seductive.
She quit thinking about whether she was being reckless or not skilled enough. She let herself sink into the play of his mouth across hers and simply feel. Feel the hardness of him with her whole body as she rose on her tiptoes. Feel the silk of his hair with her fingers and the faint abrasion of chin stubble as he twisted his head and swept his tongue across hers.
She immersed herself in the feel of him. The sweep of his hands across her back and down to her hips, the iron thighs holding steady as she leaned into him. The erotic hardness of his erection pressing into her abdomen, telling her she was affecting him.
The knowledge he was aroused sent arrows of answering lust deep into her belly. Lower. Each bolt was tipped with flame, burning her hotter as their kisses went on until she was melting and dripping with anticipation. Making pleading noises without conscious awareness of it.
The scoop of his hands under her backside surprised her, but her legs locked around his waist as he lifted her. She found herself nose to nose with him.
“Hold on.” He looked as though he commanded armies, his face a mask of sharp angles as he carried her down the hall.
She clung across his shoulders, and buried her face in the masculine scents against his neck. She nuzzled his throat and lightly bit his earlobe, smiling when she made all the muscles in his body flex in reaction.
His hands tightened against her backside and she chuckled with feminine power, thrilling, then falling—
She gasped and let go to put out her hands, but he caught her with strong arms across her back, bending with her, coming with her and covering her as she landed gently on the mattress.
Barely any light had followed them into the room. They’d forgotten the baby monitor, but Lily was across the hall. Poppy would hear her—but dearly hoped she wouldn’t.
She glanced toward the en suite.
“We’ll get there,” he murmured of the shower, propping himself over her on one elbow. “This is nice for now.” His legs were tangled with hers, his hips heavy on hers. With his free hand, he popped the first button on her top. “Sí?”
She smiled shyly, not sure what she was supposed to agree to. He could undress her if he wanted to, but this was the furthest thing from “nice.” It was exhilarating and dangerous and consuming. It was everything she wanted.
And there was something awfully sweet about a man who wanted to seduce her when she was already there.
“You have to answer, cariño.” His fingers came up to comb tendrils of hair away from her face.
“Sí,” she whispered.
“Perfecto.” He stroked the backs of two fingers down her throat and finished opening her shirt, revealing her breasts in her demicups.
She tried to open his shirt, but, like the first time, had none of his skill. His buttons were small and tight. Impossible. He brought his hand up and brushed hers away then swept his hand in a sharp yank that tore off buttons and ripped holes.
She gasped. “You didn’t have to do that!”
“I did,” he assured her, catching her hand and bringing it to his hot chest. “I’ve waited a long time for your touch.”
His word
s sent her heart into a spin. She greedily brushed aside the gaping edges of his shirt and claimed his taut skin. The texture of his chest hair played against her palms and his breath sucked in when she skimmed the heels of her hands across the tight points of his nipples.
He said something in Spanish that she didn’t have the wherewithal to translate, but his hand slid across her waist, making her realize he had finished releasing her buttons and now took his time exploring all the flesh he had bared. He made a circle against her quivering belly, stroked his thumb across the bumps of her ribcage, then traced the zigzag stitching on the bottom of her bra.
She should have bought something better. Her underclothes were boring beige, purchased from a big box store. He didn’t seem to mind. He drew circles on the soft cups. There was no padding. She felt his touch almost as if she was naked. Her nipples stood up against the thin fabric, waiting for more. Begging for it.
Time stood still. His smile of pleasure was almost cruel as he teased her. She didn’t realize she was furtively raking her thumbs across his nipples until his fierce gaze came up to hers and he said in a low growl, “Two can play that game, preciosa.”
With a casual flick of the front closure, her bra released and he brushed the cup aside. His nostrils flared as he took a moment to admire her blush-pink areoles and the turgid nipples atop them. Then he dipped his head, catching her nipple in his hot, damp mouth, devouring her.
She bit back a cry and arched, barely able to withstand the burn and rush of blood that made the tips unbearably tight and sensitive before he began to pull and tease and scrape with his teeth.
She bit her lip and thrust her fingers into his hair, but he didn’t let up. He continued his delicious torture until she writhed against him, hips lifting in ancient signals of willingness.
He rose to kiss her mouth, drowning her in pure sensuality before he moved to her other breast, keeping his hand on the first, circling his thumb on the wet, taut button in a way that sent currents of desire straight through her. She grew wet with yearning. She was both embarrassed and becoming desperate, alternately trying to squeeze her thighs together and open them with invitation.
His legs were pinning hers, though, keeping her beneath him in a sensual vice where she couldn’t escape the pleasure he was bestowing on her. She finally clasped the sides of his head and dragged his mouth up to hers again. She pushed her tongue between his lips, flagrant and uninhibited.
Take me, she begged with her kiss.
He groaned, shifted. Got his hand between them and released her jeans. He made another sound of deep satisfaction as he pushed his hand into her open fly, covering heat and damp cotton. His touch was wickedly skilled, rocking as he eased his touch deeper into the notch of her thighs, until she was lifting into the pressure of his palm, streaks of glorious pleasure arcing through her back. Only then did he slide a finger beneath the placket to brush her skin, leave her pulsing, then returning to soothe. Incite.
“I thought it was my imagination, the way you reacted like this,” he said against her throat, deepening his caress in a way that was exquisitely satisfying, yet a profound tease.
“Rico.” Growing mindless, she ran her hands over his chest and sides beneath his open shirt and across his back, arching to feel more of his naked skin with her bare breasts.
“Show me you weren’t faking. Show me I can make it happen for you.”
His trapped hand was making her wild. She moved with his touch, unable to resist the lure of the pleasure he offered. His mouth went back to her breasts and that was it. Seconds later she fell off the edge of the earth, but went soaring into the ether.
As cries of culmination escaped her parted lips, he lifted his head and covered her mouth, kissing her with rapacious hunger that she returned with greed.
She gave up trying to open his belt and tried to worm her hands under it.
He was speaking Spanish again, swearing maybe. His hand caught her chin and he licked into her mouth as if he couldn’t get enough of her. Then he made a pained noise as he lifted enough to jerk his own belt open and release his pants.
They moved in unison, pulling away to yank and divest and kick their pants off their legs. Naked, they rolled back into one another, near frantic.
This was how it had been that other time. There was no stopping this force. It was stronger than both of them.
And knowing he was as helpless to it as she was made it okay.
As he settled himself over her, however, she felt his tension. The care he took as he settled his hips low between her thighs and braced his weight on his elbows. She could feel his exertion of will over himself and by extension, her.
His whole body shook with the effort, but there was clarity behind the passion that glazed his eyes.
“Rico.” She closed her eyes against that betrayal, wanting him to fall back into the miasma with her. She slid her touch between them, seeking the shape of him. So taut and smooth, damp on the tip, tight at the base.
His breathing grew ragged, telling her she was lacerating his control.
“Poppy.” His voice reverberated from somewhere in his chest, ringing inside hers. “Open your eyes.”
She didn’t want him to read how anguished she was. How her soul was right there, seeking his as her body yearned for the impalement of his flesh. It was too much.
“Let me see you.”
She opened her eyes and time slowed.
“Take me into you,” he commanded, biting at her chin, using his powerful thighs to spread hers apart.
She guided the tip of him against her folds, parting, distantly thinking she ought to be more self-conscious, but she was only joyful. She was aching. She needed this slick motion of him against her sensitive button of nerves. She hummed with pleasure, growing wetter. Needier. She gloried in the pressure as he slowly forged into her, so hot as to burn her slick, welcoming flesh.
And sweet. Oh, the sweet, sweet easing of the ache as he invaded. The breadth of him was exactly as she remembered it. There was even a moment of distress when she thought he was more than her body could accept. Her fear eased within the next heartbeat as he settled and pulsed within her.
They were both quaking.
She thought he might have asked her if she was all right, but she only pulled him into a kiss. This moment was utterly perfect. She never wanted it to end.
But after a few drugging kisses, he began to move and she remembered now that pleasure was music on a scale, some notes sharper than others, but every single one a necessary part of the beautiful whole.
There was the smoothness of his skin across his shoulders, the power in them so delicious against the stroke of her palms. There was the friction of his waist against her inner thighs as her legs instinctively rose to hug him. The stretch of tendons at her inner thighs somehow added to the sweet tension that gripped her.
There was his mouth, dragging new, glorious sensations against her throat and jaw, then sucking her earlobe and making her scalp tighten before he kissed her, letting her taste the blatant sexuality in him. There was the silk of his hair grazing her cheek when he sucked a love bite against her neck. The moans they released were the chorus to their dance and the colors behind her closed eyes were matched only by the erotic sensations streaking through her whole body as he thrust and withdrew.
The sensations where they joined were particularly acute. No friction or tenderness, just shivering waves of joy that began lapping closer together, coiling tension within her until the intensity became unbearable.
“Rico.” She writhed beneath him, fingernails digging into his buttocks, aching for more of him. Harder. Deeper.
“Only me.” He held her face between his hands. Possessive, no question, but she thought she tasted wonder in the graze of his lips across hers. A strange reverence that sent quivers of joy through her whole being.
“Only you,” sh
e agreed. But she didn’t think she could stand this level of tension. Trembles of arousal shivered over her, alarming in their intensity. “It’s too much.”
“Bear it,” he said with a savage flash of his teeth. “Feel what we do to each other.”
He moved in heavier strokes, her slippery heat gripping him instinctually, making the friction all the more acute and glorious. She gasped in breathless need as the universe opened with infinite possibility. Her hips rose to meet his and his shoulders shuddered with tension as he held back. Waited for her. Waited.
His eyes were black, his cheeks flushed. They were both coated in perspiration. She wanted to tear the flesh from his bones, she was at such a screaming pitch of arousal.
Then she tightened convulsively in the first notes of release. His control cracked. He moved faster, the bed squeaking beneath them. She didn’t care about anything but the purposeful thrusting that was driving her so close to the edge she was ready to scream with agony. Anticipation. Craven demand for satisfaction. Her thighs clamped around his waist and her arms clung to his shoulders. She was ready to beg.
He made a feral noise and pushed his hand under her tailbone, tilted her hips and struck a fresh spear of sensation through her, throwing her soaring off the cliff, her climax so profound she opened her mouth in a soundless scream, gripped in the paroxysm of complete ecstasy.
While his own body clenched and shuddered over her. Within her. His eruption became an intimate complement to her own, extending her pulses of pleasure so they simply held each other tight, letting the convulsions, the clenches and twitches and fading pulses of aftershock wash over them again and again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
POPPY WOKE DAZED and tender and alone. She sat up, looking for the baby monitor without finding it. It was daylight. The clock said 9:10 a.m.
She looked at the pillow, but even though both of their suitcases were still standing near the foot of the bed, his pillow was undented.
After making love, they had dozed, caught their breath, then made love again. She had a vague recollection of him leaving after that. She hadn’t been able to move or even ask where he was going, but apparently he hadn’t come back.
