“I am going to eat you up.” He lifted the wooden spoon from the pot and drizzled the sticky liquid over her breasts. It was cool at first but quickly warmed and spread.
“Ooh, messy!”
He laughed. “By the time I’m done, you won’t care.” He dipped the spoon again and drew honey lines across her belly.
She lifted her head. “Is that an F?”
“F for Frank, of course.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “What did you think? F for something else? Something you want me to do to you?”
He hadn’t touched her directly but she was starting to shake with anticipation. She pressed her legs together to try to ease the ache between them, but he nudged them apart and dripped honey down her clit.
“Not because you’re not sweet enough,” he explained leisurely, as if he were working on a renovation project. “But because your hot little pussy will melt the honey and make you even slicker when I come to eat you up.”
“Is this one of the secrets of the Dukes of Santas Aguas?” she asked.
“The mental aphrodisiac of a powerful nobleman kneeling to pleasure a woman. You always found it extremely sexy, if I remember correctly.”
“I did,” she groaned, remembering how he had introduced her to the pleasures of oral sex, giving and receiving. She had been a virgin and he had been inexperienced as well, so they had learned together. Almost too well.
“Next time we’ll lie down together. I’ll lick your little honeypot and you can suck on me.”
She shuddered in anticipation as more memories flooded to the surface. No wonder the Dukes of Santas Aguas had no problems attracting women to be their island sex slaves. She was no exception.
He replaced his finger with his mouth and she arched off the table. “Frank!”
He gave an amused hum and continued swirling his tongue around her clit, flicking and caressing it. She sobbed and clutched the edge of the table.
He slipped his finger inside her and she shuddered around him, slick and gripping. She moaned again and reached down to touch his hair. Tendrils of lust twined between her thighs, up her belly to her breasts. She fitfully brushed her nipple, hard and tight.
Frank lifted his head. “Cup your breasts, Julia. I want you to offer them up to me.”
In a daze, she did as he asked. He rewarded her obedience, just as the previous Dukes of Santas Aguas rewarded their lovers—with pleasure, unbearable pleasure. He dipped his finger into the pot of honey and painted each nipple with a thick, sticky coating, his fingers playing and pinching each peak until they looked like glazed chocolate drops, shiny-brown and pointed.
“Sweet as candy, just for me.”
“Touch me, Frank.” She was sobbing by then at the empty ache between her thighs.
He shook his head and she brushed between her legs in desperation. “I said no.” He caught her wrists in one big hand and held her arms over her head.
Her eyes widened, her hands trapped. “You’re pinning me down.” She meant it as a complaint, but her voice sounded more breathy and turned-on than anxious.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, his voice dark with need.
She shook her head.
His gaze started at her flushed face and moved leisurely down to her honey-drenched breasts, down to her passion-drenched thighs. His cock pulsed against her hip. “Well, you’re hurting me,” he growled. “You?”
“I hurt for you. My body is on fire and you are the only one who can save me.” He fastened his mouth on her breast and she cried out again, the sweet, wet suction driving her mad. He licked the honey off her, nipping at the tip until she bucked under him. All he did was switch to the other breast, cleaning it with as much diligent attention as the first.
All the while he had her arms over her head, her breasts thrust upward for his greedy touch. She was at his mercy—but she loved it. Except she’d love it much better if he moved back down her body.
“Touch me, Frank,” she begged.
“Where? Here?” He bent again, one hand on her breast and the other sliding down her body.
She tried to point but he shook his head. “Keep your arms above your head or I’ll wrap my belt around your wrists and tie you to the table.”
She shuddered in pleasure and did as he asked. Imagining being tied up was an unexpected turn-on.
He reached her hot wet center and pushed a finger inside her. She arched off the table and he added another finger to thrust in and out, leisurely mimicking how he’d pleasured her last night. It was just as devastating, especially when he bent his head and sucked on her swollen little nub.
Dizzy heat burned through her and she thought she’d faint. His mouth teased and played with her, long licking strokes around mixed with sharp suction. Oh, yes, Frank was a master, and he was mastering her.
She reached down to touch his silky hair and he raised his head. “Ah, so you want me to tie you down?” His fingers continued their lazy strokes. “That big four-poster bed upstairs has seen more that its share of naughty women over the centuries. Imagine being tied up for unrelenting hours of passion as the Duke licked her, thrust into her, teased her. And only if she were very good, would he let her come.” Frank pinched her nipple and Julia screamed his name, tension shattering inside of her as she climaxed.
He was between her thighs in an instant. She heard a packet crinkle and then he was spreading her wide open and sliding inside her. Her eyes flew open at his welcome invasion.
“Oh, yesss,” he groaned. “Sticky, sweet and wet.” He braced his hands on either side of her head. “Touch yourself, make yourself come again.”
She reached between them, crying out as she found her hot, swollen clit. She touched him too, brushing them both as she frantically rubbed herself.
“Yeah, I can feel you squeezing me.” He sucked a honeyed nipple into his mouth and Julia screamed, coming again.
Frank moaned against her breast and exploded inside her, rocking the table with his frenzied thrusts. She clung to him, eagerly milking his cock for every last bit of pleasure. Both of their climaxes seemed to last for an eternity, but she finally opened her eyes. He gingerly raised himself up and pushed back to stand on the kitchen floor, quickly disposing of the protection.
Julia knew she was a mess and tried to cover herself with her hands, but he caught her wrists. “You are beautiful, but let’s find a shower.”
“And then what?” She sat up with his help and hopped off the table.
“My four-poster bed.” He laughed at her look of alarm. “Yes, those stories about the bed are true. And yes, I think you want to try it, don’t you?”
An involuntary shiver ran through her and he laughed again, cupping her elbow. “Come upstairs, meu bem, and you can see for yourself.”
“Just a second. I didn’t get to ask you last night, but where did you get the protection? Do you keep some here?” She fought to keep the jealousy out of her voice.
“These came from the safe upstairs.”
She started to laugh and he gave her a mock-wounded look. “Do you think I want my family to have access to everything I own? They’re nosy enough as it is.” He struck a pose. “The Duke of Santas Aguas demands his privacy. Not that I get much,” he admitted.
“As long as they haven’t expired.” But who else came here to meet Frank?
He read her mind. “I brought them over last year when it seemed like I would bring a guest to visit. But it didn’t work out and she never was invited.” He shrugged. “Our island is a very special place and she wasn’t the right one.”
Did he mean “our island” as in his family’s island or as in Julia and Frank’s island? She didn’t have the nerve to ask.
“But you are the right one. The only one I have brought here.”
“Really?”
“I swear. You fit here perfectly and you fit me perfectly, dripping with honey and your own juices…” His voice trailed off and she noted in surprise that his cock was stiffening again. He’d always been extr
emely eager before, but she assumed it was because he’d been barely twenty. How nice that hadn’t changed.
“Take me upstairs, Franco. I’m feeling very naughty.” Her voice was unusually husky and seductive. “Show me how the Duke of Santas Aguas disciplines a naughty woman.”
He swept her up into his arms before her next breath. “How naughty have you been?”
“Very,” she assured him.
“Good.” He headed for the stairs and she couldn’t stop giggling. Naughty didn’t even begin to cover what she had in mind.
8
Fashionista Magazine: The Royal Review:
AS MUCH AS WE LOVE OUR own celebrity blogger Countess Lily de Brissard, she’s being stubbornly hush-hush about certain royal wedding details, including where the royal couple will honeymoon. Although we admire her loyalty, we’re forced to speculate on the location. Some rumors say they’ll jet off to the Caribbean or the Riviera, and some say they’ll set sail on the Royal Vinciguerran yacht through the Greek Isles.
One intriguing possibility is a stay on an exclusive private property, like the de Brissard lavender farm, the groom’s family chalet in the Bavarian Alps or even the extensive Portuguese ranch owned by Duke Francisco Duarte das Santas Aguas. Far away from the clubs, nightlife (and cameras), but of course most honeymooners are so tired and would rather turn in to bed early… Check back for more news from the only royal wedding site with an inside source—The Royal Review!
FRANK LEFT JULIA ASLEEP IN the pink-and-still-red bedroom and walked out on the stone balcony in a pair of shorts. He couldn’t concentrate on his thoughts if he saw her in that four-poster bed, remembering how she had let him dominate her all day and most of the night. By the end of the night, they’d stopped using protection since both of them were healthy and she was on birth control for her cycle.
He groaned at the memory of her hot, wet body surrounding him and forced himself to take a deep breath. She brought out all the machismo and male power running through his veins that he thought was dampened by modern society and time. The urge to plant his seed and watch it grow.
He stared out over the sea. He loved the early morning on Belas Aguas—and the waters lived up to their name of beauty, blue and sparkling in the eastern light. He was a man of contradictions, tied to his land in Portugal by seven hundred years of blood and sweat. But the sea was in his veins as well, thanks to a previous Duke of Santas Aguas who sailed west to claim a lonely green island in the middle of the ocean.
He had abandoned the sea since Julia had abandoned him. He froze. She hadn’t really abandoned him, he’d realized that after getting his head shrunk by the university counselor. But maybe deep down, he still felt that way. His brain knew that they had been very young and odds were against their relationship succeeding, but his heart wasn’t nearly as smart.
He peeked in the bedroom, almost to make sure she was still there. His phone sat on a table near the balcony door, and he picked it up, suddenly needing to talk to someone about his amazing situation. He called George’s private line.
“Hey, Frank! How are you? How are the renovations going?” George asked cheerfully.
Frank cringed guiltily. His time had been spent in more pleasurable activities than priming and painting walls—and boy, did those walls need it. “We bought the supplies and are starting to paint soon.” As soon as Julia picked out colors. But that meant they had to leave the island and go to the hardware store on São Miguel.
“And how is Benedito?”
Frank exhaled. “He’s fine, but he went back to the mainland when his wife was having some health problems.” He reassured George’s noises of concern. “No, nothing serious, as far as I understand.”
“I am glad.” George chuckled. “Quite a character, that man.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“But you are doing the work alone? Or do you have help now?”
“Julia is staying here with me.”
There was a long pause. “Then your meeting again is going well?” His worry was evident.
“Very well.” Frank couldn’t keep the satisfaction out of his voice. “She and I are working on the house.”
“Really.” His tone was dry. “Getting much work done?”
“George…” Frank choked back a snort.
His friend sighed. “None of my business, I know.”
“If you’re worried about the villa being ready, please don’t. I have a crew of men coming from São Miguel to do the heavy tasks—”
“Frank, the villa is the least of my concerns. You are worrying me more than the out-of-date paint colors.”
“They are pretty bad. I’ll email you a photo of what Benedito did before he left.”
George made an impatient noise. “Enough with the remodeling! I swear, between your interest in planning Stefania’s wedding and redoing the villa, I was beginning to worry about your machismo.”
Frank laughed. “Don’t worry about that.”
“But now I am worrying the other way! Are you sure you know what you are doing?”
“Did you know what you were doing when you invited Renata to Italy the same night you met her?” he retorted.
“Of course not! That is why I worry.”
“Stop worrying! You’ve hovered over me like an old woman for years.”
“I am not hovering over you like an old woman,” George protested.
“Okay, like a mother hen. Cluck, cluck, cluck.”
George’s gasp of outrage did sound rather like a chicken. “Frank!”
“George!” he mimicked.
They both fell silent and then started to laugh at the ridiculous exchange.
“Ah, Frank, I do tend to fuss over people, don’t I? Stevie and my grandmother will testify to that.”
“And once upon a time, I did need you to look after me. But that was a long time ago.”
“I know.” George sighed. “So, you and Julia,” he continued cheerfully. “An island vacation in your lovely villa.”
“I promise, it will be beautiful for Stevie and her husband,” Frank said hastily.
“Huh, we both know how little time they will take to appreciate their surroundings. But the privacy for them will be priceless. Between Stevie’s royalty and Dieter’s football fame, they will have few opportunities to be alone. I must thank you for that.”
“You’re most welcome. Have you talked with Jack lately? I received a couple texts from him, but he has been busy with his farm and managing the lavender perfume sales for Stevie’s charity.”
“The sales are going very well, Frank. Stevie will have more money to save the world, one woman and child at a time.”
Frank smiled. “We’re lucky to have her. And Dieter is a lucky man.”
“And he better realize that,” George growled.
“Or else we’ll convene a multinational task force to convince him of the error of his ways.”
“Count me in.”
“Good.” They both laughed, knowing they weren’t kidding.
Frank was so tuned in to Julia, he could tell when she stirred in the bedroom behind him. “I have to go start the coffeepot now, George.”
“Have a good time, Frank. Keep me posted. About you, not the villa,” he clarified.
“And you, too.” They said goodbye and Frank stepped back into the bedroom.
Julia rolled over and gave him a sleepy smile. “Sunny day?”
He grinned at her, his chest as warm as if the sun had risen inside him. “With you, every day is sunny.”
JULIA FLIPPED THE LAST pancake onto her plate and sat down across from Frank at the kitchen island.
“This is such a treat for me, Julia. I can’t tell you how much I miss American food sometimes.” Frank was eating his third pancake along with chouriço and fresh fruit.
Julia suppressed a smile. Portuguese sausage on the side and local honey on top weren’t typically American additions, but she was happy to cook for him, happy to have an appetite. Just happy to s
hare a life with him.
Breakfast. Share a breakfast with him. She shook her head and poured some honey onto her pancake.
“What would you like to do today, Julia? We could go to the beach or hang out next to the pool.”
She wiggled her fork at him. “Those walls aren’t going to get painted on their own.”
“We have a couple more days before I need to get the workmen from São Miguel.”
Julia shook her head. “Frank, I thought you had a long list of items to fix on your to-do list for Stefania’s honeymoon. We can’t spend the whole time in bed.”
“We can’t?” He gave her a disappointed look.
It did sound wonderful, but she drew on her deep-seated sense of responsibility. “No, we can’t. Not unless you want Stefania and Dieter to have a red-and-pink cabbage-rose bedroom and leaky faucet.”
He lifted a black brow. “Stefania and Dieter are madly in love, will be newly married and alone for the first time in several weeks. I don’t think they will be worrying about ugly bedspreads and plumbing deficiencies.”
Julia shook her head. “But doesn’t she deserve a beautifully romantic hideaway?”
He crumbled, just like she knew he would. He loved Stefania as much as one of his own sisters. “Of course.” He stood and pulled her into his arms. “I just hate to have the island overrun with workmen yet.” He nuzzled her neck.
She tipped her head to the side to allow him easier access. “Then we’ll do some of it ourselves.”
“Ourselves?” He looked skeptical, as if she meant “himself” while she stood around being decoratively useless.
“Yes, ourselves. My condo in Boston was a wreck when I bought it and I was the one who did most of the rehab. My dad did the electrical, but taught me to do the plumbing. After that, painting and carpentry work was a breeze.”
“Really?”
“I’m a handy girl.”
“And I’m a handy man.” He demonstrated that by sliding his hands down to squeeze her bottom. She wore thin knit exercise shorts and his hand was hot on her skin.
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