Робин Грейди – Unfinished Business: Bought: One Night, One Marriage / Always the Bridesmaid / Confessions of a Millionaire's Mistress (страница 15)

He groaned and she started playing, tracing fingers over his body, moving in circles ever closer to his magnificent erection—kissing, stroking, touching, teasing.

His thighs were rigid and his hands ran through her hair, mussing it as she pressed her mouth to him.

‘Cally …’ She heard the mutter and felt passion stirring in him, the barely leashed movement in his hips. He was close. She gripped firmer, faster—signalling her intention to see him through, to take it, taste it all. Another heartfelt groan escaped him, pelvis pistoning, fingers twisting in her hair as he gave in, gave her control, gave her everything.

She revelled in his hoarse cry, in feeling his powerful body racked with pleasure, in the extreme explosion she’d asked for.

And when she’d taken what she wanted, he reached out a hand and pulled her to her feet. He leaned sideways against the wall, his back still taking the water of the shower, breathing deep, clearly recovering.

He looked at her with slightly rueful eyes. ‘Taste good?’

She nodded, drunk on desire, on the thrill of seeing him so tortured, knowing she’d done that.

He shook his head. ‘I’ll give you something that tastes even better.’ He picked her up and carried her through to his bed, spreading her body to his satisfaction and starting an exploration that was so slow, so intense, so erotically charged she honestly thought she’d die from the pleasure. His hands and mouth roved the length of her, worshipping, arousing. Eventually he centred on the centre of her—sucking, licking, his tongue going deep, seeking out her essence, the proof of her attraction. Unbearable heat flooded her and she tossed her head, clenching her teeth to stop the screams.

His hands reached up and found her breasts, fingers working on her nipples, toying with their hardness as his tongue worked faster and faster. She couldn’t stop her hips from rocking up to him, couldn’t contain the shattering climax. And as the final shudders were still rippling through her he rose and lay over her. Kissing her deeply, he let her taste herself and him together—such profound and naked intimacy she’d never before experienced. It just turned her on even more.

She felt the hard length of him against her thigh and looked at him—surprised to feel his renewed desire and deep inside her own sizzling again. ‘I thought I’d drained you. Your stamina is incredible.’

‘Only because you’re so insatiable.’ He paused above her, face and body rigid as he stated it plainly. ‘Aren’t you? Hungry for me.’

‘Yes.’ She whispered the unnecessary answer, tilting her hips up to him. She could never get enough. And he pushed inside once more—his tongue, his penis. He totally invaded, claiming her, and she welcomed his possession, arching up, opening up, wanting more and more. Deeper, harder, faster, longer.

For a few hours they slept, curled together, arms and legs entwined. Once she was awake, her fourth and fifth orgasms came in rapid succession—in the one session. She didn’t want to admit to both of them. She wanted to sneak in another round. Multiples counted as one, really, didn’t they? She smiled as she drifted back to sleep, she’d never have thought she’d get to one, let alone go multiple.

As soon as she woke again she turned towards him.

‘You owe me more. You promised. Worried you can’t make it?’

‘You sure you’re keeping the right score?’ He grinned, eyes twinkling with good humour and a lusty light. He knew all right. But he wasn’t arguing.

This time, the feeling of goodness radiated out through her body. Till she felt it was powerful enough to be an entity in its own right. Magic swirled around their entwined bodies, encapsulating them, imprisoning them, while still being part of them.

She welcomed the slickness between her thighs. The smell, the sweat, the slipperiness that came with sex. Sex as she’d never had before. And knew she’d never have again—unless it was with him.

He only gave her another couple of hours to recover before starting a massage that ended with her writhing. Then he led her back to the shower where he took her from behind before spinning her round and starting all over again, driving her crazy, making her come, until the water finally ran cold.

CHAPTER SEVEN

WITH every step Cally’s whole body throbbed, so sensitive, so well used in the last twenty-four hours that she knew she couldn’t take any more—not physically. Certainly not emotionally. She tiptoed to the bathroom, leaving Blake sleeping soundly in the big bed, only partly covered by the white cotton sheet. She wasn’t going to look at him to be tempted either—much.

She was utterly exhausted. Everything seemed to be tilted topsy-turvy and she had to get away—now, or she never would. At least not still in one piece.

She splashed cold water on her face and assessed the situation. She had to concede she was in the presence of a master. Yesterday he’d started it slow, kept it almost like a date, getting her to relax by talking about her business. Then he’d got her warmed up—progressively warmer until she’d been the one to blow on the crackling embers to burst them into flame.

All they’d done since was have sex and then sleep together. Have sex some more and then sleep. Repeat again. Conversation had been minimal. Only sharing the words needed to convey pleasure and desire, need and want.

In the light of day awkwardness had barrelled into the room and was holding her up. Words now were required. And they’d build the barriers she so desperately needed. Because she was vulnerable and raw and weakly just wanted to return to the haven that was his embrace. But it was a false haven. This was meaningless for him—he’d said it from the start: just some fun with no future, no trust necessary. She didn’t like him for that.

But she’d said it too. Just sex?

All too late she realised she couldn’t play that kind of game. So, tempting as it was not to, she had to finish with him here and now.

He was sitting up in bed when she stepped back out of the bathroom. She was glad to see his perfect features bore signs of their night. His jaw was darkened by stubble, his eyes also shadowed—by fatigue.

She attempted breeziness. ‘I need to get going.’

He said nothing, just watched her with eyes that burned.

‘I have to … um …’

He slid from the bed and pulled on jeans—didn’t bother with undies or tee shirt. She lost her train of thought.

‘You want some breakfast?’ He fastened the buttons on his fly.

Had he even heard her?

‘Before you head home?’

He’d heard her all right. And he wasn’t about to argue.

‘I’ll just get my things.’

She walked out the doors—still open—to the deck by the pool. She tugged on her crumpled jeans—not bothering with the scrappy knickers or the bra hanging on the arm of the chair. She yanked on the tee, stuffed the underwear into her back pocket and hoped she wouldn’t see anyone on the street.

She turned. He was standing across the deck, leaning against the doorway with a mug in his hands, watching her every move. He sipped from the steaming liquid.

She looked around for her shoes and found them under the table.

‘You don’t even want a coffee?’

What was with his host-with-the-most act? Couldn’t he see she was desperate to escape? Before she showed how desperately she wanted back in his arms. Desperately begging for more than he could give—would ever want to give. She had pride to maintain here.

Blake had no idea how to settle her. But he didn’t want her to go yet. And he vainly searched for ways to make her stay a little longer.

‘What about brunch?’ It was way past breakfast and frankly he could do with some food. He was getting light-headed. ‘I’m good with eggs.’

He saw her nose wrinkle in distaste. ‘No, thanks. I really do need to get going. I’ve got some work I need to do.’

He watched as she looked anywhere but at him. Back to that again—denial.

‘Cally—’

‘Thanks for everything.’ She flashed the brittle smile he hated. He had another sip of coffee and let the black, lethally strong liquid fire down to his belly. Hopefully it would get his brain working. Because right now he had serious Neanderthal Man urges to overcome.

‘Cally, I think we need to talk.’ He’d rather they didn’t; he’d rather they just go back to his bed. Contact, physical contact, would sort everything if they had enough of it. And they hadn’t had enough of it yet.

The brittle smile became even more brittle. ‘Let’s not, Blake.’

‘Why not?’ Hell, what woman didn’t want to talk?

‘There’s nothing to say, is there? This was a deal. You won. I paid. Now we’re done.’

He blinked. She was referring to that stupid bet? If this was a game, he was fast forgetting the rules.

‘Our business is finished.’

‘You think?’

‘You know it is.’

Blake knew nothing of the sort. All he knew was that his perfect weekend was coming to a close and he didn’t want it to. He wanted a repeat—next weekend, please. No, that was too far away. Maybe Wednesday. Or Tuesday. Or, hell, why not tomorrow? But she’d gone all finishing school on him. Back to the frigidly polite woman who determinedly avoided his eyes so he couldn’t see the fire they both knew was still there.