Australia: In Bed with the Playboy: Hidden Mistress, Public Wife / The Secret Mistress / Claiming His Mistress. Emma Darcy
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her stomach, felt the moist rush of her own wild anticipation to experience him again. Her lower body automatically squirmed against his.
One hard muscular thigh pushed past hers, stepping up. He started arching her back, stopped, wrenched his mouth from hers. ‘Must be out of my mind!’ he muttered, shaking his head as though to clear it. His eyes blazed fierce determination. ‘Come on, Ivy. We’re going to do this in bed. In comfort!’
She’d completely lost it! Twice in one night! Passion-crazed!
Without his arm around her in support, she doubted her legs would have carried her to the front door. He swept her into the house with him. She didn’t have the presence of mind to notice any decor details of the foyer. She saw nothing but the staircase in front of them. When they reached it her foot didn’t lift high enough at the first step and she stumbled. He caught her before she fell, hoisted her up against his heaving chest and charged up the flight of stairs so fast he had to be taking them two at a time. It was like being rocked in a speeding train.
Ivy didn’t notice anything else.
They landed on a bed.
‘And we’re not going to do this in the dark!’ Jordan said, still in that tone of fierce determination. He reached across her and switched on a bedside light, but all she saw was his face hovering above hers, the strong masculine lines of it, the incredibly sensual mouth, the vivid blue eyes burning with wicked purpose, the black hair she had mussed with her fingers, the spiky look giving him a devilish aura.
I’m a fallen woman, she thought dizzily, but couldn’t bring herself to care, only too acutely aware that her body was willing her to fall all the way with Jordan Powell tonight.
‘Let’s get rid of these clothes,’ he said, taking her shoes and handbag and tossing them on the floor, then straddling her thighs as he worked on removing her sequinned jacket, cami, bra, half-lifting her up from the pillow, laying her back down.
It was easy to be passive, let him do it, silently revelling in the glide of his hands on her naked skin. She didn’t want to talk, only to feel. The bed linens were not linen. They were satin. Black satin. As befitted a playboy, she thought, but enjoyed the decadent sensuality of it for this time out of time.
He moved aside to strip off her skirt and panties—quick, deft actions—then paused to softly rake his fingers through her pubic hair, staring down at it as though fascinated, making Ivy wonder if the women he was usually with all had Brazilian waxes. She’d never had it done, only a bikini wax, and that only for indoor swimming. The sun was her enemy.
If her natural state turned him off…
‘Amazing,’ he murmured, and bent over to brush his mouth over the tight red-gold curls.
Definitely not a turn-off.
And the hot kisses he planted there were a nerve-jumping turn-on for Ivy. His tongue slid into the crevice between her thighs and teased her clitoris with mind-blowing delicacy—a tantalising tasting that generated an exquisite level of pleasure. It was all she could do to hold still. She wanted to focus on it, remember it forever. She forgot to breathe. Her whole being was concentrated on what he was doing to her. When he lifted his head, the trapped air in her lungs gushed out in a long, tremulous sigh.
‘Don’t move!’ he commanded, placing a staying hand on her stomach. ‘I want to feast my eyes on you while I undress.’
Feast…
He’d made her desperately hungry for him.
‘You look incredible!’ he said, his eyes glittering with awed excitement as they roved over her. ‘Your skin…the pale creamy sheen of it…like the sheen of perfect pearls. And the red-gold blaze of your hair…what a brilliant contrast! The black pillow underneath it makes it even more vivid. You’re a living work of art, Ivy. More fantastic than anything I’ve seen in a gallery.’
His admiration completely wiped out any build-up of angst about being viewed naked. Not that she had been fretting over it. They’d gone too far too fast for it to be a factor. And her attention was now totally fixed on him, watching the emergence of his naked physique as he stripped off his clothes.
He truly was a magnificent male—his body in perfect proportion to his height, muscular enough to be beautifully masculine without looking like a gym junkie obsessed with weight-lifting. The darker tone of his olive skin gleamed with good health. The sprinkle of black hair across his chest arrowed down in a narrow line, provocatively pointing to the impressive evidence of his sexual arousal.
He certainly didn’t disappoint on the physical front. Ivy’s inner muscles quivered at the sight of him. Her hands itched to touch, her breasts yearned to feel his weight on her, her arms and legs buzzed in anticipation of curling around him, holding all that male power, feeling it. She had never known such compelling, urgent lust for a man.
But when he came to her, he caught her reaching hands and held them above her head. He lay beside her with one strong thigh slung across both of hers, locking them down. ‘I want to taste all of you, Ivy,’ he said, his hotly simmering gaze dropping to her breasts.
Her breath caught in her throat as he dipped his head and circled one aureole with his tongue, causing her nipple to harden further into a taut bullet. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the wild flow of sensations as he licked and sucked. He was so good at it, soft and slow, flicking, lashing, drawing her flesh into his mouth at just the right strength. It was so blissful, her back instinctively arched, inviting him to do more, take more.
She slithered her hands out of his grasp, wanting, needing to touch him, to stroke his hair, to glide her fingers over his back, to press him closer, imprint all of him on her memory. She felt his flesh flinch under her caresses and smiled, knowing he found it erotic, glad she excited him as much as he excited her.
‘Can’t wait,’ he muttered, jerking up to change position, swiftly inserting his leg between hers.
At last, she thought exultantly, moving just as swiftly to accommodate him, to give him achingly ready access for the intimacy she craved. A wave of ecstatic satisfaction swept through her as he thrust inward, filling the yearning core of her need. She fiercely embraced him, her legs goading him into a hectic rhythm, harder, faster, deeper, revelling in the explosive action, feeling it drive her closer and closer to the exquisite splintering chaos of intense pleasure he had given her earlier tonight.
He took her there again.
With even more shattering intensity.
Ivy heard herself cry out at the incredible peak of tension before it broke, flooding her with a tsunami of sweet sensation. Some loud unintelligible sound broke from his throat, too, and he collapsed on top of her, breathing hard. She hugged him tightly, wallowing in the possessiveness of the moment, loving him for the gift of this marvellous experience.
He rolled onto his side, carrying her with him, hugging her just as tightly. Her head was tucked under his chin. He kissed her hair, rubbing his mouth over it as though he had to taste that, too. Ivy felt drained of all energy, yet beautifully replete. A perfect feast, she thought contentedly. It had been right to give in to temptation. She would never forget this as long as she lived.
He started stroking her back, lovely, long, skin-tingling caresses. She sighed with pleasure. He knew exactly how to touch a woman. She wished she could always have a lover like him. It was a pity a relationship with him wouldn’t last, but Ivy was not about to fool herself on that score. She was a temporary episode in the life of Jordan Powell, and it was best for her to cut it short and not get too attached to him.
One night.
That was what she had decided.
It was a very sensible decision—one she would definitely keep.
‘This time we are going to do it nice and slow, Ivy,’ he said in a tone of determined purpose.
She smiled, wondering if it annoyed him that he hadn’t managed to completely control the pace. She stirred herself