Purchased for Passion: Shackled by Diamonds / A Mistress for the Taking / His Bought Mistress. Julia James
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on her bottom now, kneading and pressing. He thrust again, and the sensation was unbearable. But he thrust again, and her body was melting, and writhing, and burning.
He thrust again. And this time as he thrust she twisted on him with her hips, and again. The rhythm mounted and mounted, and the fire inside her grew hotter and hotter. More cries were coming from her throat, her body one single flame of sensation, and her head was rolling, rolling. She had become a writhing, ravening hunger, and she wanted…needed…
This.
Oh, God, this—this was what she needed!
The place deep within her, which his thrusting fullness had been stoking, stroking, had caught fire. Igniting in a single blazing funnel of sensation, of pleasure so intense, so consuming, that Anna could not breathe, could only gasp.
And then there was another cry, hoarse and urgent, and Leo was thrusting up into her again. Short, rapid thrusts. His hands suddenly on her shoulders, as he jerked powerfully, repeatedly into her, to reap his own unstoppable pleasure.
She collapsed down on him, panting, exhausted, drained. The storm of sensation shaking her even in its dying embers.
She felt a hand smoothing back the hair from her forehead, felt warm breath on her cheek.
‘Thee mou, I knew you would be good, but—’
His hoarse voice changed to Greek. It seemed to be coming from a long, long way away. Everything was coming from a distance.
Except for one thing. Something black and dark was rolling in, darker than anything she had ever known. Stifling her, annihilating her.
Slaying her.
It was the realisation of what she had just let happen.
The worst thing in the world…
CHAPTER SIX
LEO strolled out onto his balcony. The sun was high already, and he was not surprised. It had been a long, long night—but very little sleep had taken place.
He stretched in a pleasurable flexing of his shoulders.
Thee mou, but it had been good! More than that—it had been mind-blowing.
And not just for him. Anna Delane had responded exactly as he had known she would.
She’d gone up in flames.
White-hot, scorching flames.
Again and again—all through the night. Time after time he had taken her, and every time he had drawn from her a response that had had her body shaking, shuddering, had her crying out helplessly, reducing her time after time to exhausted, breathless satiation. She had threshed in his arms, her spine arching, hair wild like a maenad, eyes blind and unseeing as she’d convulsed in the extremity of pleasure, totally, completely possessed by it.
It had been intoxicating.
And incredibly arousing.
There had been something exquisitely satisfying about her helplessly sensual response to his touch. She had not intended it, that was for sure. She’d tried to hold back from him, to be like a statue, a block of wood—rigid and unresponsive. But he’d ignored her sullenness, her obvious determination to cheat him of what he wanted from her. Of what she owed him.
He’d got what he wanted from her, all right. Had drawn it from her stroke by stroke, touch by touch, kiss by kiss. Caressing her body with his until she was hot in his arms, giving those low little moans in her throat, moving her body on his in helpless, hungry desire…
He felt his body stir. Even though it had been sated time after time on hers. He gave a low laugh. Time enough to indulge—he was going to be here for as long as he wanted Anna Delane, for as long as she still fed his appetite for her—but right now there was another appetite he wanted to feed. It had been a long time since dinner the night before.
He walked inside the bedroom, picked up the house phone by his bed, and gave his order for breakfast. As he replaced the receiver he let his eyes rest on the woman sleeping in his bed.
She really was extraordinarily beautiful—and never more so than now. Her black hair streamed over the pillow, tumbled and tangled. Her skin was white against the white sheets, black lashes splashing on her cheeks. She was breathing softly.
He gazed down at her.
There was something strangely vulnerable about her.
He frowned slightly.
Vulnerable?
That was the last word he should apply to Anna Delane. Even when he hadn’t even known her for a thief she’d radiated attitude. Sharp-tongued, difficult—a troublemaker.
And a hypocrite. Oh, yes. His eyes narrowed. A fully paidup hypocrite! He’d known from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, when she’d met his look, that she was sexually responsive to him. She’d made no secret of it at all as he’d looked her over and signalled to her that he liked what he saw. And she’d signalled back her response to him clearly enough, all the way through that evening when he’d kept her at his side. Hell, what did she think he’d done that for? Obviously it had been to tell her that he was sexually interested in her. And yet when he’d moved in on that response she’d turned on him like a harpy. Even though she’d been halfway to bed with him when she’d done so.
And then, then to subject him to a tirade of virtuous outrage as if she’d never melted like warm honey in his arms—when all along…all along, she’d been nothing but a thief. Daring to steal from him—and making the Levantsky jewels her target. A thief without any sense of shame, or guilt, or contrition. A cool, conscienceless, self-seeking, thieving piece!
But she hadn’t been cool when he’d been inside her, when she’d been crying out, threshing in orgasm. She hadn’t been cool when he’d held her afterwards, her body shaking, convulsing in the aftermath, her hair tangled, her brow sweated, her breathing rapid and shallow, her heart beating like a frantic bird beneath her ribs.
No, she hadn’t been cool then…
He turned away and headed for the en suite bathroom. Gazing down at Anna Delane and remembering how she’d been in his arms a few short hours ago was not a good idea right now. He wanted breakfast—time enough for more sex later.
A lot more sex.
He hadn’t had nearly enough of Anna Delane yet—she had a whole lot more to make up for before he’d be done with her.
’Would you like to swim?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Take the catamaran out? Or the launch?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Do you want to see the rest of the island?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘As you wish.’
There was no baiting amusement in Leo’s curt voice now. Merely mounting irritation. He picked up his coffee cup and drank, then set it down again. His eyes rested on the woman sitting opposite him.
She was reading a book. A thick paperback that was absorbing all her attention. But then everything and anything absorbed her attention except him. Of him she took no notice whatsoever. She was shutting him out of her existence. She never looked at him, or met his eye, or talked in anything other than the briefest, tersest replies.
She’d been like that since he’d sent for her.
The fact that he’d had to do so had been a source of irritation in itself. He’d come out of his shower to find his bed empty. She’d simply disappeared. It hadn’t bothered him. He’d assumed she’d merely gone back to her own room to shower and dress.
But she still hadn’t appeared even when he’d despatched one of the staff to tell her that breakfast would be on the terrace. He’d