The Billionaire's Contract Bride. Carol Marinelli
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For the first time since their lips had met she opened her eyes. He was staring down at her, his pupils dilated, desire burning in every facet of his being.
‘Don’t stop,’ she urged again.
It was all the affirmation he needed to continue and, swooping her into his embrace, Zavier carried her towards the bedroom. Ripping back the smooth counter-pane, he laid her on the huge bed.
What Tabitha had expected she had no idea—for him to tear at her clothes, for her to rip at his shirt? But the animal passion that had gripped them in the lounge suite dimmed a notch, replaced instead by a sensual hum, an almost reverent admiration as he slowly pulled down her zipper, savouring each first glimpse of her exposed flesh.
Planting slow, deep kisses on her shoulders, he pulled down her straps, exploring her clavicle with his tongue. She heard his sharp intake of breath as the chiffon slipped over her breasts. Her pink nipples begged for the coolness of his tongue, flicking each taut nipple until it was swollen and aching, dancing to his probing attendance. Down ever down, he moved, across the white hollow of her stomach to the glistening silken Titian curls hiding her amber treasure box, which he opened with wonder, his tongue working its magic again, making her gasp as he brought her ever nearer to the brink of oblivion. Then, abating slightly, leaving her hovering on the brink, on the edge of the universe, he worked slowly on the delicately freckled expanse of flesh that spilled out over her sheer stockings.
With cat-like grace he stood up, his eyes never leaving hers as he undid his shirt, and though the music had stopped long ago his hips gyrated slowly to a beat of their own. Only his eyes were still, watching her reaction at the first glimpse of the ebony mat of hair on his chest, inking down over his flat stomach. She heard his zipper slide down, followed the plane of ebony as his trousers slid down his solid thighs, revealing the first heady glimpse of his manhood, trapped and writhing in his underwear. She reached towards him, her trembling hand aching, desperate to touch him, but Zavier shook his head, taunting her a while longer as he slowly took off the last remnants of clothing.
It was the most sensual thing she had ever witnessed, a teasing ritual that whetted her appetite. What she had expected from his lovemaking she hadn’t dared even imagine. A cool aloofness, perhaps, a distance despite their closeness? Not this teasing disrobing for her benefit, this naked display of sensuality, this sheer, delicious decadence. He pushed her gently back onto the bed, the rough hair on his thighs scratching through the silk of her stockings as he parted her legs, diving into her with such precision and force that she cried out in abandonment, her legs coiling around his waist, whilst her coral-painted nails dug into his taut buttocks.
And finally the only dance left was the dance of lovers entwined, their bodies making music of their own, dancing to a private rhythm, a jazz of harmonic idioms in tune with each other, improvising as they went. The rhythm filled them, fuelled them, spurring them on, finding out what worked, what mixed—and it all did. Every last cell in their bodies seemed to be sated with desire until she could hold back no longer. Every pulse in her body had aligned, focusing towards her very epicentre as he exploded within her. Gasping, her body throbbing, she opened her eyes. She needed to see him at this moment—see the man who had brought her to this magical place. For he was the perfection she craved, he was the ultimate fantasy, and she was living it, loving it.
To close her eyes now would only taint the dream.
‘What about Aiden?’
His question filtered through the haze, unwelcome and unexpected, the harshness in his voice such a stark contrast to the husky endearments of only moments before.
‘Tabitha?’
She heard the impatient note, the summons for an explanation. Pulling up the heavy white sheet, she tucked it around her, her eyes darting to his, reeling with shock at the contempt so visible, stunned at the change in his demeanour.
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