Unfinished Business: Bought: One Night, One Marriage / Always the Bridesmaid / Confessions of a Millionaire's Mistress. Robyn Grady
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‘This is what you want, right?’
He still needed to ask? Couldn’t he feel the way she was trembling? Couldn’t he feel the fire that burned through her veins? ‘Yes.’ She wanted him to stop thinking, stop questioning, stop talking. She just wanted him to take her. She knew he could make her go places she’d never been, had only dreamed being. He could do that with just one kiss. Now she wanted the rest of it.
He spun her on the stool so the bench was at her back. She heard him walk and then felt him in front of her, felt his fingers in her hair, and could hardly wait.
But as the mask slipped from her skin, so the blinding lust cooled and a speck of reason peeked in. She looked at him. Really looked at him, looking at her. And she couldn’t believe what was in his eyes.
He pushed the robe from her shoulders, so it slid down her arms, and started to slip from her body. Half naked, she looked down and felt uncomfortable.
This man was perfection. She was not.
‘I think I preferred it with the blindfold on.’
His brows lifted. ‘So you can’t see me?’
‘So I can’t see me.’
‘You think you’re ugly?’
‘No. But I’m not a model.’ It wasn’t that she was ugly. She was ordinary. Ordinarily ordinary wouldn’t matter. But when you were the daughter of a supermodel? Then it was a problem. She was miles off that striking, classical bone structure—the perfect, symmetrical face. And as for her figure. ‘I’m not slim.’
‘No.’ He grinned. ‘But who wants a bag of bones?’ He rested his hands on her shoulders, thumbs stroking, soothing her smooth skin.
‘Let me tell you what I see.’ He looked, a long, measuring look down her body, and she would have scrambled for some sort of covering if his hands weren’t firm on her arms, holding her still for his inspection. ‘I look at your breasts. I look at your belly. I look at your heaven-sent bottom and my brain shuts down. Instinct screams at me—fecundity! Fertile female. Must procreate, must procreate.’ A sharp smile, a mocking edge and an even keener look in his eye.
She stared at him. And finally, she laughed. A short brittle crack.
‘Which shows how appearances can be deceiving, I guess. You males can’t do intuition or instinct.’ She stood up, clutching the robe, walked away from the kitchen and into the living area. ‘I’m never having children.’
The silence was small but pointed. ‘You’re a career woman through and through?’ He followed her, stood beside her, heat radiating from him. She knew it wasn’t just lust spiking his temperature—there was anger too.
Let him judge. He knew nothing of her heartbreak, the way her body’s limitations had forced her to take a road she’d rather be off but that she was determined to make the best of.
‘Absolutely. Nothing matters more to me than my business.’ Bitterness made her vehement, and self-hatred sounded simply like hate.
His eyes flashed fire. Did he think she was some heartless, hard-headed workaholic lacking any kind of maternal instinct? She wasn’t—but so what if she was? It wasn’t by choice. He could think what he liked—she was determined not to care.
They stared at each other, passion clashing. But the blast of temptation and desire was too strong, transforming her emotion from angry disappointment to angry lust. Despite his obvious disapproval, despite the fact he was exactly the wrong type for her, she still wanted him. She saw the same battle in his eyes and knew that neither of them wanted to feel things this way—forced beyond boundaries that normally were easy to maintain.
‘Just us.’ She stated the rules. ‘Just sex.’ She looked at his expression. There was no smile. No tenderness. It was purely dark desire that would disappear once they’d done it. ‘Right?’
‘Right.’
He stepped towards her, ripped his fresh tee shirt over his head, shrugged out of the jeans and was gloriously naked in less than two seconds.
Her mouth, like her robe, fell to the floor. She no longer cared about her body, she only cared about his—about getting her hands on the utterly perfect form before her.
They stepped forward, any polite hesitation abandoned. It had already taken too long. His mouth fastened onto hers, tongue searching. Leaving no doubt as to what he wanted, what he was going to have. And from the speed with which they were both moving, he was going to have it all soon.
The last of her anger was consumed in flames of desire as his big hands weighed her breasts; her tight nipples begged to be taken into his hot mouth but it was his thumbs that teased them. She shifted restlessly, rocking her hips towards him. He bent his head to kiss down her neck and suddenly her legs couldn’t seem to hold her weight any more. He caught her against him and took them down to the floor together.
They kissed and touched like the sensation-starved. She was starved, and she badly wanted everything she sensed he could give her—that release, that completion.
His fingers sought her out, curving into her. He lifted his head and his eyes glowed. ‘You’re wet for me.’
She nodded, boldly reaching out to him. ‘You’re hard for me.’
He grinned, tight, his anger forgotten too as anticipation sharpened. ‘Definitely some sort of reaction.’
And then he made her wetter, with his fingers teasing, swirling, stroking at the particularly sensitive area just north of where she wanted to bury the hot, hard length she had in her hand now. She squeezed him firmer and his fingers worked faster. She stretched her legs as wide and as tight as she could, driving her hips back and forth towards him and her hand hard up and down him. She wanted to master him, wanted to make him take her—completely. His breathing was choppy, as was hers, and, groaning, he grabbed her hand with a death grip, stopping her from rubbing him, yet continuing to torment her with his other extremely clever hand.
And then he slid down her body, replacing those fingers with his mouth, and all she could do was lie there and let him nuzzle into her, so intimate and so intense. He kissed and licked and then the fingers were back too, sliding right inside while his scalding mouth sucked deep.
Sensations were rushing on her now—but she didn’t want to burst yet, not like this.
‘No!’ she called desperately. ‘No, no, no. It’s cheating.’
He froze, moved to look into her face. His grip bruising her wrist. ‘Cally? Cheating?’
She curved into him, pressing her hips against his as she realised he thought she meant something else entirely. If she was going to get what she wanted she’d better spell it out for him. This was a one-weekend-only special. She had nothing to lose and the chance for an experience of a lifetime. Why let nerves or embarrassment ruin that now? So, despite knowing her cheeks must be purple, she spoke. ‘I want to come when you’re … when we’re …’
The black thunder cloud lifted from his brow. ‘You want me inside you when you come?’
She nodded. ‘I want you to come too.’
There was a grunt of laughter. ‘That’s not going to be a problem, sweetheart.’
‘Six for six.’
‘No problem.’ His hands moved to caress her breasts, teasing her nipples. ‘We’ll do it your way this first time, but I want to taste you as you come one time, though.’
Heat flamed her cheeks further. ‘Ditto.’
His fingers flicked faster. ‘Definitely not a problem.’
They kissed again then, finally on the same page. His hips settled between hers and she felt the silken head of him pressing at her wet entrance.
He surged forward, one long stroke, filling