By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс
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it ended so that she almost forgot what she wanted to say. ‘Don’t you remember?’
‘Maybe…’ he said, rolling her under him, pinning her arms to the bed above her head as his head dipped to her throat, ‘maybe right now I’d rather forget.’
She moaned with the wicked pleasure of it all, his hot mouth like a brand against her skin. But this wasn’t supposed to happen. She hadn’t wanted this to happen. But as he lowered his head to her breast and drew in one achingly hard nipple to his mouth, laving it with his hot tongue, blowing on the damp fabric and sending exquisite chills coursing through her, she couldn’t, for the life of her, remember why. Her body was alive with wanting him, alive with the power that came from him and that she craved, and there was no way she could stop.
He let her wrists go, his hands busy at her nightie. She felt the soft fabric lifting as he skimmed his hands up her sides, before skimming down again, taking her underwear with them. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he growled, his voice like a brush of velvet over her bare skin as he pulled it over her head. And yet he was the magnificent one, broad and dark, his erection swaying and bucking over her, a pearl of liquid glistening at its head. Transfixed, unable to stop herself, she reached out her hand and touched it with the pad of her thumb. He uttered something urgent, his dark eyes flared, wild and filled with the same dark need that consumed her as he swiped up his wallet, found what he needed and tossed the wallet away in his rush to be inside her.
He dragged in air, forced himself to slow. ‘You do this to me,’ he accused her softly as he parted her thighs with his hand and found her slick and wet and wanting. ‘You make me rock hard and aching,’ he continued, his fingers circling that tiny nub of nerve endings, a touch so delicious she mewled with pleasure, writhing as sensation built on the back of his words, fuelling her need, fuelling her desperation.
Until at last she felt him nudge her there, hot and hard and pulsing with life as he tensed above her for one tantalising moment of anticipation.
And then joyfully, blissfully, he entered her in one magical thrust and she held him there, at her very core, welcoming him home, tears squeezing from her eyes at the sheer ecstasy of it all.
So much to feel. So much to experience and hold precious. And still the best was to come. The dance, the friction, the delicious moment of tension when he would sit poised at her entrance, before slamming back inside.
She went with him, matched him measure for measure, gasp for gasp as the pace increased, their bodies slick and hot as the rhythm increased, faster, more furious, the climb too high until this thing building inside her felt too big for her chest, her lungs too small.
Until with one final thrust, one final guttural roar, he sent her shattering, coming apart in his arms, falling, spinning weightless and formless and satisfied beyond measure.
‘So beautiful,’ he said, as he smoothed her hair from her damp brow, kissing her lightly on her eyes, on her nose, on her gasping lips.
And you’re dangerous, she thought as he disappeared to the bathroom, as her brain resumed functioning and a cold and very real panic seized her heart. So utterly, utterly dangerous.
And I am so in trouble.
What should one say now? What would an army do, its defences stripped bare, the castle walls well and truly breached? Try to hastily rebuild them? Call for reinforcements?
Or surrender?
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think about the sizzle under her skin where his fingers had stroked her shoulder.
As if she had a choice. She would no sooner patch up her defences and he would have them down again. One silken touch, one poignant kiss, and he would have those walls tumbling right down.
But she was kidding himself. There was no point rebuilding walls or calling for reinforcements. No point trying to save herself from attack from outside the castle walls.
Not when the enemy was already within.
Tears sprang to her eyes and she swiped them away. Damn. What was she doing? What was she risking? ‘I can’t afford to get pregnant again,’ she said when he returned, putting voice to her greatest fear.
‘I wouldn’t let you.’
‘But Sam’s father—’
He rose over her, cutting her off with his kiss. ‘I would never do that to you.’
‘How do I know that? And I would have two babies from two different fathers. How could I cope with that?’
‘Believe me. It won’t happen but even if it did, I would not abandon you as he has done.’
‘But you wouldn’t marry me either.’
He searched her eyes and frowned and she thought it was at her words, until he used the pad of his thumb to wipe away the moisture there.
‘I thought I heard you say any woman would be certifiably insane to want to get shackled to me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, remembering the scene in the bar. ‘I was angry.’
‘As was I. I should never have said what I did about Sam’s father thinking the same of you. But you’re right. Marriage is not an option, which means the best thing for everyone is to ensure we’re careful. All right?’
She wished he wouldn’t be like this. She wished he could go back to being ruthless and hard, because when he was tender and gentle with her, she could almost, almost, imagine he actually cared.
And she could almost, almost, imagine that she cared for him. She couldn’t afford to care for him. She couldn’t afford to read anything into his apology for what he’d said about Sam’s dad when it was plain he wasn’t lining up to marry her himself.
But she could enjoy him.
Two more nights in Leo’s bed. Why was she fighting it when it was where she so wanted to be? Why not treat it as the holiday it really was? Time spent in a tropical paradise with a man who knew how to pleasure a woman. No ties, no commitments and a promise not to let her down.
Was she mad to fight it?
And was it really surrendering, to take advantage of what she’d been offered on a plate?
His hand cupped her breast, feeling its weight, stroking her nipple and her senses until it peaked hard and plump under his fingers while his lips worked their heated way along her jaw towards her mouth. ‘Evelyn?’
A woman would have to be mad to want to give this up, she reasoned, leaning into his ministrations, giving herself over to the sensations. Two nights to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. It was more than some people had in a lifetime.
It would be enough.
It had to be enough.
‘All right,’ she whispered, giving herself up to his kiss.
SAM’S morning chatter roused them, as he tested all the sounds in his vocabulary in one long gabble, then she heard a tell-tale bump on the floor, followed by a squeal. ‘That’s Sam,’ she said unnecessarily, locating her nightie and snatching up her balled-up underwear and a robe and making for the bathroom for a quick pit stop, wanting to ensure she looked maternal rather than wanton when she greeted her son. Not that he was old enough to notice anything amiss, she thought, giving thanks for his innocence.
Sam was hanging onto the rails and bouncing on the mattress and greeted her with a huge grin followed by ‘mumumumumum’, which warmed her heart. Unconditional love. There was nothing like it. She changed him on the table provided and equipped for the task before popping his wriggling body down on the floor. ‘Bear!’ he shouted, gleefully scooping up the toy and running with his wide