The Platinum Collection. Maisey Yates
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course of action. If this was all there was to be between them he’d satisfy every desire she’d ever stirred in him—eat her all up so he could spit her out afterwards, not be left fantasising over what he could have done.
He wrenched his mouth from hers, trailed hotly possessive kisses down her lovely long neck, tasted the tantalising hollow at the base of her throat, slid lower to feast on her sensational breasts, swirling his tongue around her provocative nipples, sucking on them, devouring them, taking his fill of her luscious femininity, revelling in the little moans vibrating from her throat, the twist of her fingers tangling with his hair.
He reached down to part the soft folds of her sex, his own fingers sliding, searching, finding the excited wetness that gave him easy entry to stroke the excitement to a much-higher level. She cried out, her body arching again, her need growing in intensity. He moved lower, determined on driving her crazy for him.
He spread the folds apart to expose the tight bud of her clitoris and licked it, slowly teasing at first, then faster, faster until she was writhing, screaming for him, begging, her legs encircling him, feet beating a drum of wild wanting. He surged up to take the ultimate plunge, but the savage need inside him demanded a last absolute surrender from her.
Her head was thrashing from side to side. He held it still. ‘Look at me!’ he commanded.
She blinked and looked but there was no real focus in her eyes.
‘Say my name!’
‘What?’ It was a gasp of confusion.
‘Say my name!’
‘Har...ry...’ It was a weak waver of sound.
‘Say it again!’
‘Harry, Harry, Harry...’ she cried hysterically. ‘Please...’
‘You want me?’
‘Ye-s-s-s.’ She beat at his shoulders with tightly clenched fists. ‘I’ll kill you if you don’t...’
He silenced her with a deep, thrusting kiss as he propelled his flesh into hers. When he lifted his head, the animal groan of satisfaction from her throat rang jubilant bells in his ears. She clutched his buttocks, trying to goad him into a fast rhythm, but he wanted the excitement to build and build, not explode all at once. He started slowly, revelling in her eagerness for him, the convulsive little spasms that told him she was totally engaged in feeling him—him, not Mickey.
He felt her creaming around him and couldn’t keep controlling the rampantly growing need of his own body. It overtook his mind, oblivious to everything but the physical scream to reach climax, releasing the fierce tension raging through every muscle of his body. It pumped from him in a glorious burst of ecstatic satisfaction, and with all tension draining away, he rolled onto his side, pulling her with him, wanting to hang on to the sense of intimate togetherness as long as he could.
She didn’t attempt any move away from him. Maybe she was drained of all energy, too. Whatever...she left her legs entwined with his, their bodies pressed close, her head tucked under his chin. He stroked her hair, enjoying the soft silky texture of it, thinking he still had the freedom to touch. He wondered how she was going to act for the rest of the night. Would Ellie emerge and see him for the man he was, or would Elizabeth stick to her guns?
He couldn’t call it.
He told himself he didn’t care.
At least he had the satisfaction of making her want him with every fibre of her being, if only for one night.
* * *
Elizabeth didn’t want to move. It felt unbelievably good, cuddled up with Harry, having her hair stroked. Her mind drifted to her childhood, sitting on her mother’s lap, head resting just like this while her hair was stroked lovingly. No one else had ever done it. She’d always been the one to comfort Lucy, not the other way around. It was weird, feeling comforted by Harry but...she didn’t want to move.
She liked being naked with him, too, the warm flesh contact, the sense of his male strength holding her safe. It was so nice and peaceful after the storm of incredible sensation. Having sex with Harry...her mind was still blown by it...just totally unimaginable before experiencing it. She’d never tipped so utterly out of control, never been taken to such peaks of exquisite pleasure-pain, and the sheer ecstasy of floating in the aftermath of one climax after another...well, that had certainly set the bar for how fantastic sex with the right man could be.
Though she hadn’t thought Harry was the right man in any other respect...or...might he be?
Maybe she had been a bit too quick to judge, misreading his character. Or maybe she was just being influenced by how right he was in bed for her. Most probably he was the best action man on that front for every woman he took to bed. Just because this had been special to her didn’t make it special to him. But she was still glad she’d had this with Harry.
‘Are you okay?’ he murmured caringly.
She sighed contentedly. ‘Very okay, thank you.’
‘Then let’s go take a shower. Once we’re done there we can get in the pool and cool off.’
She was hot and sticky. ‘Good idea,’ she said.
The shower was more than big enough for two and Elizabeth was in no hurry using it this time. She enjoyed soaping Harry’s great body, touching him intimately, letting him do the same to her.
‘Having fun?’
The wry note in his voice made her look up. There was no amusement twinkling in the vivid blue eyes. The mocking glint in them dried up the pleasure she had been feeling, sending a chill through her as she remembered her taunt about having a night of sexy fun, rejecting having any deeper involvement with him, virtually dismissing him as a person of no account in her life. He’d been so angry—shockingly angry. She’d forgotten that, her mind swamped by so much else.
Instinctively she reached up to touch his cheek in an apologetic appeal. ‘I was taking pleasure in you, Harry. I thought you were taking pleasure in me.’
For a moment his mouth took on an ironic twist. Then he bent his head and kissed her, a long sensual kiss that swallowed up any worry about him still being angry with her.
Finishing off in the infinity pool was another sensual pleasure, the water like cool silk caressing her skin. ‘Just stay there,’ Harry instructed as he heaved himself out. ‘I’ll light the torches to keep the insects away and bring out the oysters with some chilled wine.’
‘Oysters!’ She laughed. ‘I don’t think I need an aphrodisiac, Harry.’
He stopped. His shoulders squared and she saw his back muscles tense. He half turned to face her, a cutting look in his eyes that ripped through the amusement in hers. ‘I’m not into playboy tricks, Elizabeth. I simply remembered you liked them at your birthday lunch.’
That coldly spoken Elizabeth slapped her with the realisation that she was offending him every time she painted him as a playboy. Perhaps even insulting him. He’d told her straight out that the label was wrong in his eyes. Had she been doing him an injustice all this time? What hard evidence did she actually have that he used women lightly? None!
There was a sitting shelf at one end of the pool, and she settled on it, still enjoying the soft ripple of the water around her dangling legs as she thought back over the two years Harry had been dipping into her life while she’d been working for his brother. When he’d first walked into her office he’d emanated a megawatt attraction that had put her in such a tizzy physically she had instantly mistrusted and disliked his power to do that to her.
She’d reasoned that a man with so much personal magnetism was very likely to stray from any relationship since other women would always be eyeing him over, wanting a chance with him, especially when he was both wealthy and sexy. Determined not to go anywhere near that playing field, she had kept a rigid guard against his insidious assaults on her armour.
Now it felt as though she had prejudiced