Mistresses: The Consequences Of Desire: Beach Bar Baby / Walk on the Wild Side / Claiming His Own. Heidi RiceЧитать онлайн книгу.
a velvet vice. Her head dropped back, thudding the wall, as he began to move, the thrusts jerky, desperate, the need quickly becoming too fast and furious, the need so raw and draining he couldn’t slow down, couldn’t stop now if his life depended on it.
She sobbed, her fingernails scraping his back as she clung on. Her muscles began to milk him, and he knew she was coming.
Don’t pull out. Not yet. Hold on. Damn it.
His seed boiled, driving up from his balls, hurling him closer and closer to the cliff edge, her sobs of completion beckoning him to come faster, harder. And a tiny part of his mind screamed to the animal inside him.
Now. Pull out, now.
He wrenched himself free. Dropping his head against her shoulder, kissing the salt, sweet taste of her neck, the pain of separation as devastating as the brutal, unstoppable roll of orgasm as his seed pumped into the welcoming softness of her belly.
* * *
‘Damn, that was even more awesome than I remember.’
Ella’s gaze shimmered back into focus as a rough palm touched her cheek and blunt fingers sank into her hair. Those deep emerald eyes searched her face, making her chest tighten.
She nodded, gently, feeling stunned, her sex still clenching and releasing from the intensity of her orgasm. Seemed absence didn’t just make the heart grow fonder.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, her throat raw from the wellspring of emotion.
His lips curved, and he placed a tender kiss on her forehead. ‘Come on.’ He hefted her into his arms, bracing his forearm under her buttocks as she held onto his shoulders. ‘Let’s grab a shower. Then I want a cupcake.’
‘But we still need to talk,’ she murmured against his neck.
‘Sure. But first I want to see that magnificent rack covered in soap suds.’
She chuckled, resting her head on his shoulder, and draping her arms around his neck, her emotions too close to the surface to protest. Surely a few more minutes of intimacy, of getting reacquainted, wouldn’t do any harm—she’d waited this long already?
Locating the tiny bathroom at the back of the flat, he put her down to twist on the shower. But kept one hand on her hip, as if he were afraid she’d run off. She remembered leaving him, that morning with only a thank you. And felt the renewed trickle of guilt.
The water gurgled and spurted out of the shower head, the stream thin and underwhelming.
‘Is that as good as it gets?’ he remarked.
She smiled. ‘This is British plumbing we’re talking about. That’s the equivalent of Niagara Falls.’
His quick grin lifted her spirits and made the trickle of guilt dry up.
‘At least it’s hot,’ he said, testing the temperature before he hauled her into the cubicle.
‘Not for long.’
He grabbed her lemon verbena soap off the ledge, and worked up a lather, his hair plastered to his head, his eyes wicked with intent. ‘Then we better get this party started.’
Gentle hands cupped her breasts, lifting and testing the weight as his thumbs glided over pebbled nipples. The heat pulsed and tugged between her thighs.
She took the soap to wash him in return, putting all the emotion she felt into the task as her hands stroked the lean, muscular slopes of his abdomen, explored the roped sinews that defined his hip bones. She took his penis into her palm, felt it lengthen and harden as she caressed it.
Blood surged into her tender clitoris, and she knew she wanted him again, already, surging deep, the delicious decadent stretching feeling of his flesh entering hers. Touching her womb where their child grew.
Soon he would know, and, whatever his reaction, surely it would be okay, when this closeness, this physical joining felt so good, so right.
But then he lifted her breasts, the cooling water sluicing away the soap, and said, ‘I like the extra weight—it looks great on you.’
The approval in his gaze had the wave of guilt flopping over in her stomach. She couldn’t wait any longer. It wasn’t fair to him, or to their child. She drew away from him, her back wedged against the wall of the cubicle.
‘We need to get dressed. I have something I have to tell you.’
‘Okay.’
He flipped off the shower control, but took hold of her wrist as she opened the cubicle door. The sudden silence felt deafening, despite the blood roaring in her ears. He tugged her towards him as he stepped out behind her, tucked a finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to his. ‘What’s up? Is something wrong?’
‘No, I just...’ She gulped past the tightness.
Not yet. Get yourself together first. You need to tell him gently. Carefully.
Her gaze dropped to his erection. She certainly couldn’t function, let alone think clearly, while he was standing naked in front of her, visibly aroused.
‘I just need a minute.’
His grip had loosened, his gaze puzzled, but not yet wary. She pulled her hand free, headed for the door. ‘Shall we get dressed? I can meet you in the living room in ten minutes? Make you that coffee I promised?’
He shrugged, grabbed a towel from the rail to wrap around his waist. ‘Sure.’
She darted out of the door before he could change his mind.
* * *
‘All right, let’s have it, what was so important we couldn’t finish what I was busy starting in the shower?’
Ella smiled at the rueful tone, and glanced up from the cupcakes she was busy arranging on a plate.
He stood with his legs crossed at the ankles, leaning against the kitchen counter. He’d changed into a pair of faded jeans and a black T-shirt, which must have been in the bag he’d had with him. Had he come straight from the airport, then, to see her? She felt a renewed spike of optimism, of hope.
She’d figured so many outcomes for what she was about to tell him, but none of them had included the possibility that he might be pleased with her news. Yes, it would be a shock, but why had she assumed it would necessarily be a disaster?
She never would have guessed he would come to London, or the chemistry between them would have remained as hot for him as it still was for her.
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ She gestured towards the living area. ‘The coffee will be ready any minute.’
His brows lifted, the rueful grin taking on a mischievous tilt. ‘It’s not coffee I want.’ Stepping close to hold her chin, he gave her lips a quick peck. The kiss felt casual and affectionate. The hope swelled in her chest. ‘But we’ll play it your way, for now.’
He settled on the sofa, while she fussed over the coffee for another precious few minutes, getting her thoughts lined up.
Finally she couldn’t put it off any longer. Sitting on the opposite sofa, she placed the plate of cherry-chocolate cupcakes on the coffee table and poured him a cup of coffee. She had a momentary wobble when he told her he took it black, and it occurred to her how much she didn’t know about him.
Don’t chicken out now. Telling him is the first step to finding out all those things you don’t know.
She took a long fortifying sip of the fennel tea she’d made for herself. ‘I’m not sure where to start,’ she began, galvanised by the thought that she was excited about taking this new step.
He lifted a cupcake off the plate. ‘Then why don’t you start by telling me why you ran out on me?’
‘I didn’t,’ she said, frowning at the slight edge in his voice. ‘I woke up and you were gone. I figured you’d