One Summer At The Beach: Pleasured by the Secret Millionaire / Not-So-Perfect Princess / Wedding at Pelican Beach. Melissa McCloneЧитать онлайн книгу.
merge into one.
What had begun as a slow, sensuous dance flavoured with restraint had now become frankly hot and heavy and not nearly enough. His hands traced over her back, fingers that had fluttered over her soft skin now stroked with increasing insistence. His palms pressed her towards him—closer but still not as close as she wanted. She ached, a real physical pain deep inside that only he could soothe—by being deep inside her.
His hand came to rest on her bottom, curved over it with pressure, pulling her tight into him. Locking them pelvis to pelvis. The feel of his erection against her was the most exquisite torture. Half of her trembled, the other half imbued with a surge of strength that had her moving in a way to torment him too. Hunting out the response her basic instinct demanded she receive—him driven to take.
His grip grew stronger, his kisses more frantic—trailing across her face, down her neck. Her eyes closed. Her breath came short and fast—faster and faster until she was panting, almost pleading.
His jaw brushed rough against her over-sensitised skin as he raised his head with sudden and unexpected force. ‘We shouldn’t be here any more.’ His voice was low and husky and his hands tightened, keeping her close. ‘I think we need to be alone.’
Green eyes searched hers. She knew they were seeking out doubt. But she had no intention of stepping away. For the first time in her life she ignored her worry and just went with the want.
‘Somewhere close.’ Miraculously her voice worked.
‘You’re sure?’
Again the intensity together with a sensitivity she hadn’t expected. And faint hesitancy just as there had been when they had first hit the dance floor. Desire most certainly, but something else as well. Some other thought, small but inescapable, that had him pausing. But as he pulled on her arm it seemed that he, like she, had no choice.
She gave him the only possible answer. ‘As sure as you are.’
THE door closed behind them, muting the noise of bottles, beat and bar. Sienna was in some oversized pantry. Half-dazed, she took in the shelves where giant jars of sun-dried tomatoes vied for space next to sacks of rice and tins of whatever. Rhys had taken her by the hand and led her off the dance floor. Known exactly where he was headed. She’d simply followed, unquestioning. He closed the door behind him. Bolted it. Swung her so her back was to the door, the lock just by her arm. He nodded to it.
‘You can leave any time.’
‘I don’t want to.’
She saw his tension as he braced against the door but holding his body away from her. She looked along the length of his arms, pinning her in. She could see the strength in them. Not overdeveloped, bulging biceps, but defined, long muscles that were, frankly, beautiful. She sensed he was pushing against the door as a way to keep himself in check. She didn’t want him to hold back. No restraint, she wanted everything. Wanted him to want her in the deeply physical way she wanted him, and she wanted to feel it, experience it. All.
It was her turn to seize the moment. Daring, she reached out quickly before habit returned and she hesitated. She unfastened the top button of his shirt. She heard the catch of his breath. A tiny smile tugged the corners of her mouth. This could be an awful lot of fun. And she’d gone too long without fun. Well, not tonight.
Her fingers shook only a little as she worked the buttons with surprising ease. Until both halves of the shirt hung apart and she was able to see his taut bronzed torso. The initial attack of butterflies in her tummy was fast replaced by a serious tightening. Transverse, internal and external obliques—all those abdominal muscles tensed at the sight of raw male in perfect prime.
She must have a fairy godmother to grant her this wish. She forced her gaze from his torso to his face. She could see the way he’d clamped his jaw shut as he watched her admiring him.
Their eyes met. She saw the serious look in his again. The reality of what she was considering hit her.
She spoke. ‘I don’t usually…’
‘Neither do I.’
Somehow she knew that was true. ‘I just want to…’
‘Me too.’
Touch.
She reached a hand out sideways and flipped the light switch. Blackness covered them—sudden and total. She couldn’t even make out his outline. But she could hear him. Could sense his nearness.
‘Sienna?’
‘Indulge me.’ She smiled—excited by his audible tension, amused by her actions. She even sounded like a seductress. She slipped her panties down, kicking them off and to the floor. Now she felt like one. A sense of exhilaration flooded her. Freedom. In the dark, where there was only touch and scent and sensation, she could be as wicked and wild as she wanted.
‘How should I indulge you?’ The tension was still there, and a trace of husky desire.
‘Touch me.’
He stepped closer. She heard the movement of his feet. With the loss of vision her other senses seemed more acute.
His voice lowered but she still heard every word as clear as the beat of the drum. ‘Where should I touch you?’
‘Anywhere you want.’ Everywhere. She didn’t mind. In the dark like this, anything could happen.
He was close. Very close but still not touching and she wanted that beyond belief.
She smelt the wine they’d drunk. Then caught a hint of a scent new to her but thoroughly delightful—Rhys. Aroused.
But still he held back.
Her breasts ached. She longed to feel him caress them—to both soothe and set on fire. As for his mouth, the kind of luscious lips that overly wealthy housewives paid thousands for. The perfect Cupid’s bow. She wanted that everywhere. Where was he? Panic gripped her—he hadn’t changed his mind?
Then he spoke, that low sound of temptation personified. ‘I can’t quite decide where to touch and whether to use my hands or mouth.’
‘How about both? Everywhere.’
She heard his puff of amusement and his low murmur. ‘Sienna the Siren.’
At last he touched her, his hands settling on her waist as his lips sought hers. Back to the beginning—but it wasn’t a beginner’s kind of kiss. Deeper, long, lush kisses followed—lasting for ever. His hands moved, played up her back, and then slipped round her front, his fingers seeking her softness. The ache in her breasts intensified, wanting more.
He spoke her desire aloud. ‘I want to touch you. How do I get this off?’ He tugged at the material.
‘It’s complicated. I…’
His groan sounded half smothered. ‘Later, we’ll get rid of it later.’
Regret whistled through her. There would be no later. But the thought was wiped from her mind as his hands encircled her braless breasts, and his mouth found her nipple with killer precision.
Raw need ricocheted through her. She felt the pull in every limb. Her brain forcing her entire body to attend to the sensation in her nipples. Never had she felt so desired. Never had her breasts received such attention. Such deliberate and devastating touches. Lovers were usually distracted by then—by the scar. Tonight, despite the thin, slippery fabric covering her, she could feel his desire, the wet heat of his mouth as he caressed her with a physical want she knew would wane if he ever saw her in entirety.
She rocked her pelvis against him—an unconscious desire to soothe the ache that had sprung there. Then she realised her body, her very sex, was demanding the same kind of attention her breasts were receiving. The essence of her wanted his fingers, his lips, his tongue