The Blackmailed Bride's Secret Child. Rachel BaileyЧитать онлайн книгу.
fell into him.
She’d been starving for him these long years, and now his mouth was on hers, she wanted more, needed it all. It was more than a kiss. It was coming home.
His arms crushed her into his solidness, held her tight, but not close enough, so she pulled at his bow tie, opened buttons and slid her hands across his scorching skin.
He groaned and shuddered, but didn’t break the kiss. How had she lived without this? Apart from the joy of motherhood, she’d been a dead woman walking since she’d last lain with him.
Pushing the sides of his shirt apart, she touched as much of him as she could, relearning his body, discovering new planes and angles. His biceps were larger than they’d been, and she scraped her nails along their firm bulk, needing to know his changes. His abdomen felt as flat and hard as it’d always been, his skin as warm as she had remembered.
He pulled away, breathing ragged, eyes closed as if regaining control. Then he dispensed with his shirt and dangling bow tie in one motion. Her breath hitched. He’d always been magnificent, but now he was beyond even that. A Roman god far from home; a sculpture by an Italian master come to life.
There was a smattering of chest hair on his golden-brown skin where once he’d been smooth. She reached to feel, tentative at first, but then more boldly—there had been more changes but this was still the chest she knew. The one she’d loved so many times in her bed, in his, in the open air of the vineyard, in the barrel rooms of the winery late at night … wherever they’d found moments of privacy when their passion rose to undeniable heights.
She stroked across his pectorals, hungry for as much skin as she could touch, then lower, trailing her fingertips along the ridges of his abdomen.
“Your fingers have magic in them.” His voice was rough, strained.
Lips like velvet skimmed hers, the darkly alluring taste of him engulfed her. His kiss was beyond the physical; it bordered a mystical experience, and she was powerless to do more than be swept along with its intensity.
Without breaking the connection, he unzipped her dress and the peach fabric slid to the floor, pooling at her feet. Then he wrenched his mouth away, captured her hands. “Just give me a moment to see you.”
She arched her body, trying to make contact with his heat, his solidness … just him. Even touching his naked chest was more than she thought she’d be granted again in this life and the thought of it all being almost within her reach made her a little dizzy.
“Nico,” she moaned, “touch me. Don’t stop touching me.”
With one hand, he unhooked her apricot lace bra and threw it behind him to land on the couch. He filled his hands with her breasts, cupping gently, rubbing his thumbs across their undersides. “Exquisite,” he rasped. “Every square inch of you is utterly exquisite.”
Then he knelt, and slowly—agonizingly slowly—he pulled down her panties. She leaned forward and ploughed her hands into his hair as he continued the measured descent of her last remaining piece of clothing. When he reached the floor, she lifted one high-heeled foot, then the other so she could step out of the panties, before he threw them to join her bra.
She was naked but for her three-inch silver heels and she reached for them to complete the task.
He stopped her hand. “No. They stay.”
Past caring about shoes, she reached for his belt, but again his hand denied her. “Nico, let me—”
“We need to slow down,” he said, his voice husky with want. “I’ve thought about this—wanted this—for so long, I don’t want the experience to disappear in a blur of frenzied need.”
She blinked. He was right. This would be their only night together—she couldn’t afford to waste it.
She sucked in a long breath to steady her voice. “All right. We savor this.”
A wolfish smile on his face, he picked her up and carried her to his bed, before carefully laying her on the satin quilt. He remained leaning over her for long moments, resting on fists on either side of her, his eyes holding a remnant of the tenderness he used to show her without disguise, and her heart caught in her throat.
Then it was gone, and, as he climbed onto the bed and positioned himself over her—but still not touching, the only emotion in his eyes was raw lust. The strength of that desire for her melted her inside and out. She quivered and clutched at his back, trying to bring him down to her. She’d been ready for him since she’d first opened the door to find him on her porch twelve hours ago. She’d been aching with arousal since he’d picked her up for the launch only four hours ago. And she’d been in an almost mindless haze of need since his kiss on the winery’s terrace. Now she was well past ready to take him into her body, needed it more than all else.
“Now,” she breathed. Her nails dug into his buttocks through his trousers, trying to draw him closer.
He didn’t relent, even an inch. “You agreed. We slow it down.” She pushed harder on his buttocks, not caring what she’d agreed to. He grabbed both her wrists, raised them above her head and secured them with one large palm, half his mouth twisted into a grin. “I won’t be able to savor for long if you keep doing that.”
His mouth dipped to hers, his tongue sliding between her lips with the confidence of a man assured of his welcome. Without her hands, the only greeting she could give was with her mouth, and by arching her hips up to meet his, still held above her like a burning magnet.
He groaned as her pelvis brushed his arousal, and he followed her as she sank back into the bed, grinding himself against her, releasing her hands to stroke down the side of her body.
The feel of his weight on her almost brought her to the edge. “Nico,” she breathed. “God, Nico.”
He leaned in, his free hand cupping her breast as he captured its peak between his teeth and tugging gently. The pulse at her core throbbed in the rhythm of his mouth; her body writhed beneath him of its own volition. Her mind was lost, her sanity possibly lost with it, and she couldn’t bring herself to care. All that mattered—all that existed—was Nico.
His hand left her breast and traced a lazy trail down her ribs, across her abdomen, the coarse pads of his fingers generating exquisite sensations. She quivered with the desire that was alive in her belly, between her legs, longing to take him, to be taken.
His hand came to rest at the juncture of her thighs, dipping to glide across the spot that ached for him more than any other. A sound ridiculously like a whimper escaped her mouth, so she bit down on her bottom lip to contain further outbursts.
Nico’s mouth moved across to her other breast just as one finger slid inside her, then a second, his thumb still caressing the point above them. He was assailing her from every front, overwhelming her with sensation.
Beth bunched the quilt in her fists, wanting more. The sensations he was producing weren’t enough, but so much she was about to combust.
Breathing choppy, she reached to touch his chest, his arm, whatever she could connect with. She was dissolving, vanishing in a cloud of desire, rational thought had fled, only need for Nico remained.
She moaned, tossing her head from side to side, unable to stand another second. “Nico, please,” she gasped.
Victory gleamed in his dark chocolate eyes for a split second before he lowered his mouth to the center of her desire and took her over the edge with his tongue. She exploded in wave after wave of tormenting pleasure, climbing higher still, to a place so blindingly high, nothing else existed. And through it all, she felt Nico’s arms around her, knew she was safe, knew she was in the one place she belonged more than any other.
When she floated down slowly from far above the ground, sweet ripples still coursed through her body. Nico held her while she was limp and breathless until, awareness returning, she nuzzled into him. Then he discarded his trousers, rolled a condom down his length and with one, smooth, powerful