The Naughty List Bundle with The Night Before Christmas & Yule Be Mine. Fern MichaelsЧитать онлайн книгу.
tongue away, did he slide off her panties, then move back off the bed himself.
She managed to roll her head to one side and watch him drop his own clothes to the floor. He was…magnificent. Modern-day gladiator was the description that came to mind. But then, she’d known he wouldn’t be anything but magnificent. Not that it would have mattered at that point, but looking at him roused her again, when she thought she’d be spent for hours, if not days.
“Do ye have any”—he glanced at the nightstand.
“Mmm,” she nodded, managing to make a vague motion with her hand, then watched with pure, unadulterated pleasure as he found a condom and rolled it on. She’d never thought the act a particularly sexy thing, but she’d had a very sudden change of heart.
When he climbed onto the bed, and over her, the look in his eyes made her feel purely female and utterly desirable. Her body was still humming with the delightful aftershocks of the very thorough attention he’d given to her.
As he moved over her, pulling one leg up and around him as he did, she arched to meet him, swamped with need all over again, before he’d so much as brushed against her.
“You are ready indeed for me,” he said, grinning as he pushed against her, even as he slid his hands over hers, weaving their fingers together, and pinning her most deliciously against the bed.
“So what are you waiting for?” she taunted, her breath coming in short pants of anticipation, her hips quaking a little under him.
“What, indeed?” he said. Without needing so much as a guiding hand, he found her easily and slid into her fully with one, smooth stroke.
She moaned, he growled in appreciation, and they immediately began to move. It wasn’t going to be some slow, carnal climb to mutual satisfaction. They’d exhausted any ability they had to do anything slowly with his intent, protracted seduction of her. She’d been compliant then, willing to let him set the pace, let him take his time. But she had little patience left. Even with the pulse-pounding ride he’d taken her on, he’d left her still quivering, still wanting. He was on top of her, inside her…and she was done following his lead.
As she’d anticipated from the first time he’d put his hands on her, their mating was raw, bordering on ferocious. As soon as she slid her hands from beneath his and took his face to yank his mouth to hers, he roared fully into her, losing any semblance of control.
Theirs was a needy, pounding mating. She gasped, he groaned, she screamed…and he came. It was glorious and intense and completely outside any realm of intimacy in which she’d ever indulged. In fact, no one had ever made her come alive like that. Certainly, no one had claimed her, ever.
But that was exactly how she felt, when he let himself rest his weight on top of her as he tried to find his breath. He started to move away moments later, but she slid her heels higher up his thighs and her arms around his neck. “I like this,” she whispered.
“Mmm,” was all he managed, but he stayed there a moment longer.
Would he simply roll off her now, she wondered? Get up, tell her it had been nice, and head out the door? Did he expect they’d do this again? How long would he be staying in town? Did she dare take up with him, knowing that one or both of them would be leaving Hamilton for good? Him for certain, which was all that mattered. She had no idea when he was planning on heading back to Ireland, but she knew enough to realize that she wasn’t cut out for playing games.
He kissed the side of her neck, her cheek, the bridge of her nose, and then gently, her lips, before he moved off her.
She was surprised by the gentleness, and by her accompanying prick of tears. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, willing them away, so she could be all casual and unconcerned when he made his excuses. Instead he surprised her further by rolling her to his side and tucking her body up against his. She glanced at him, but his eyes were closed. He was toying with the hair on the back of her neck, urging her cheek down on his chest.
She fit naturally—too naturally—against him. It felt good. Okay, better than good, it felt bloody fantastic, she thought, smiling privately. She didn’t move away, or roll to the side of the bed and initiate his leaving. Although that would certainly have been the wisest thing to do. She’d worry later about the wisdom of drawing out the moment. She thought about the unexpected gentleness in him and snuggled closer, the motion purely instinctive.
For now, he was there, and he was hers.
9
Well, that had been…something, hadn’t it then?
He should be pulling on his trousers, making his excuses. And getting right the bloody hell out of there.
Instead he was tugging her closer, molding her against him, feeling his heart still racing beneath her soft cheek. He couldn’t seem to keep his fingers out of her hair, nor could he stop wanting to tip her head back, lean down, and kiss her some more.
Like a starving man, he was. A man whose appetite had been well and surely slaked…though his body was done for, the rest of him wanted what it wanted, which was Melody Duncastle, plastered to his sweaty, happy side. And what was the “rest of him” he referred to? There was only one part he should be—could be—concerning himself with. And that part was temporarily out of commission.
He stroked her hair, closed his eyes, and tried like hell not to think about those other parts. He should be grinning like a loon, happy to have had a hearty round of it. That was what he’d thought he wanted, was it not? Just put out the fire, so the only thing left afterward were ashes.
Only that’s no’ how it felt.
He wanted her again. And very likely again after that. His body might not be up to the task, but that didn’t slake the desire. The pure sexual craving.
Even as he thought it, he knew his feelings went far, far beyond that. He didn’t only want to have her, watching her slowly come apart under his tongue, sinking into her, driving into her, rushing up and over her like a roaring train, and taking her with him. He wanted all of that, aye, indeed he did.
But he wanted far, far more. He wanted to know her. To know what made her laugh. To know what made her cry. To glory in the bliss she found in her work, and bask in that glow. She had the heart of an artist, which she was still discovering, and an intellectual’s mind. She appealed to his earthy side, as well as to the part that yearned to share his professional successes with someone who could grasp the complexity of what he did. He had to be creative, too, only in an entirely different way. One he suspected she’d understand and appreciate.
He’d never once felt compelled to tell anyone about his past, nor to discuss what he did. He was generally too busy to think about the former, or to talk about the latter. He’d known her such a very, very short time…but there was something to her that had his full and complete attention. He’d no business wasting an evening, much less a whole night, with all the work he had in front of him. Yet, he wouldn’t change the events of that day and night for the world.
That he’d put pleasure before work—hell, anything before work—was a miracle of noteworthy proportions.
One day. How could anyone feel so changed by a person they’d known for a single day? Her impact on him had been instant. It made no rational sense whatsoever, but there he was. And there she was. And he’d give almost anything not to have to leave.
Her. Hamilton. He resented anything that would deprive him of the time it would take to find out if their instant combustion could sustain itself. He’d never before cared enough to find out. In business he was always on the hunt, always the pursuer. But when it came to relationships, it had always been the other way around.
It occurred to him then the only other time he’d felt so certain of something was when he found a new project that would benefit from his attention. One he knew would be profitable for him and a remarkable new start for the people he wanted to help. He rarely, if ever, second-guessed his gut instinct on those occasions…and he was rarely, if ever, wrong.