A Groom For The Taking. Rebecca Winters
realisation jarred him. How could she? Why would she? He’d never done anything to engender such faith from her. He was pretty hard guy most of the time, and she didn’t seem to care. She needed to toughen up. Big-time. And fast.
He’d tell her so. Later. Much later. For right then all his brain function went into demanding that his hand run down her front, graze her breasts, take its time over the sexy little rise at her belly. Her torso lifted and curled to follow the trail of his touch, as if not being touched by him was simply too much to bear.
Desire the likes of which he’d never felt roared unimpeded through him, lit by a need to please her. To show her that her trust wasn’t unfounded. And to drive every thought she’d ever had completely out of her mind.
Then he lowered his mouth to her inner thigh, the scent of her making his nostrils flare in anticipation. Her hands slammed out sideways, grabbing onto his shirt, his jeans, whatever purchase she could find.
He ran his tongue along the muscle quivering in her thigh. God, she was temptation incarnate. So responsive, so lush. How he managed to keep from hauling her back into the water and having his way with her he had no idea.
He pressed her legs further apart again. Her heels dug into his back, tugging him closer. Her desire for him was so bold he ached. A gorgeous, pleading little whimper escaped that beautiful mouth, and he lowered his own mouth to the warm waiting juncture.
He took her to the very edge of madness, and himself right along with her. She endured and endured and endured the pleasure with rabid delight—until she finally hit a height of pleasure even she could no longer maintain and completely fell apart.
He kept his hands on her, feeding off her luxuriation as a series of aftershocks trembled through her. The way she responded was so gratifying he could have done the same again and again. All night long if she’d let him.
When the trembles abated, he slid his thumbs up her thighs till her hands clamped down on his.
It seemed she had other ideas.
She pulled herself upright, clearly having been sapped of a good deal of her strength. He’d done that. It gave him a hell of a buzz to know he’d turned her to jelly.
She slid slowly back into the water. He held her by the waist and helped her. As her feet touched the bottom, she held his face in both hands and looked deep into his eyes. All he could do was breathe and look right back.
No fear. No reticence. No holding back. No regret.
Rules or no rules, boundaries or no boundaries, somewhere inside him a portal opened, so that he felt her serenity, her surety, her blissed-out satisfaction infiltrating him. It was as if he was physically experiencing her afterglow.
Then she smiled. A smile fuelled by pure sin.
Wham! All sense of serenity fled as he was slapped across the face with the triple threat of that inner light. That natural impudence. That glorious mouth.
The portal snapped shut. His erection ached.
His turn had come.
The condoms.
Hell. Hadn’t she said they were in her suitcase?
Bradley was so far gone he couldn’t even remember which direction her room was. The idea of a mad dash to her room and back was about as appealing as eating fried worms.
But she was on the pill. That little pearl had come up in conversation at some point. Could he let that be enough? God, he wished he could let that be enough—
Hannah reached over, and from next to her discarded wine glass appeared a square foil packet. She had been waiting for him. With intent. His divine little siren. He wondered how many of the dozens of packets she’d strewn around the suit, just in case. Then again he didn’t give a damn. Right now he only needed one.
She peeled the packet from around the latex disk with her teeth. Then slid slowly back into the water, dark, dark eyes looking right into his. She moved up to him, rolled the sheath into place, slowly wrapped her legs around his hips, and lowered herself onto him. He pressed deep, perfectly deep, into her ready flesh, as though he’d been waiting his whole life for that moment.
Twenty-four hours, a small voice reminded him. Somewhere between twenty-four hours and twelve months. And he had no more than three days in which to fully satisfy himself.
With that divine mouth gently tugging at his, that heavenly tongue sliding along his, those clever teeth creating havoc with his earlobes, she rode him.
Slowly. Achingly slowly. Then faster. And harder.
He took over, losing himself inside her until the pressure became too much. Too wild. Too heavy. Too powerful. And he came as he’d never come before.
He could feel her playing with the back of his hair. Her chin rested lightly on his shoulder, her outward breaths puffed against his earlobe.
All that heat and release and temptation and response, from the light, lean creature bobbing in his arms.
Compared with the intensity of what they’d just experienced she felt so slight. So small. So breakable. He felt an immense urge to hold her close. To keep her safe from all harm.
It was a crazy thought. Random. And impossible. Especially considering he was the biggest threat she had in her line of sight right then.
He slowly uncurled her from around him, hoping physical distance might make the floor of the spa not feel as if it was about to give way at any moment.
Only the second she lifted her head and smiled up at him, all lethargy and loose limbs, his gaze went straight to her mouth. To her moist pink lips. Between one breath and the next his body revved up like a hot-rod car, waiting for the green light. And all he could think was, More.
Apprehension flashed inside his head. If that hadn’t sated him, at least for the moment, what on earth would it take? Well, whatever it took, it had to be done by the end of the long weekend.
It was already after four in the morning on day two. They had hours of daylight in which to sleep. It certainly wouldn’t hurt him taking until sunrise to find out just what it might take to get Hannah Gillespie out of his system for good.
With a caveman grunt, he hauled her over his shoulder and walked them out of the pool.
‘Where do you think you’re taking me?’ she yelled, laughing, pounding useless hands on his back.
‘Bed.’
She lifted her head and tried to angle it around to see his face. Her backside wriggled against his cheek. He literally began to shake with arousal. Sunrise was an arbitrary end point, surely?
‘Bed?’ she cried. ‘But we’re sopping wet!’
‘That’s why I’m going to yours,’ he added.
She laughed. Easy, free, gorgeous. Ready for more. Ready for anything.
He kicked open her bedroom door. This was going to be some night.
Waves of gold and pink blurred across the backs of Hannah’s eyelids. Keeping her eyes closed, she stretched, her naked limbs sliding unhindered across her massive bed.
She creaked her eyes open to find sunlight pouring through the windows. It was morning. Make that late morning. And muscles she hadn’t even known existed twinged in protest.
Then, in a rush of bright and beautiful heat, it all came back to her.
Bradley. The slow dance. The kiss. The rebuff. The resolution not to take it lying down, so to speak. The spa. Oh, my—the spa! And lastly, but certainly not least of all, hours and hours of the most intense feats of sexual prowess in the bed in which she now lay.
Taking a sheet with her, she curled luxuriously onto her side. And grinned.
‘Wow,’ she whispered, her voice rough and