Sharon Kendrick Collection. Sharon Kendrick
do to me, she thought hazily as he pushed her down onto the grass and moved his hard, lean body distractedly against hers, awaking in her an instantaneous response as she felt the warm, wet rush of desire.
‘Dominic!’ she choked helplessly, but what was meant to be a protest came out more as a frantic plea, and this seemed to spur him on.
He started inciting her with movements which mimicked the act of love itself, and Romy found that her hips had become melded to his as her body seemed unable to do anything but follow his lead. She felt his potent arousal against her belly and was aware that her white dress had ridden all the way up her bare brown thighs, and she still didn’t care a bit
Even while he was kissing her Dominic’s fingers had begun to draw tiny little circles over the soft cushions of flesh behind her knees. Oh, but he was good at that! In fact, he was good at just about everything, thought Romy dreamily.
And only when he had tantalised her to the edge of endurance did he slowly allow his hand to drift upwards, taking for ever to tiptoe onto the exquisitely sensitive flesh of her inner thighs.
Romy’s head fell back, so that the kiss was broken, her breath coming in tiny, shallow gasps as she longed for what had happened last time to happen again. Her arms were stretched taut over her head as she lay in the classic pose of capitulation.
He leaned over her, imprisoning her two hands in one of his own, his face dark and unreadable as he continued with his sorcerous touch. But the hectic glittering of his eyes and the heated flare of colour along his high cheekbones made Romy aware that he was just as much in the throes of this wild and inconvenient passion as she was.
Her white linen dress had ridden up almost to her bottom and his dark head was resting on her breast, the tip of his tongue darting out to spear each iron-hard nipple through the coarse material, and he groaned aloud as he let her hands go.
Romy’s eyes closed helplessly as his fingers drifted down to stroke the top of her thighs, touching her everywhere except where they both knew she wanted to be touched.
And she suddenly knew that this was not fair. Not any more.
At nineteen she had really not known where all this was leading, but now she did; Dominic had seen to that. Last time it had all been such an appalling mess that she had not given a single thought to how Dominic must have been left feeling. He must have been left feeling high and dry.
Now Romy wanted to turn the tables, by doing to him what he had done so beautifully to her. But her desire to please him was much more than a desire to play fair...
Because she had enough insight into her character to realise that it was also a power-trip, and she wanted to experience power over this man. She wanted to see Dominic Dashwood writhing with helpless desire, and she wanted to call the shots this time!
With steely resolve she stopped his hand just before it reached the danger area. Romy might not have had very much practical experience of sex, but she knew quite well that there was a point of no return, and if he started stroking her there then she was rapidly going to reach it.
‘What is it?’ he whispered.
This,’ she whispered back. She pushed him back onto the grass and saw his bemused expression change to one of helpless comprehension.
‘Romy, sweetheart,’ he groaned as she began to unbuckle the belt of his jeans with sultry determination. ‘What if someone comes?’
Highly unlikely, Romy decided. And the honeysuckle was as thick as a wall around them. She shot him a narrow-eyed glance which she hoped masked her inexperience. ‘Wasn’t that the general idea?’ she murmured teasingly, trying not to look too startled by the rock-hard bulge in his jeans as she carefully slid the zip down over it.
He closed his eyes as her fingers unwittingly brushed him there, and she began to get a good idea of her supremacy over him at that moment. ‘Oh, God,’ he gasped. ‘Romy...’
She didn’t attempt to undress him completely; she was too afraid of doing the wrong thing. She just eased his jeans down as far as they would go and then freed him, taking the steely shaft of him in her hand and experimentally running her fingertips up and down the silken length, so that he almost leapt off the grass with pleasure, and a shudder raked its way down his body.
‘You’re very good at that,’ he moaned.
‘Good at what? That?’
‘God, yes!’ he groaned. ‘That!’
She tried a variation on her gentle stroking movements. ‘And that?’
‘Yes!’ he breathed raggedly.
She concentrated on everything she had ever read in every women’s magazine article on the subject, taking care to touch him slowly and thoroughly, with delicate fingers whose feather-light touches seemed to be driving him out of his mind.
Secretly she watched him as her fingers moved intimately over him. She saw which particular movement made his pleasure more acute, and as she did that to him all the more she heard his soft moans of delight.
Two flares of colour ran over his sculpted cheekbones and his dark hair was all mussed. And then, as if some sixth sense had warned him that he was being watched, his eyes suddenly snapped open to meet her gaze, rueful for only a second before that helpless look descended on them again.
He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice sounded almost unrecognizable, it was so slurred and heavy. ‘Stop it, Romy,’ he beseeched her on a ragged whisper. ‘Stop it right now, sweetheart, and we’ll go upstairs to bed before it’s too late.’
But she wanted it to be too late!
And, unfairly, she rather resented the way he seemed to expect her just to march straight upstairs and hop into bed with him!
But of course he expected it! Why wouldn’t he? Her behaviour towards him five years ago and again today would have led him to expect it. And in a way he was right. They should go up to bed.
Because, quite honestly, they were way beyond the age when they should be indulging in heavy petting in the middle of his garden.
But she didn’t want to go to bed with him. Or, rather, she did, but she wasn’t going to allow herself to. She had recognised earlier that she was far too vulnerable where Dominic was concerned to allow him to go all the way. He would have to make do with this instead.
She owed him this, after all. Then they would both be square.
Dominic realised just what she was doing at the same time as he realised that he was too far gone to be able to do anything to stop her.
No woman had done this to him before—he liked to be the master, the one who controlled.
That was his last befuddled thought as Romy, inspired by instinct now rather than book-learned knowledge, dipped her head to beneath his belly and took him between her lips.
And Dominic was lost, beautifully and helplessly lost, as his seed spilled into her mouth.
THERE was silence in the garden for several minutes, although Romy quickly realised that the silence was not complete.
Firstly, there was the sound of Dominic’s breathing—ragged and uneven and then gradually approaching something resembling normality.
And her own.
She had grown breathless, too, and that had been why she had quickly rolled away from him, for she had correctly recognised her breathlessness as desire.
And surely giving in to desire would tip the scales in Dominic’s favour once more?
‘So what was that called?’ he asked eventually, his voice still sounding sweetly slurred with passion. ‘Revenge for having seduced you with equal ease in the lift that day, perhaps?’ he questioned sleepily.