Secret Heirs Collection. Коллектив авторов
me see.’
Her hands were trembling as she lifted the jumper. Was she really doing this? Her breasts felt heavy, sensitive, her nipples pulsing. She had squeezed her eyes tightly shut but now she half opened them to sneak a glance at his face and the heat in his eyes made her giddy.
‘You’re beautiful,’ Sergio muttered. He pressed his hand against his erection to try and control it.
Her breasts were big, her nipples huge pink discs. She projected the air of someone who was unfamiliar with stripping off…shy, hesitant.
Was that image correct? He didn’t give a damn. He just knew that he wanted her.
With a stifled groan he pulled her and she toppled onto him, her breasts squashing against his chest, her heart racing.
They blindly found each other’s lips and the probing of his tongue lit her up like a spark set to dry tinder. Her fingers curled into his hair and she squirmed against him, his clothes a horrible, unwanted barrier between them. When he drew back she hungrily reached forward, kissing the side of his mouth, his neck, breathing softly and erratically against his cheek.
‘I’m too big for this sofa,’ Sergio muttered unsteadily. ‘Tell me you have a real bed here and not some fold-out nonsense.’
‘I have a bed. It creaks.’
‘That’ll do.’
She didn’t know how they made their way to the bedroom. She just knew that they did. She just knew that she found herself lying on her double bed, which took up most of the room, and watching as he slowly…very slowly…began removing his clothes.
She couldn’t peel her eyes away. The constant pale light from the street lamps outside illuminated the room just sufficiently for her to appreciate the awesome, powerful masculinity of his body.
He was honed to physical perfection. Broad, bronzed shoulders and a broad chest with a dusky coating of hair tapered to a slim waist and lean hips. Sometime, while doing whatever he did to be able to afford his standard of living, he must surely get around to doing lots of gruelling exercise.
Her eyes dipped as he stepped out of his boxers, and widened at his impressive erection.
More than anything in the world she wanted to touch herself, to alleviate some of the desperate need coursing through her body.
She marvelled that he could see anything in her at all. Okay, so her intellect might leave him a bit cold, but surely someone that sinfully sexy couldn’t be attracted to her?
But he was.
It was there in his eyes and in a certain stillness about him—as if he was doing his utmost to control himself.
‘Like what you see?’
Some inarticulate choked sound managed to emerge and he grinned.
‘I’m taking that as a yes…’ He strolled towards the side of the bed, watching her watching him. ‘Touch me,’ he ordered huskily.
Susie propped herself up, touched him delicately, and drew courage from the way he reacted—his big erection stiffening even more and a half-heard hiss escaping his lips.
She circled his girth with her hand and then flicked her tongue along the throbbing shaft. His big hand tangled in her hair, controlling her exploring mouth and the flicks of her tongue as she tasted him.
He shuddered…breathed in…exhaled jerkily…finally tugged her away from him, easing the pressure of his fingers in her hair and only slowly regaining his breath.
He arched back, his eyes closed, nostrils flaring. His eyes flickered open and met hers.
Sergio could feel her gentle breath on his erection as she stared up at him. Her blonde hair tumbled over his hand and spilled in curly tangles over her slender shoulders. She still had the wretched jogging bottoms on, but her full breasts hung like ripe fruit, succulent and tantalising.
He had to keep very still, hold himself together, because control was slipping through his fingers faster than a knife through butter. He breathed deeply, drinking her in, then lowered himself onto the bed next to her.
She shuffled to allow him room and flipped over onto her side.
‘You have an amazing body,’ she breathed in frank honesty, and Sergio raised his eyebrows, amused, because women might come on to to him but rarely were they so openly admiring.
She traced her finger along his collarbone, shivering with excitement, and circled one brown nipple.
‘You must go to the gym a lot,’ she murmured.
‘When I find the time.’
He spread his hand over her stomach and eased it under the track pants and under her panties until he felt the downy softness of her pubic hair.
He parted the soft folds of her vagina and slipped his finger into the honeyed dampness between her legs, finding the little bud of her clitoris and rubbing it gently until she was moaning with pleasure.
‘You need to take these things off…’ he said roughly. ‘I’m doing my best to take things slowly, but I can’t guarantee that my efforts are going to last much longer…’
‘I can’t believe we’re doing this…’
‘Let’s save the incredulity for later. I’m going crazy.’
Too damned crazy to keep his hand down there. He tugged the joggers down and she wriggled out of them, taking her underwear at the same time and kicking both to the ground, and then she lay flat on the bed, twisting as he straddled her.
He didn’t give her time to touch his erect penis. He couldn’t. She had already done devastating things to his self-control when she had sucked him.
Now it was his turn. The only way he could try and get his self-control back where it belonged.
He rose up and gazed down at her as she lay there, spread naked beneath him. Her arms were stretched out and the bed was so stupidly small that the tips of her fingers practically touched either side of it. The mattress was lumpy and she was right. The bed creaked. It was anything but a four-poster creation, with satin sheets and gauze curtains, but he couldn’t have been more turned on.
He would take his time.
Difficult when the scent of her filling his nostrils was like a drug.
He lowered his head, took one succulent nipple into his mouth and suckled on it, pulling it in and drawing deep, holding her firm as she wriggled like a little eel, hardly able to contain her mounting excitement.
Her hands kneaded his shoulders and she arched back, breathing fast, her nipple thrust into his mouth, her legs spread wide under him. He nudged between them with his knee, felt her wetness, and had to stop immediately or risk tipping over the edge.
Which would be a first—and not a first he wanted.
He steadied himself, switched to her other nipple, teasing it with his teeth and his tongue while he played with the other one, rubbing it between his fingers, gentle strokes that had her panting.
Her breasts were generous—more than generous, given her stature—but her stomach was flat, her waist slender.
He trailed a path down her ribcage, tickling her with his tongue, pausing only to circle her belly button, and she gave an embarrassed little yelp as he settled between her legs.
This was not the woman in the red dress. The woman in the red dress would have been a hell of a lot more experienced. The woman in the red dress would have played games, would have done her utmost to hold his interest by being inventive and acrobatic. No, this was the girl in the baggy jogging bottoms and the baggy sweatshirt, with no make-up and freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose.
And who was she?
He swept past that question, which had popped