Mistresses: Passionate Revenge. Trish Morey
her like a prize and laying her down on the bed, peeling down the silk until her breasts lay exposed to his gaze. She watched him watching her, her hands around his neck, his dark eyes heavy with longing, and never had she wanted anything more.
And then she felt nothing beyond the ecstasy of his hot mouth on her breast, his tongue hungrily circling her nipple.
‘Andreas,’ she implored, not knowing why or what she wanted. He growled a laughing response and she almost cried out in despair when he withdrew and cold air replaced where he’d been, only for his mouth to claim the other. His hands scooped her sides, moulding to her flesh, drinking it in as his lips drew her breast deeper into the furnace of his mouth.
Somewhere in some vague recess of her mind, she was aware of his hand at her back, and the downward buzz of a zipper, but it was the sensation of the silken gown sliding down her body that took precedence and the feel of his hot mouth at her belly.
Some time, she couldn’t remember when, she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair. It was thick and silky, the waves curling around her fingers possessively.
And then there was nothing between them but underwear, nothing that could disguise his need or hide her want.
Oh, God!
The panic welled up even as his hand scooped down her body, from shoulder, over breast, to stomach, to there, where she forgot about panic and ached instead with something that felt like desperation. His fingers slipped under the lace, scooping low, driving her crazy with his feather-light touch.
And then so gently, so tenderly he parted her and her back arched from the bed. She could feel what he could, her slickness, the moistness that let his fingertips glide against her tender flesh like satin over silk, while his thumb circled a tight bud of nerves that combined agony with ecstasy, the pressure building and building until they screamed for release.
His lips found her nipple and it was Cleo who screamed, Cleo whose world fractured and split apart in a blinding explosion of colour and sensation that left her shattered and gasping in his hands.
She was more responsive than he’d imagined and now he wanted her more than ever! He dispensed with his underwear and reached for protection in almost the same movement. The scrap of lace hit the floor in the next as he kissed his way up her still-shuddering body, positioning himself over her. He’d known he would enjoy her body. She was lush and curvy and her breasts filled his hands better than he could have hoped.
His erection bucked, eager now, and more than ready. Still, he took a moment to lap at one rose-coloured nipple, to nuzzle at her neck before brushing the hair from her turned-away face and pressing his lips to her cheek, only to taste salt.
He took her chin in his hand and pulled it around to face him. Tracks stained her cheeks, moisture clung to the lashes of her closed eyelids and her lips were firmly pressed together. ‘You’re crying? Did I hurt you?’
Reluctantly her blue eyes opened to him. Awash with tears, they looked the colour of the sea as she slowly shook her head, swiping at her eyes with one hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffed, ‘but that’s never happened to me before. I didn’t know…’
Never happened? Confusion clouded his mind for a moment, clearing just as quickly as a wave of fury rolled over him. He sat up. ‘You are a virgin!’ Vlaka! He was such a fool. He left the bed and strode across to a wardrobe, plucking out a robe that he lashed around himself, giving the tie a savage tug. No wonder she had been so coy, so sensitive to his touch. No wonder she had been so bad an actress! She had been touched by nobody!
He rounded on the bed, to where the girl now sat huddled over her knees, scrabbling for her golden gown in an effort to cover her nakedness. A virgin! That was the last thing he needed. ‘You told me you had slept with men before! You told me you were not a virgin. What the hell are you doing here?’
She dropped her head onto her knees as a fresh flood of tears spilled from his eyes, only magnifying his fury.
‘What kind of woman are you? Were you so hungry for money that you would risk that which is most precious to you?’
‘No,’ she cried, raising her tear-stained face up at him, ‘because I’d already thrown that away for nothing!’
She sniffed again and swiped the back of one hand across her cheeks, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing, the gown bunched ineffectually around her. ‘I’m not a virgin, if that makes you feel any better. So you don’t have to worry about deflowering me. Somebody else got there first.’
He supposed he should have been relieved. He watched her flight for the bathroom while he stood there wondering why all of a sudden that thought was somehow so very unappealing.
‘You made out like you’d had sex plenty of times.’
She didn’t even turn around. ‘So sue me.’
‘But you’ve never even had an orgasm.’
This time she did, glaring over her shoulder at him. ‘I don’t recall seeing that condition in the fine print.’
He consumed the distance between them in a handful of purposeful strides, catching her by the arm just short of the bathroom door and swinging her around to face him.
‘So why not? How many times have you had sex? How many men?’
She looked down at his hand on her arm, before turning her face slowly up to his. The tracks of her tears had messed up whatever had been left of her make-up. There were dark smudges under her blue eyes and her hair was still tangled and messy from thrashing her head around when she’d climaxed. When she’d climaxed for the very first time.
He’d given her that. Despite the tears and smudges and tangled hair he saw only that. He felt the thrum of blood return, the heaviness building once again in his groin.
‘How many?’
‘One.’
And he felt himself frown. ‘One man?’
Her eyes looked sad and pained at the same time, before she blinked and turned her head away and he knew.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
She flinched and tried to pull away and he couldn’t blame her. He’d growled out the words so harshly that even to his own ears his question had sounded more like an accusation. But damn it, she was supposed to be pretending to be his mistress. ‘You should have told me, instead of making out you’d had sex plenty of times.’
Her head snapped around, her blue eyes blazing. ‘You think it’s easy to admit to someone you barely know that you’ve had sex only once and it was so lousy anyway you really wish you hadn’t bothered? Especially when sex isn’t part of the deal.’ She gave an exaggerated shrug to accompany a wide-eyed look of innocence. ‘And you so understanding. Heck, why didn’t I tell you?’
He wanted to shake her. He wanted to tell her she’d been wrong ever thinking she could pull this off, that she should have admitted the truth when he’d first put his proposition to her, and maybe he would do both of those things, but first of all there was a raw pain in her liquid eyes that made him want to tear somebody else limb from limb first.
‘Who was he?’
‘It doesn’t matter. He was just some guy. It was just for a laugh.’
But her eyes told him differently.
He cupped her neck in one hand and drew her head to his shoulder. For a moment she stayed stiff but the strumming of his fingers on her skin soon soothed away her resistance. ‘But it was no good. At least, not for you.’
She gave what he suspected was meant to be a laugh, but came out more like a hiccup. ‘It was awful. It hurt and it was over in no time but I thought…’
He drew her closer into a hug. What kind of man was so uncaring of an innocent? ‘You thought what?’