His eyes began to burn. Hers darkened in a dramatic surrender to what it was she knew she wanted here. The hand moved on, fingers sliding into his silk black hair and around his nape—before pulling his mouth back to hers.
‘You bloody hypocrite,’ she heard him breathe as they resumed that vital contact.
He was right, and she was. But it didn’t stop the pair of them from enjoying a sensual feeding frenzy with frantic deep kisses and restless hands that touched and stroked and acknowledged no boundaries in their quest to taste the whole banquet.
It was hot and it was hungry. Samantha didn’t know herself, the touch of his stroking hands and the passion in his kisses seeming to draw a completely different person out of her skin: a wild and wanton person with a throbbing, pulsing sensuality that demanded full attention and made sure she got it. Where he touched, she revelled in sheer, luxuriating pleasure. Where he didn’t she writhed in restless demand.
He muttered something into her mouth she recognised as a signal to tone the whole thing down. But, no way, she thought feverishly, and ripped shirt buttons from their holes so she could place her hands against the hair-roughened beauty of burning, tight flesh. All hint of toning anything down faded in that moment as, with a deep shudder, he took back control by running his hands beneath her top. Dragging her mouth from his, she released a soft, shivering gasp as pleasure went singing along her skin where he began to caress her.
‘You don’t know what it is you’re inviting here,’ he growled darkly.
I do, she thought. ‘Don’t talk,’ she commanded, terrified that speech was going to break the magic spell surrounding them.
Instantly his mood flipped back over, the moist tip of his tongue stabbing at her lips in an insistent command for her to part them again. When she did, he began to torment with short, slick, sensual forays into her mouth that made her light up inside.
This was the point where he began to seduce her in earnest, Samantha recognised from somewhere within the turmoil. His hands caressed, his mouth seduced, and her clothes began disappearing. She didn’t care—in fact she welcomed their loss. He stroked her breasts, her back, the soft pink curve of her bottom. When she sighed out in pleasure, he rewarded the sigh with deep probing kisses to keep her submerged in a world of pure sensation.
When he decided to lift her up and carry her to the bed, her eyes came open to reveal the green, darkened by desire but alive to what was actually happening.
‘What?’ he questioned very softly. His tone was a measured seduction in itself. Laying her down, he came to lie beside her, leaning close to her pulsing lips to murmur, ‘Tell me what you want and I will give it to you.’
He was speaking in Italian, low and hushed and intensely intimate. When she merely lay there and listened, with her eyes dark and vulnerable, he said gently, ‘Do you want this to stop now?’
He meant it too. If she told him yes, she wanted it to stop, he would move away without a single protest. But it never even became an issue. Gazing deep into the desire darkened depths of his eyes, ‘No,’ she whispered.
He rewarded her with another long, soul-stripping kiss. But it was also a softly seducing, beautiful kiss. And it didn’t stop there. He began to kiss her all over. He kissed her chin, her nose, the flickering lids hiding away her eyes. He slid that devastatingly skilled tongue-tip around the small scar at her temple. The gesture filled her with the most incredibly sweet sense of loving.
But when she began to caress him he stopped her with a silken, ‘No,’ and firmly returned her hand to the mattress.
It was his seduction, and he was determined to play it his w
ay, she realised. And she just lay there and let him. Why? Because she wanted to be seduced. She wanted to simply lie here and feel—feel anything and everything he could possibly make her feel.
When his kiss began trailing down her throat she groaned as he paused, then bit sensually into the pulse-point leaping there. The feel of his mouth closing around one erect pink nipple lost her the last dregs of conscious reality. Her flesh was alive and demanding total concentration, the smallest brush with his mouth set a million nerve ends shimmering.
I know this, she found herself thinking hazily. I’ve been here before, been reduced to this beautiful state of boneless pleasure many, many times before. I know this man. I know his touch. I know what’s coming, which is why I daren’t so much as breathe in case I distract him.
This was living at its most sensual. When his tongue began slowly circling her navel, sensation fanned out in a heart-stopping ripple, followed almost instantly by an overwhelming stillness as a knowing finger made sliding contact with the very core of her sexuality, centering all that concentration on the one area as desire swelled, then burst like a flower opening up to the life-nourishing heat of the sun.
‘André.’ She sighed, and he felt the thick drug of power surge in his body.
This woman was his. Mine, he thought possessively, every sigh, every pleasurable quiver, every silk-smooth, sensual cell that made up her beautiful body. Even her thoughts—her damned hidden thoughts—belonged to him while he touched her like this.
But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He wanted everything, he decided as the power of his own burgeoning desire grew too strong for him to contain any longer. Breaking free, he came to his feet beside the bed, saw her eyes flicker open in bewildered surprise then wince shut again as a shaft of afternoon sunlight struck into them.
In a single stride he had closed the curtains, diffusing the light in the room to a seductive softness, before turning back to find her eyes open again. Without a word, he began stripping his clothes off while she lay there half on her side, and saying not a word to try to stop this.
But then they were still making love—with their eyes and his body movements—and the way she lay there, following the removal of each piece of clothing with such devotion, flooded each newly revealed part of his compact muscle-structure with a burning sense of masculine arrogance.
‘You study me with the curiosity of a virgin,’ he murmured as he came to lie beside her.
She just smiled a bewitchingly provocative smile, and in the next moment he rolled her onto her back and punished the smile with a kiss that changed the whole tempo of what he had been creating before.
Samantha placed her hands on his body and this time he didn’t attempt to stop her. Each touch became a deliberate torment, heightening the senses to a pitch that was almost savage in their quest to wring the most from the other. She stroked his arms, his back, dug her nails deep into the flesh which formed his lean, tight buttocks, and his teeth grazed tauntingly across a nipple then hungrily drew the whole stinging areola into his mouth.
And hot—he was hot. His skin was hot, his mouth—the moisture within it. She drew in a tight breath of air and found the scent of his body so intoxicatingly hot it turned the air to a thick, smooth, sensual steam she was reluctant to breathe out again.
When he came back to plunder her mouth, she responded by closing her arms around him and flattening her body up against his body, breast to breast, hips to hips—soft pulsing sex making contact with hard probing sex. He rolled with her until she was lying on top of him, her kissing him, her moving on him, her hair—having escaped from its knot long ago—tumbling in a silken trail of spiralling waves all around his face and shoulders.