He let his hands slide from her silky hair, rove her delicately moulded body as he’d longed to ever since he’d seen her standing there, waiting for him in the twilight.
He’d thought he was seeing things. An apparition come to seduce his waking mind just as she’d come to him every night in his tortured erotic dreams.
But she was real. He lashed his arms tight round her, pulling her against him, imprinting every gorgeous, seductive centimetre of her body against his. She felt too good to be true. Too perfect.
Like Circe, the sorceress who enslaved men with her magical beauty.
No woman had ever been this perfect. Ever.
He shuddered as she smoothed her hands down his back, into the curve at the base of his spine and out, fingers edging over his buttocks.
Instantly his whirling half-formed thoughts blacked out. He was incapable of thinking coherently now. Instead it was instinct that drove him. He kissed her so comprehensively that she bowed back over his arm. Tucked her lower body in against him.
He moved automatically, taking her down with him as he knelt, finding the beach towel with one hand and shaking it out to spread on the sand.
; He didn’t even break their kiss as he prevented her automatic movement to lie down. Her breath still seared into his mouth as he worked the buttons on her shirt undone, dragged her hands away from him so he could strip the top from her. The bra took only a single, tearing wrench and then his hands found her breasts. Firm, pouting, ripe breasts that she pushed into his palms as she sighed her delight into his mouth.
Oh, lord. He was going to die. She was killing him.
He was never going to restrain himself. Even as he fondled the soft, tantalising fullness of her, palmed and squeezed her hard nipples, his whole being focused on the effort it took not simply to strip away her jeans and thrust himself into her like some marauding barbarian.
She pulled away, stunning him with the loss of her soft warmth. Instinctively he followed, finding himself on all fours as she lay back on the towel. Her eyes were unreadable in this light but they were fixed on him.
His heart gave a single, enormous thump that juddered through him.
Then his eyes dropped to her hands, busy tugging down her jeans. Her panties. Revealing a dark triangle of femininity. The tender curve of rounded hips. Slim, shapely thighs.
He’d reach out to help her pull the denim from her legs but he didn’t dare. If he touched her.
He shut his eyes, summoning desperate control. Willing himself to exercise some restraint.
But even in the dark he could see her naked before him. Feel again the impossibly soft texture of her breasts filling his hands. Taste her, warm and generous, in his mouth.
Their breathing was loud in his ears. That and the thud of his racing pulse.
He braced himself. Even the sound of her uneven gasps was seductive music to his bewitched senses.
And the scent of her. The fresh, always enticing perfume of her. It was overlaid now with a tangy, musky invitation. Female scent. His nostrils flared and his arms, braced hard against the ground, trembled.
‘Costas.’ It was the merest sigh of sound. And yet it was charged with the same need that drove him.
He opened his eyes to the woman lying before him. She reached out one slim arm and he felt her fingers trail across his chest.
He surged over her. Covering her completely so that the magic sensation of her warm, soft female flesh greeted him, tantalised him even more.
His breath was expelled in a huge sigh. The fit of their bodies was magnificent. Mind-numbing.
She moved her legs, shifting them outwards so that he felt the smooth skin of her thighs against the outer edges of his own. He let her take just a little more of his weight, allowing his lower body to sink against the feminine core of her.
There was a hiss of breath, his or hers he didn’t know. And movement. Friction, deliberate invitation. Had she lifted her hips or had he thrust against her?
He was too dazed by the onslaught against his senses to be sure. All he knew was that he had to concentrate on not moving. Not doing anything. Just till he—
She shifted her legs, sliding her thighs up and around his, encircling him. She reached up, linking her arms round his neck, tugging him down. And of course he went, leaning into her, kissing her feverishly, knowing he could never get enough of her.
The more he got the more he wanted. He was a doomed man.