Hot Boss, Wicked Nights

She saw him swallow as his eyes slid over her now semi-naked body. He squeezed more lotion onto his hands.

She could tell he wasn’t thinking much beyond the moment. Neither was she, but she did remember, ‘You said whatever I wanted was fine by you.’ She unhooked her bra, tossed it onto the vanity. Sliding her palms down her hips, she shimmied out of her panties.

He swore.

She laughed. And chalked it up to nervousness. That’s exactly right, Kate. Keep it flirty, keep it fun.

She opened the glass door and stepped into the shower stall with him. Her breath caught, the condom slipped out of her hand and a squeal shot up her throat. ‘It’s cold!’ She jerked away, but was immediately hauled back under the spray by one strong arm.

‘You’re the reason it’s cold,’ Damon murmured, his hot breath a stark contrast against her neck, just below her ear lobe. ‘Too late to back out now—your fate’s sealed.’

As if to underscore his words, he placed an open-mouthed kiss where he’d spoken, closed his teeth over the spot and bit down gently. Possessively. Damp, warm, erotic—he smooched his way down the side of her throat, nipping and sucking while one hand reached out to adjust the water’s temperature to a degree or two above body heat.

He shifted close, meltingly close, so that the full length of their naked bodies touched for the very first time, and her breath caught again; with wonder. She’d never had a lover so tall. So broad. So overwhelming. She’d never felt so tiny as she did within Damon’s aura of masculinity.

The beat of the water added another sensation to the layers already thrumming through her body. Amazing sensations. The heat of his body and the coolness of the marble tiles beneath her feet. His hardness against her softer curves. The exotic scent as he smoothed lotion-slick hands over her shoulders, then slowly down her back as if counting each rib as he went.

His mouth reached the hollow above her collarbone as his hands reached her buttocks to tuck her hard up against him. And ‘Aah…’

His answering groan rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against her flesh. Tingling against her nipples. Then words, thought, incoherent sounds, faded into a whirlpool of need as he turned with her so that she stood against the tiles. She found herself being lifted, her back in contact with the marble, two strong arms circling her waist as if she weighed nothing and a muscled hairy thigh supporting her. Devastatingly intimate.

Eye to eye, mouth to mouth. Heat to heat. Breathing turned short and choppy, then impossible as his mouth swooped to hers. His tongue demanded entry, plunging between her softened and sensitive lips. Wild and wet. Again that overwhelming feeling that he was perhaps too much man for her to handle.

Odd, since the first time they’d had sex she hadn’t felt that way. But that had been a brief frantic encounter metres away from a roomful of people. Here, buck naked and without Shakira’s veiled anonymity, it was different. In lots of ways. But the most important one was that they knew one another better now.

Oh, but some things hadn’t changed, she thought hazily while she surrendered against him. The friction of his body on hers. The sensation of his hands on her willing flesh as he explored her breasts, tweaking her nipples into hard, sensitised peaks and sending need spiralling low in her abdomen. His taste, his unique scent, the urgency that ignited between them whenever they touched.

The hard ridge of his erection nudged against her thigh. She squirmed against it, arching her hips and driving herself to a ragged edge, clutching at his shoulders only to have her fingers skate away over a film of soapsuds.

Suddenly he slapped his hands against the tiles on either side of her head, leaving her weight supported only by the thigh pressed between hers, and stared down at her. She was surprised the heat in his eyes didn’t turn the water on her skin to steam.

Then he wrenched off the taps beside her head and stepped back, letting her slide bonelessly down the shower stall until her feet hit the tiles. ‘I promised I wouldn’t over-tire you today,’ he murmured, his voice deep, husky.

‘I’m feeling better every minute,’ she assured him.

He reached for a towel, his eyes still holding hers. ‘No. I think you need to lie down.’

‘Oh… Yes… Maybe…’

‘Definitely.’ He wrapped the towel around her, patting and stroking her through its soft terry fabric, trailing warmth and excitement everywhere he rubbed. He retrieved the condom from the floor, then somehow she was in his arms being carried towards the massive bed.

He laid her on her back, knelt on the bed straddling her, his knees imprisoning her outer thighs. ‘Lie still and relax,’ he ordered softly. ‘This might take a while.’