She felt beautiful. She felt like the temptress, the wanton she’d always been called, and when he looked at her like that, she was glad. Bold women lived in her blood, she knew that now, and watching the way his eyes moved over her, bathing her in golden fire, she finally felt as bold as they were. As free as he’d made her.
He took off his briefs, studied her for another long moment, as if committing the sight of her to memory, and then crooked his finger once more, that wicked smile taking over his mouth.
Adriana walked to him immediately, too desperate to mind his high-handedness. She sighed happily when his hands went to her waist, then smoothed down to her hips—and then he pulled her to him, tumbling them both down on the sofa and arranging her over his lap so she sat astride him.
“Be still,” he told her when she squirmed against him, and it very nearly hurt her to stop, but she did it. Her heart beat so hard she could feel it in her temples.
For a moment, he only stared up at her.
She felt his hard thighs beneath her, and the hardest part of him pressed against her, making her hotter, wilder. Needier by the second. She saw the blazing heat in his eyes, the dark passion, and thought she could drown in that alone. He waited. He watched.
“Do you feel like you might die?” he asked, his voice a low whisper, teasing at her skin, moving through her body and making her tremble.
“I think I already did,” she confessed.
His mouth curved. And then he leaned forward and sucked her nipple into his mouth without the slightest hesitation, all of that wet heat against the tender peak, and she was lost.
Pato didn’t ask, she discovered quickly. He took.
He used his mouth and his tongue against the weight of her breasts, used the hint of his teeth, until Adriana writhed against him, the intense sensations somehow arrowing straight to her core.
She explored that glorious torso of his, sun-kissed and hot beneath her hands, her mouth. And all the while she rocked against his hard, proud length, rubbing all of her heat against him helplessly. Wantonly. And he encouraged it, a big hand against the small of her back to hold her against him, keeping her right where he wanted her.
The more she moved the closer he held her, driving her higher and higher, keeping them close but not yet joined, making her whimper with need. Making her die, she thought, over and over and over again.
And then, when she was out of her mind, he kissed her.
Again and again, taking her mouth and making it his, making her his, with that devastating mastery that made her feel deliciously weak, made her shake and rock into him and forget her own name. And then at last he was lifting her, arranging her, reaching between them to test her heat with his fingers.
Once. Then again. Then he grinned at her, wicked and knowing, and did something else, a glorious twist of his clever hand—
Adriana shattered around him, a clenching, rolling burst of fire and light.
But Pato wasn’t done.
He laughed, she thought, and then the smooth, hot length of him was pressing against her entrance. He wrapped his hands around her hips, held her fast between them, then thrust deep inside.
And she shattered again, instantly, the second explosion building from the first and tearing her into a million brilliant pieces. It went on and on. She gasped and she sobbed and then, when she started to breathe again, he flipped them around on the sofa, so she was lying on her back and he was cradled between her thighs.
“My turn,” he whispered, grinning down at her, his eyes lazy and dark, and focused on her as if nothing else existed but this. Her. The two of them together, finally.
At last, Adriana thought.
And then he began to move.
* * *
She was exquisite. Perfect. Soft and trembling all around him, clinging to him, wild for him, hot cream and soft silk and his.
Finally his, and who cared about the consequences.
Pato set a slow, steady pace, watching her as he took her, watching every shimmer of ecstasy, every hint of joy, that crossed her expressive face. Her hips met his with each thrust, moving in a sinuous rhythm that nearly made him lose his mind. And his control.
Slowly, carefully, he built up the fire in her all over again, leaning down to worship her perfect breasts, her lush mouth. He pulled her knees up to cradle his hips, tasted the salt and sweet of her elegant neck. And then, when he couldn’t take any more, he reached between them to find the core of her, and pressed there, rocking against her, into her, until she stiffened against him once more.
Then, at last, he let himself go.
And this time, when she shot over the edge he followed her, listening to her scream out his name as they fell.
It’s not enough, he thought then, even as he held her to him, their hearts thundering in concert. It will never be enough.