The Right Mr. Wrong

She shivered and tried to slip away from his touch as she got too hot, too quick. ‘I don’t want to come without you. I want you to be in me.’

He laughed, again that edge of desperation. ‘Be over too soon.’

His fingers trailed more, teasing until she was sighing and rocking and escalating towards the peak way, way too quickly.

So now she needed to do more than speak; she had to seize control. Before she’d always lost control. Always been swept away. She shoved, her hands slapping on his chest. To her delight he fell back, letting her straddle him.

‘You gonna break out your whip now?’ he teased.

She laughed but then shook her head. ‘No pain,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t want this to hurt.’

His laughing expression sobered completely. ‘No.’ Suddenly he moved, sitting up, his sky-high erection solid between them, rubbing against her in a way that had her squirming to lift and slide straight onto him.

But it was the kiss that killed her. He thrust his fingers into her hair, cradling the back of her head in his broad palm, holding her in place as he kissed her in a way she’d never been kissed before. Not just passionate, not just deep.

But somehow almost desperate—as if he were pouring a part of himself into her. She felt it raining down inside her, filling the gaps with warmth and sweetness.

Giving.

Oh, dear Lord, she couldn’t cope with this. She wanted this to be sex. Hot, sweaty, wild sex. She didn’t want something that seemed so much more.

Trembling, she wrenched her mouth away. That was too savage, too tender, too much. How could it be even more intense than it had been before?

She pushed away, slipping onto the middle of the big mattress. There had to be a way she could control this better, could put this into the purely sexual box she needed it to be in. She bent her head, trying to cope with the yearning of her body. And heard the hiss of his indrawn breath.

Smiling, she leaned further forward onto her fists, sending him a glance over her shoulder and registered with pleasure the way his fiery gaze travelled down the length of her—to the part of herself she’d exposed.

Yeah, that was what he wanted.

She bent further, presenting herself to him, pressing her face into the pillow, her knees apart, her hips rotating in bold invitation.

‘Oh, wow,’ he growled. His hands lifted, smoothing over the curves of her butt as if he couldn’t resist touching.

And that was what she wanted. Nothing but sex. To be nothing but the receptive female. To feel a mate’s strength pound into her. All animal. Hot, satisfying. Over.

She waited, feeling him move into position. She groaned as she felt the strength of his thighs lock against hers. She quivered, her body shaking already in a precursor of ultimate pleasure.

He leaned forward, his hands sliding up from her hips now—up the length of her spine. He slid one hand around her ribs, boldly sweeping, and tweaked her nipple, while his other hand continued up her spine to massage the base of her neck. She angled her head as his fingers worked, she arched her rear up higher, rocking back and forth against the hot, hard erection he was holding back just out of her.

He gave her nipple another tweak, half laughing as she moaned. But then he slid that hand lower—his hand spread wide, firm down her stomach. Down, down, to the part of her that was burning, ready for him.

One touch was all it took to make her beg. ‘Oh, please,’ she sobbed. ‘Please, please, please.’

He thrust hard inside her. The force pushed her face harder into the pillow, muffling her scream. Her fists tightened as she tried to absorb the pleasure as he growled and then rocked into her, again, then again. Oh, he was good. How could she have forgotten just how good? How had she ever thought anyone or anything could ever match up to this? This was the ultimate pleasure for her.

His fingers toyed, teasing over her too sensitive nub until she was bucking like a wild pony. But his other hand clamped onto her shoulder, holding her in place so he could continue to thrust into her with brute strength, such masculine force, she thought she was going to break apart with the pleasure.

She closed her eyes, her face locked hot against the feather-filled pillow. She could hardly breathe. But it was good. He couldn’t see into her eyes and take everything from her. Not all her secrets. She just wanted the sex. Wanted the orgasm.

His fingers tightened on her skin. She relished the slight pain—recognising how close he was to losing control. She wanted that. She wanted it to be a raw, physical, fast explosion. She groaned again and again as he pushed her higher, further until she was so close she—

‘Damn it.’ He pulled out.

‘What—?’ She fell forward, bereft.

But he deftly flipped her onto her back. Her lax legs fell apart and in seconds he’d covered her. His chest to hers, his pelvis to hers, his nose to hers. His eyes boring into hers. ‘What do you want? Tell me what you want.’

‘You can’t figure it out?’ she growled at him.

He shook his head. ‘You’re offering, giving. Don’t just offer—take.’

‘You didn’t like that?’

‘Of course I did,’ he roared through gritted teeth. ‘You make it so easy to take from you. But what do you want?’

So excited, so exposed, so needy, she was pushed beyond limits—beyond self-preservation. ‘You!’ she breathlessly screamed, her eyes watering. ‘I just want you. All of you.’

He didn’t move for a moment. Didn’t answer.

Then he lowered his mouth that last inch and kissed her. Another kiss of the kind before—the one she’d been unable to bear. Explicitly sensual, yes, but also warm and sweet. Loving. And as he kissed her he thrust—slid—straight back inside. So deep, so full, so right.

He didn’t stop kissing her—his tongue stroking, the rhythm matching that of his hips. He hadn’t just settled over her, he’d sealed them together. So nearly satisfied, she wound her arms tightly around him, her hands spread wide over his muscles, her fingers digging into his tight, flexing butt. She could feel the power of him, but she could also feel the slight trembling, the oversensitive spasms of his body as well as those of her own. The sensations battered her defences, his grip on her body—her heart—too strong.

She screamed in his mouth, her body clamping around his. Finally, finally, finally he pushed her over the edge—and caught her. And she clung as if he were her life raft. As she convulsed and cried his name over and over, he lifted his head, gazing down at her with absolute satisfaction in his eyes, a beautiful smile on his lips, before he let out a glorious growl of release of his own.

Vivi collapsed in his embrace. She’d drowned again.

SIX

Something was screeching in Liam’s ear. Loud, electronic, incessant.

‘Is that your phone?’ Aghast, Liam sat bolt upright in bed, rubbing the gritty feeling from his eyes.

He blinked in time to see Victoria’s wincing nod as she swiped up the gadget to answer. ‘Hi, Gia. Of course. I’ll be there in three.’ She ended the call and grimaced. ‘I must have slept through.’

Liam reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her slide from the bed. He didn’t want her to leave. ‘Be where?’ he asked, an ominous feeling in his gut.

‘In Reception, waiting for her to turn up.’

‘To do what at this hour?’

‘She likes to keep fit. She runs for forty-five minutes every day.’

Liam didn’t let her go as he glanced at the illuminated numbers on the clock on the bedside table. ‘You’re kidding. She wants you to go running with her now?’ At three in the morning?

She freed her wrist with a sharp twist and stepped away from the bed.

‘Gia doesn’t like the paparazzi taking pics of her exercising so she goes out when the world is asleep.’

Liam’s heart started thudding as if he’d been running for two hours already. ‘Why doesn’t she use the hotel gym?’

‘She prefers to exercise o

utdoors. Fresh air. Like many people.’

‘Why doesn’t she take a bodyguard? Why does it have to be you?’ He frowned, concern obliterating the remnants of his sleepiness. ‘It’s not safe for the two of you to be out running in the dark streets at this time of night.’

But Victoria chuckled. ‘She does take a bodyguard. But she likes to talk to me. She gives me instructions.’

‘So what, you’re taking dictation while you’re out jogging?’ Appalled, he watched her pull running shorts from her case. ‘You’re prepared for this?’

‘We run most mornings.’ She tossed the shorts and sports-singlet on the bed and walked through to the bathroom.

‘But you worked so late.’ And she’d got to sleep so much later. He slid out of bed to follow, watching as she efficiently flicked on the shower. Part of him wanted to step in after her so he could soap her up. Most of him wanted her to come back to bed. Now.

‘It’s the way she works.’ She lathered the soap. ‘She doesn’t need a lot of sleep.’