The Spaniard's Pleasurable Vengeance

“I... No...it’s not something...”

“You are so experienced, then,” he gently mocked.

She had no thought to lie. “No, I’m not in your league.” Her heart rate sped up as his fingers rubbed over her clitoris in the slippery water. “I think we both know that.”

“We’ve already discussed this.”

“And you pretended ignorance to what I meant, but be real. You’re a player.”

“I am not.” He sounded affronted. “In fact, I never have more than one sex partner at a time.”

“Serial monogamy.” She’d heard the term before, but never known someone it fit.

“If you like.”

“And right now, I’m it?” she asked with disbelief, even as her body warned her that logical reasoning was going to shut down soon in the face of abject ecstasy.

“Sí.”

“No woman back in Spain?”

“None.”

“I’m not seeing anyone, either.”

“That is good to know.”

Something in her instincts told her he was the type of man who would have checked before bedding her the first time. Why hadn’t he? Had he been as lost to physical sensation as she?

Her thoughts scattered as his touch changed and the orgasm she’d thought was well off was suddenly right there. Spasms of pleasure rolled through her as he continued to stimulate her to the point just short of pain.

She grabbed his wrist, holding it tight. “Too much!”

He let his fingers slide away, wrapping her in a tight embrace she realized she needed desperately to keep her connected to reality. She’d never climaxed twice in one night and she had the distinct feeling they weren’t done yet.

As her body eventually settled, Randi’s breaths returned to normal and her heart scaled back from a beat that felt like it was coming out of her chest, she became aware of the hard length pressing against her back. An erection she had every intention of doing something about.

She turned in his arms, letting herself rub against him before coming to rest with her arms crossed on his sculpted chest. Satiated and lethargic, she still smiled up at him with invitation. “You’re still hard.”

“I like a little self-denial.”

“Why?”

“It makes the eventual climax all the stronger.”

She stared at him. “I think I don’t even know as much about sex as I thought I did.”

“You know what you need to.” His return gaze was filled with heat and maybe approval.

Did she? So far she’d been a very passive partner, and that didn’t cut it for Randi. She might not be as experienced as he was; she might not have even realized some people did that thing with putting off their pleasure to make it stronger later, but she was not a selfish lover.

“I believe I do,” she agreed. “Will you sit on the edge of the tub?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to taste you.”

His jaw hardened at her words, the muscles in his neck straining as he swallowed, his gaze going molten with lust.

Right. He liked the idea.

If there’d been any doubts, the swiftness with which he moved to a sitting position, with his legs the only thing in the water, settled them.

Randi pressed his legs apart and moved to kneel between them, her own womb contracting in remembered pleasure at the sight of his tumescent flesh.

Reaching out, she took him in her hand, her fingertips not quite touching. “You’re thick,” she murmured huskily.

“I’m extremely turned on. Touch me like that and you’ll make me come.”

“That’s the idea.” Before he could retort, she dropped her head forward and took the tip of his erection in her mouth.

He muttered an imprecation, which she took as approval.

Licking him, she took in his taste, all male and exactly what she craved, the pearls of pre-ejaculate almost sweet. Randi suckled his tip while running her hand up and down his length, loving the feel of his silky uncircumcised flesh moving over his hard column of flesh. Muttering something in Spanish she did not recognize so assumed was blue language, he settled one of his hands on her head. He did not press for her to take more of his big sex into her mouth, but his hand completed the circle of their connection.

If she didn’t watch herself, she’d nuzzle into the hold, exposing more than she wanted.

His hand in her hair excited her, but she wasn’t getting sidetracked from her final goal of bringing him the ultimate pleasure. She caressed his balls with the hand not around his penis, very careful not to press too hard on fragile skin, reveling in the spate of Spanish curses that touch elicited.

He gave a hoarse cry. “Yes, keep touching me, mi hermosa. Que es tan bueno.”

She didn’t need words telling her how good it was, not with his reaction, but she enjoyed the fervent Spanish anyway. She would have smiled if her mouth wasn’t full of him, her heart warmed at his approval. Doing her best to take as much as she could of him into her mouth, Randi stretched her lips wide, pressing forward of her own volition, very mindful of her teeth. She’d no desire to cause even the slightest pain to her temporary lover.

She didn’t know how long she was lost in pleasuring him, but suddenly he was pulling her head away with the warning, “I’m coming. Diablo, sí, ya voy.”

He wrapped his hand around hers, guiding her to take a tighter grip on his column of flesh and increase her pace on the up and downward strokes. There was something really sexy about having his hand wrapped around hers, controlling his pleasure even as she gave it to him. Then he was shouting as he climaxed in her hand, barely missing her head with jets of his spend.

“You definitely have all the experience you need.” Baz’s voice, warm with approval and deep with sexual satisfaction, washed over her after he had regained control of his breathing.

Randi felt utter satisfaction that she’d brought him to this place.

* * *

Basilio woke with one arm under the head of his bed partner and the other wrapped snugly around her waist, barely stifling the instinctive curse the situation warranted.

He did not cuddle. Not even with lovers of what was for him long duration. Yet he’d spent the entire night either having sex with the woman in his arms, or holding her. They’d coupled twice more after her inexpert, but mind-shattering, blow job the night before.

He was the one that was supposed to be seducing her, bringing Miranda Smith, née Weber, around to his way of thinking in regard to doing that exposé interview. However, he’d been seduced himself by her innocent sensuality, her sexual candor, her enthusiasm for life and her understated beauty.

There was something about the sweet twenty-four-year-old that got under Basilio’s skin.

He didn’t give the emotion a sentimental name. It was just another aspect of sex he had not yet experienced. Basilio had promised himself at a tender age, he would never fall into the disastrous morass that romantic love and its companion emotions caused.

He’d seen the effect on his father of following that path, had felt those effects in his own young life as stepmothers changed too frequently for stability.

Nevertheless, he had a difficult time reconciling the woman in whose body he found such satisfying pleasure with the hard-hearted bitch that wanted to tear apart his family’s peace.

While that did not change his plans to seduce her into agreeing to cancel the interview, it did have him wondering if there was an aspect to what happened five years ago that Basilio did not understand, or know about.

He needed to get her to talk about the past and why she thought going on television would help her own cause when he could only see heartbreak ahead for her. She’d done something many would find unforgivable. In a moment of inattention, she’d hit a child with her car. And while the consequences could

have been worse, they’d been bad enough.

His phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts, and Basilio carefully eased himself away from Miranda, her sleep so sound, she didn’t so much as stir. He tucked the blankets around her, not wanting a draft to disturb her slumber.

She made a soft sound and snuggled into her pillow.

He allowed himself a smile of pure male satisfaction. He’d worn her out and he liked knowing it. Some might call him a throwback for his attitude, but he didn’t really care.

He was who he was. And in other circumstances, Miranda Smith would be his ideal bed partner.

He grabbed his phone and swiped just before it went to voice mail. “Wait a moment,” he instructed his brother while moving into the living room of the spacious suite.

“Baz?” his brother demanded impatiently, without waiting as Basilio had asked. “It’s Carl.”