Claimed (Diamond Tycoons 1)

He smirked then, a small twist of his lips that sent heat streaking through her. “I have you on top of me, warm and willing and—” his fingers skimmed between her legs, rubbed at her sex “—wet. What in the hell is there for me to protest about?”

He looked as though he wanted to say more, but she leaned forward, stopped him with a kiss that had her hands trembling and her brain melting within seconds. Then she was pulling, tugging, yanking at his shirt, desperate to get it off so that she could touch the warmth of his skin, the hard press of his muscles.

He laughed darkly, even as he half sat up in an effort to help her divest him of the garment. And then she was touching him everywhere—his shoulders, his heavily muscled pecs, his too-perfect abs—licking her way across and down his beautiful, glorious body.

He gasped when she got to his belt, arched against her, shuddering, as her fingers—and her tongue—dipped below the waistband of his jeans.

“Isa, baby—”

“I’ve got you,” she said, mimicking his words from earlier as she unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans. She slid to the floor beside the bed, tugging at his shoes, his pants, his boxer briefs, until Marc was spread out before her, gloriously, perfectly naked.

He muttered a curse, reached for her, but she shook her head, pushed his hands away. “It’s my turn,” she said again, right before she took him in her mouth.

He groaned, low and long and tortured, his hands tangling in her hair as she pulled off in order to press long, lingering kisses along his length. He shifted, arched his hips, tangled his fingers in her hair. She knew what he wanted, what his body was all but begging for, but she wasn’t ready to give it to him, not yet. Not when he’d spent so much of their last night together tormenting her.

But then he cupped her jaw in his big, calloused hand, tilting his head so he could look down at her with his dark, dazed eyes and she lost the last of her willpower. Leaning forward, she took him deep.

Her name was a hoarse cry on his lips as he arched and moved and shuddered against her. It had been a long time since she’d done this to a man—over six years, to be exact—but she still remembered what Marc liked and how he liked it. Still remembered the taste of him as he spilled on her tongue.

She wanted that again.

He was close, so close, and she stroked her fingers across his taut stomach as she prepared to take him over the edge. But Marc was having no part of it. Grabbing her hand in one of his, he held it tight as he used his other hand to coax her mouth back up to his.

“I want to feel you,” she protested against his lips. It was a halfhearted protest, though, because he was stroking her breast, pinching her nipple between his thumb and middle finger even as his index finger stroked back and forth against the hardened tip.

She gasped, arching against him. It was all the encouragement he needed. Dropping to his knees beside her, he kissed her slowly, thoroughly, passionately. For long seconds she couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could barely breathe. She was completely enthralled, completely under his spell and she wanted this moment to go on forever.

Then he was lifting her, spreading her out on the bed before him like a feast. “Marc,” she gasped, her fingers clutching at his shoulders as she tried desperately to pull him over her.

Pleasuring him had driven her own need to the breaking point and she wanted—needed—to feel him inside her. But Marc had other ideas. Leaning forward, he pressed hot, wet, openmouthed kisses against her sex.

She lost it then, her fingers twisting in his hair as she arched against his mouth. His wicked, wonderful mouth. He slipped his hands beneath her, cupped her bottom and lifted her hips so there was no escape, no surcease, no moment to catch her breath. There was only him, only Marc, and the crazy pleasure he gave her.

Again and again, he brought her right to the edge of madness, of desire. Again and again, he refused to let her go over. By the time he pulled away to slip on a condom, she was an incoherent mess. Begging, pleading, promising him anything and everything if only he would—

He slid inside her then, his mouth pressed to hers even as he moved a hand between them and stroked her. That was all it took. She went off like a rocket, her body exploding with pleasure that went on and on and on.

Marc rode her through it, his hand and mouth and body taking her higher and higher until she was lost. Lost in pleasure, lost in him, lost in what could be between them if they let it. She gasped out his name, pulled him closer, closer, closer. When he thrust against her one final time, when he took her mouth in a kiss so deep, so passionate, so all-consuming that she could do nothing but surrender to it—to him—she went over the edge again. This time she took him with her, and nothing had ever felt so good.

Thirteen

“Just an FYI, Marc,” the pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker in the plane’s small bedroom. “We’ll be landing in half an hour.”

Beside him, Isa stirred, but didn’t wake. Pushing up on an elbow, he stared at her, mesmerized, for long seconds that turned into longer minutes. She was beautiful like this.

Actually, she was always beautiful, with her pale skin, dark eyes, luscious hair and even more luscious body. But there was something about her when she was sleeping that made her even more appealing. Maybe it was the fact that this was the only time he’d seen her truly relaxed since he’d walked into her classroom the other day. The only time she’d allowed him to see the real Isa behind Isabella, the woman with the tight braid, quiet demeanor and impressive credentials.

Or maybe it was the vulnerable curve of her full lower lip that made her so enticing. Or the soft pink flush to her normally ivory cheeks. Or the way her hand curled around his biceps, as if, even in sleep, she was trying to hold him. God knew, he hadn’t slept for that very same reason. He’d been afraid of falling asleep while holding her only to wake up and find out that the tenderness and the passion had been a dream. Or that someho

w, when he loosed his grip, she would slip through his fingers like kimberlite silt.

He didn’t want that to happen this time. He didn’t know what he did want to happen—didn’t know, really, how he felt for her outside the need that continued to claw at him. No matter how many times he had her, he continued to want her. Wanted her still, right now. He wasn’t ready to let her go.

Maybe that made him a fool. Hell, it probably did considering everything she’d put him through—and everything he’d put her through in return. But as he lay there, watching her, touching her, the past didn’t seem to matter nearly as much as it once had. Nothing mattered but Isa and the way she made him feel.

“Fifteen minutes until landing, Marc. You guys need to take your seats if you haven’t already.”

He leaned over, pressed the button on the nightstand that allowed him to talk to the cockpit. “We’ll be out in five, Justin.”