Her One Night Fiancé (Love in London 3)

“Don’t stop talking.” He pushed her down on his bed and moved to slide her skirt down. “In fact, if you stop talking…” He paused to press kisses to every inch of skin that he bared. “I’ll stop touching.”

“You like the bawdiness?” Her heart thundered while her body heated yet more.

“I like you.”

And he set about proving it.

Nina recited lines as he removed each item of her clothing with slow, agonizing care. He kissed and stroked as he went—sending rivers of sensation the length of her body.

She reveled in the way he looked at her, the way he touched her—like there was no greater view, no greater pleasure. He was so focused on pleasing her. And how easy it was. All he had to do was touch. She felt freed of all self-consciousness. She just felt hot—in so many ways. It was all a first.

He kissed her all over her body, his hands gliding, leading the way. He dominated—spreading her on his bed, leaning over her, locking her in his arms. She was imprisoned, yet felt so safe.

At last he lay with his head in her lap, his tongue in her—tasting her so thoroughly. She arched as he flicked and explored with a devastating rhythm. The only word she could say now was his name over and over. She yearned for him to fill her wholly but at the same time wanted this—the keen, hard release was a breath away. Her thighs tensed, pushing back against his firm hold. He gripped her harder, tongued her deeper, relentlessly taking her over the edge.

Nina screamed in raw pleasure as the orgasm swept through her. Her body bucked, shuddering as the unbearable bliss ravaged her senseless. On and on the sensations went as he forcefully maintained his hold, his suction, and that intimate invasion.

In the aftermath, with her limbs splayed, she was so exposed to him, and he made the most of the view—smiling so wickedly appreciative at every inch of her body. She’d never had oral sex like that, never had any kind of sex like that—where every inhibition had been peeled away, where she was reduced to a mindless animal. It was fantastic. All she wanted now was more—all of him.

He let her have a moment to recover—standing back to strip himself and protect them both. Nina watched with eyes as greedy as his—all insecurity obliterated in the heat of his kisses and the sight of his arousal. She’d not been mistaken about his sculpted looks. The ridges of his abs, the lean hips and strong thighs all proved how fit he was. Not to mention that huge erection straining up. Her whole body salivated at the sight of him.

“Why don’t you bring your little finger this way,” she teased, glowing inside with confidence and desire and for the first time feeling free to declare her every desire. Hallelujah and thanks be to Shakespeare.

“ ‘Little finger’?” He knelt back onto the bed, straddling her. “I object to that.”

“Thorn? Bugle? Dart of love?” She spread her hands wide on his hips. “How about instrument?”

“Of pleasure or torture?”

“Both,” she answered playfully, running one hand up his abs, bringing the other to encircle him.

“All right, you asked for it.” He moved swiftly out of her reach and into dominant position.

She felt the big blunt head of him against her. She was so wet, so ready. But he paused. His eyes bored into hers—the silver specks gleaming.

Fearless now, Nina met and held that vibrant, intimate stare. His mouth curved slightly—the statue becoming beautifully human.

And then he thrust into her.

She sucked in a shocked breath and then groaned in spaced-out pleasure. “No little finger there.”

“No,” he answered between tightly clamped teeth. “Are you okay with that?” Slowly he moved—retreating a fraction before slowly sliding deeper inside.

She squeezed down on him, holding him. He was magnificent. “I’m more than okay.”

His smile returned, but Nina was too far gone already to manage one as well. She panted—desperate to get enough oxygen to survive the pleasure. But it was too good to be over too soon for her.

He had such a tight butt and slim hips for her to hang onto. And he had the best pump action. She laughed, tilting her head back, reveling in the sheer joy of it. He played her—rolling and grinding his pelvis against her, unbearably stimulating, filling her with his hard, frankly massive, length. He slid back and forth, the friction overwhelming. Arms wide, she abandoned herself to the utter eroticism of it. And then the bastard slid right out of her.

“What are you doing?” she shrieked, lifting her head from the pillow.

He laughed and slid back—only an inch in—before pulling out again.

“Oh no,” she murmured, half-delighted, relaxing back into abandonment against the soft pillow as he did it again. “You’re screwing with me.”

“Absolutely.”

She pressed her shoulders back, arching her hips up—urging him to fill her all the way again. But with that wicked, playful smile he resisted—teasing for too long. He slipped his hand between them to torture her even more with slow slides of his thumb over her clit, bending to suck one nipple and then the other until they were so hard they hurt. Until she could bear it no longer and shouted at him.

He lifted his head from her breasts and smiled at her. “You’re beautiful.”

He thrust to the hilt and sealed his mouth to hers.

Her orgasm exploded—crunching her core, every muscle locking down in blissful, prolonged agony. She shuddered beneath him, panting hard. The pulsing contractions were too good to live through. She’d gone insane—groaning into his mouth like a feral animal as he rode her ruthlessly, relentlessly, brilliantly.

Her smile returned as she broke through the other side, warmth radiating, another crest only a touch or two away. She wanted to catch that next wave. She curled her fingers around his gloriously tight butt, pulling him deeper and deeper into her. Dirty talk tumbled from her tongue, none of that Shakespearean imagery now, just rough, rude words that urged him to go harder. His laughter faded as he fought to resist his own release, but she wasn’t having that. She gripped him, milked him, screwed him right back until he stiffened, his body losing the graceful rhythm as he jerked, his groan coming through gritted teeth. And then a deep, masculine moan of relief.

“It’s a good thing this didn’t happen last night,” he said, running his palm down her thigh—pushing her legs apart for him again.

“How do you figure that?” Nina arched, hips lifting to meet the lush kisses he was gifting her.

“We would have had only few hours together. Now we have the entire night.”

She could have argued that they could have had those few hours last night and all of tonight. But she didn’t—because she understood the implicit point. There would only be the one night for them. And this was it.

“Now you know why I couldn’t kiss you good-bye,” he muttered, nuzzling into her. “I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from doing this

.”

“You’d have done this in a taxi?” She didn’t believe him.

“Or the nearest shadow. I wouldn’t have given a damn where.” He bent his head and open mouthed her, lushly licking her bud and delving down between her slick lips. Her breath roughened as she fought the intense need to lock her thighs around his head. If he wasn’t careful, she’d kill him in her ecstasy. What he did was so damned good. She writhed, half needing to escape and desperate not to at the same time. But he knew. He pressed his palms hard on her inner thighs—holding her open to him so he could kiss and tongue as hard as he could until she came.

Which she did. Screaming.

“You’re devastating,” he said a few minutes later when her breathing had finally eased. He traced the tips of his fingers from her lower belly up to her breasts—over and over as the aftershocks rippled through her. “And I have something to confess.”

Nina iced over in an instant—like she’d been dunked in arctic waters. “If it’s something really awful, stop and think about whether admitting it now is going to do either of us any good.”

He rose to kneel between her legs, putting a hand either side of her chest and looking right into her face. “What would be awful?”

Nina blinked back the acid burn in her eyes. “If you have a girlfriend. Just don’t tell me. Let me leave. Don’t tarnish my memory of this. You can live with the guilt all by yourself.” She didn’t ever want to know. But she should have known this had been too good to be true.

His expression went grim and he slowly shook his head. “I don’t have a girlfriend. I don’t lie. I’m single.”

She stared up at him—at the anger etched on his face. “Oh.” Relief tumbled through her, embarrassment hard on its heels.

“That fiancé of yours was a real shit, wasn’t he?” Eduardo pressed down on the mattress, lightly bumping her.

“Yes.” She swallowed.

She knew he wasn’t pleased with her accusation. His eyelashes lowered so she couldn’t read his expression. Some small part of her delight in this night had been lost. She told herself it didn’t matter. Nothing about this really mattered.