Bargain in Bronze

Breathless, she ran her hand through her hair as she looked about, trying to remember what she needed to do.

Something sparkled on the wooden floor. She snatched it up—horrified to realize she’d dropped the diamond ring in those moments of delight. She rammed it back on her finger and hurried to close.

He was pacing back and forth in front of the store like he had too much energy to keep still. As soon as she locked the door, he took her hand. There was no need for conversation—the social veneer between them had been stripped away. All that remained now was searing sexual attraction.

He led her to the Tube. No black car today? It didn’t matter, there was a train pulling in. It was rush hour and they stood the entire journey along the Jubilee line. She clutched the metal pole near the carriage doors, while he stood directly behind her. His hand splayed across her lower belly—exerting firm pressure to hold her close. Not that he needed to. She wasn’t about to step away from that contact.

The trip was mostly smooth, but every now and then, a slight curve in the movement of the train made them move—pressing him tighter against her. She could feel his hard length pushing against her butt. She bent her head, closing her eyes in wild excitement. He dropped a brief kiss on the nape of her neck, pressing harder against her at the same time.

They didn’t say a word. There was only that physical communication of escalating desire. Again, then again he moved discreetly—intimately—against her. It was the most erotic ride of her life—fully clothed foreplay on public transport.

Finally, they got to Baker Street. He gripped her hand so tight it hurt, walking them quickly through the crowds and along the street to his apartment. She’d wondered what his place was like. But right now, she couldn’t register anything but him. Nothing else was relevant.

As soon as they were inside his door, he pulled her into his arms, kissing her. She clung—softening against his strength, desperate for him to ease her hungry ache. She wanted him like she’d never wanted before.

And she had never wanted like this. Had never done anything like this. And deep inside, her most private insecurities clamored—forcing their way up through the heat. Cold nerves coiled around anticipation. Breathing hard, she pulled back to look up at him, registering the utter gorgeousness of his features and fretting all the more. “I haven’t been with anyone…”

“Since Corey?” He guessed when she trailed off.

“Not since him.” She paused and drew in some courage. “Or before.”

His eyes widened, but his embrace remained tight. “No pressure, then.” He chuckled.

“I’m not going to compare.” She pushed out of his arms, appalled that she’d started this and feeling colder with every word. “I just wanted you to understand that I’m—not that experienced.” In other words, she wasn’t that good. Corey wouldn’t have gone seeking fun in so many other places if she’d been any good. He’d even said so.

Eduardo’s brows lifted, but his smile softened.

“I’m a bit nervous,” she began to babble.

“You don’t need to be nervous.”

“I just want it to be…”

“What?” he patiently asked.

“Good.” Memorable—for him as well as for her—and for all the right reasons.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in random tufts. For a moment she held her breath, unable to read his expression. But then he smiled and held out his hand.

Nina looked at him—the total beauty of him. Was she really going to mess up this opportunity with insecurity? Was she going to turn tail and play it safe or was she going to be the girl who took what she wanted for once?

Nina put her hand in his.

He walked—backward, leading her down the hallway. He didn’t once break eye contact with her. And his eyes were hypnotic. So was his smile.

“Speak some Shakespeare to me,” he said as he pulled her into his bedroom.

In her peripheral vision, Nina saw a big, white bed. She swallowed, her mouth dry. This was really going to happen. “Shakespeare?” she repeated distractedly. “Really?”

He nodded, his smile wicked. “Talk to me of country matters.”

She licked her parched lips—not realizing how damn unsubtle that was until she saw his smile deepen.

Shakespeare. He always had the good lines. The first that came to mind was the one she’d blurted on the Tube. “So…will you lie with your head in my lap?”

“For as long as you’ll let me.”

“Really?” A thrill tingled its way to her womb and a telltale slickness further dampened her knickers. She really wanted him in her lap. She stepped forward, feeling more confident already. “So you want to come play in my ‘nest of spicery’?”

“Nest of spicery?” Laughing, he reached out and began to unbutton her top with easy flicks of his fingers. “I like that one.” He bent, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her collarbone as he pulled each half of her blouse apart.

“Or you could think of it as my ‘flower.’ ”

“Surely it’s my flower. Mine to pick?” His mouth moved down to her lace-edged bra. “Shall I inhale your scent? Taste your sweetness?”

“Okay.” She arched her head back, exposing her neck to his caressing fingers and lips. “But I don’t like the ‘withered pear’ euphemism.” Her giggle disappeared in a sigh as he slid his hand down her stomach to cup her mound. Despite her skirt and knickers, the sensation was devastating. “Eduardo.” She breathed sharply.

“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 down 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.

“W

hy 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.