A Million Different Ways (Horn Duet 1)

I pushed back against the erection tenting the front of his gabardine slacks and heard him exhale harshly. It turned me on, knowing I had as profound an effect on him as he had on me. He bit the side of my neck, driving me to distraction. Caught unaware, my stockings were at my ankles before I realized what had happened. It jolted me right out of the pheromone induced daze.

“Are you mad? Someone could walk in!” I struggled to turn around but he held me in place.

“Then we better be quick.”

“Quick? You don’t know what the word means!”

A burst of laughter was muffled on the side of my throat. Then he shut me up with his expert touch, petting me over my underwear, cultivating my desire for him. It didn’t take much; I was slick the moment he touched me. Truthfully, it started as soon as he walked into the room––my body so attuned to him. Slipping his fingers inside, he nudged me with his erection from behind until he had me worked up in a frenzy of need…needing him.

Yes. Yes. Soft. Ready. Willing. Those were the only words my body ever spoke to his. Never a ‘no’. Never even a ‘maybe’.

“You’re wet. Tell me how much you want me,” he whispered in that raspy voice that drove me wild.

“You know I do.”

I heard his trousers unzip, the tear of foil. He pulled my underwear to the side and pushed himself inside of me. A slow delicious friction into the welcoming softness. My short fingernails dug into the leather spines of the books and left tiny crescent marks. He pulled out and buried himself again and again. One large hand gripped my hip while the other wrapped around and stroked my clit. Imprisoned between two points of pleasure, I gave up all resistance.

“Tell me.”

“I want you, only you, desperately,” I said, my voice reedy and breathless. He thrust and held himself perfectly still inside of me…the bloody tease. “Oh Christ, Sebastian please, please. I’m begging you!”

Something occurred to me in the sensual fog I was drifting in. He needed me wild and mindless for him. It drove him, and he wouldn’t stop until he had me at his mercy. When he started moving, I began climbing again, rapture within reach.

Then we both heard it. Voices. Just outside the door. My whole body turned to stone. “Stop, we have to stop,” I whispered.

“Shhh.” He thrust quick and deep, slamming into me at just the right angle, and placed his palm over my mouth in time to stop a primal cry from exploding out of me. Mindless and at his mercy. The voices faded. His fingers found me again, circling the tender, swollen nub, plucking gently. The tight coil unspooled. My muscles collapsed around him so firmly it triggered his release. He muffled a grunt into my shoulder and rolled his hips, milking his pleasure.

“Holy shit––” he said, gasping. I couldn’t have said it any better myself. I felt his forehead fall onto my back and listened to him fight for air. He kissed my neck and squeezed me tight before stepping back. I was incapable of anything that resembled movement, my body a loosely assembled pile of limbs. He straightened my clothing before restoring his own.

I turned around, expecting to find him as shattered as I was, and discovered his Highness the picture of relaxed elegance instead. Not a hair out of place; a sated smile on his handsome face; his graphite grey suit wrinkle free.

How the hell was that even possible? I was certain I looked as thoroughly worked over as one of the girls in the red light district.

“Geneva––tomorrow afternoon. I don’t care what you tell her. Tell her you’re visiting a sick friend, for all I give a shit. You don’t need to bring anything. Meet me at the café in town if that makes you more comfortable.” When I failed to respond, rendered stupid from an epic orgasm, he arched a brow and gifted me with one of his Adonis-in-the-flesh-and-you-are-powerless-to-resist-me smiles. “Good girl.” Then he placed a peck on my lips, patted me on my behind, and left me standing there contemplating whether this man had robbed me permanently of my ability to reason.

Chapter Twenty-One

The piazza was deserted. An old tomcat with one eye stared at me suspiciously from his lofty spot on a low wall. He knew what I was up to. As instructed, I waited patiently for him at the café. Worrying the nail bed of my thumb with my index finger, I finally clasped my hands in my lap in an effort to stop them from fidgeting. I had already torn three perfectly clean paper napkins to bits. The guilt of lying to Mrs. Arnaud about visiting a sick friend made my stomach churn. All of a sudden, that second latte had been a bad idea.