Page 18 of A Spanish Marriage

She was a witch. Had to be.

He was bewitched. Glad to be.

Those exquisitely delicate hands at last tugged his shirt free of the waistband of his trousers, the backs of her fingers sliding again

st his overheated skin. Javier couldn’t breathe.

She was offering what he’d craved for long, tormenting months. Months of doing the honourable thing, of removing himself from temptation as much as possible.

The events of this evening had ejected honour right out of the window.

He heard the tiny mew of her satisfaction as pebble-hard nipples rubbed against the tight drum that was his near-exploding chest and expelled a driven sigh that seemed to come up from the soles of his feet, before lifting her in his arms and carrying her with long, impatient strides to the waiting bed with its mocking smooth virginal covers.

She was his wife, dammit to hell and back again!

Her arms clung; she was boneless, fluid. Her beautiful golden eyes were glazed with passion, enticing, inviting, sending him out of his mind. She was avid for what he could give her and he needed it more than he’d ever needed anything!

She was heaven, spread out on that bed. Her long pale hair spilling over the pillow, her lush lips parted as her breath came in rapid, shallow pants. On driven impulse, Javier bent over her and took one rosy distended nipple into his mouth just briefly and then the other, his pulses surging as her back arched in wanton response, her hands reaching for him.

He stood back, avoiding the supplication of her outstretched arms. It took one hell of a lot of will power. He wanted to possess his wife—his woman—right now. But two could tease. She didn’t have the monopoly on driving the opposite sex crazy. He shed the rest of his clothes very slowly. Her witchy yellow eyes drank in every movement.

Siren’s eyes.

Pulling him to her. The air was hot, full of sex, the awareness between the two of them more intense than anything he’d ever experienced.

Naked, he joined her. She writhed towards him, threading her fingers through his hair, pulling him to her like the experienced wanton she was, slick skin fusing with the heat of his.

Javier took both her hands in his and held them above her head. Long mouth twisted in a wry smile, his eyes hot smoke, he began to stroke lazily tormenting kisses over her breasts, down to the soft curve of her tummy. She squirmed in wild ecstasy, frantic need, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her hips lifting for him, her breathing out of control.

Javier gave her a grim smile and, before moving his dark head lower, told her, ‘Patience. I’m in no hurry. I’ve waited a long time, and I fully intend to savour every slow second…’

The soft light of dawn was filtering through the open window. Birdsong woke her with liquid silvery notes. Her lips curved with blissful contentment, her eyes turning to him, to his smooth, muscular back packaged in taut golden skin. A hand reached out to touch. She withdrew it, her smile widening. After last night he would need all the rest he could get.

Last night. If her body didn’t ache in all sorts of unaccustomed places she would have believed it to have been a dream, a precious fantasy.

Her heart swelled within her breast. No dream. It had been real and way beyond and above mere perfection. A delicious tremor rippled through her as she recalled that one short moment when he might have denied her.

When he had finally, for the first time, parted her thighs and entered the place he had made so ready, thrusting his swollen length so deeply within her she hadn’t been able to disguise the sharp gasp of pain as the barrier had been broken.

Javier had gone still. Very still. Had lifted his head. ‘Zoe, you’re—’

‘Yes.’

‘I—’

‘Don’t talk!’ A command bordering on panic. Not prepared to let him get all protectively honourable, not now, she wrapped her legs tightly around his body and that decisive movement let him know she was giving him everything, all she was, all she had ever been.

And he gave, too. Gave heaven on earth.

He stirred. Zoe’s body stirred in response. She touched him then, the pads of the fingers of one hand tracing a loving path down his back.

He went still, seemed to stop breathing, then turned, met those melting, slumberous golden eyes and his heart contracted. ‘Zoe—’ He reached out to touch his fingers to the side of her adorable face, his dark brows clenching as she gave him her glorious smile, arched closer and wrapped her long legs around his.

His for the taking.

Guilt swamped him.

He reached for the hands that were already creating havoc as they palmed the blatant evidence of what she did to him, held them in his fists between their bodies.


Tags: Diana Hamilton Billionaire Romance
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