His glance flicked over her shoulder, to the window, then back to Charlotte’s face. ‘This is my street.’
Relief exploded. With the details of their deal ironed out, she was desperate to finish what he’d started at the charity event.
It wouldn’t have surprised Dante if Charlotte turned out to be a witch. When they touched, it almost felt as though a spell had been cast over him. The brush of her fingers over his body was incendiary, but her lips were even more so. He felt as though his veins had been pumped full of molten lava. And it had been like this between them from the very first night.
It had been a release. And a relief.
After Jamie, he hadn’t slept with anyone else. He hadn’t wanted to. Although he had always thought of himself as a red-blooded guy with pretty consistent needs, in the end, he’d started to dread sex with his wife. Not because the sex had been bad. It was sex, after all. But because of the heaviness of expectation that came with it—the hope that she’d conceive and that this time, the baby would be okay.
Spontaneity and sensuality had gone by the wayside, in favour of monthly cycle tracking and recommended positions for conception. Each month that passed without success had made him feel like a failure. But worse was when the test showed a positive result, only to ride a rollercoaster of emotions for weeks, then go through the grief—and guilt—of knowing they were losing the baby.
They’d split and he’d been celibate. Not by conscious choice, rather by natural attrition. He wasn’t interested in something he’d come to associate with heavy personal pain.
He worked. He went to work functions. He worked some more.
And then there was Charlotte and, for the first time in a long time, he’d felt a stirring of something unexpected and almost unfamiliar.
Desire.
Simple, white-hot, uncomplicated lust.
Passion.
Need.
It was like being brought back from the dead. She touched him and he felt himself burning up. She kissed him and his whole world tilted sideways.
What they had was exactly what he needed.
He just hoped this marriage of theirs wouldn’t mess anything up.
The last thing he wanted was to screw up another woman’s life.
But Charlotte wasn’t looking for anything more from him. She’d made that clear, right from the start, and she’d made it clear when she’d rolled out this whole proposal. She was asking him for a favour. Their marriage was a means to an end. Their sexual chemistry was the cherry on top.
He pulled at her dress, suddenly impatient to see her, to feel her naked body against his. The fabric was soft and she shivered as he lifted it over her head then threw it to the living room floor. Her hands mimicked his, pushing at the buttons of his shirt until it parted down the middle, running her hands over his chest, teasing his hair roughened nipples as they moved to his shoulders then dropped the shirt to the floor.
He swallowed a curse as he shoved a hand into the waistband of her underpants and cupped her neat rear, pushing her against his body and holding her there, hard up against his arousal, his voice gruff as she began to move, rocking her hips, like she couldn’t wait for him to be inside her.
That made two of them.
‘I want you,’ she said, undoing his belt, then his zip, pushing his boxer shorts down with his pants. He stepped out of them then lifted her quickly, wrapping her legs around his waist as he took the few short strides to the leather armchair and sitting down on it, Charlotte straddling his lap.
He loved it when she rode him.Loved it.She was so right, with her long, red hair draped over her shoulders, her pert, neat breasts at his face height, so he could lean forward and flick them with his tongue, tease them with his teeth. His hands cupped her bottom, pulling her towards his arousal.
She swore as she tilted back her head, her cheeks flushed pink, and he grinned, moving his head to the sensitive flesh at the side of her breast and sucking there, flicking her with his tongue, pulling away only when he’d left a dark purple mark of possession. A kinky, desperate need to make sure she understood that she was his. Just for this night, and just for sex, nothing more.
‘Dante,’ she groaned. Now she eased up, just far enough to remove her underpants and then bring herself back over his length. Her eyes holding his as she bit into her lower lip and pushed down on his length. Her tight, wet muscles slicked around him, squeezing him, making heat build at the base of his cock, spread through his whole body. ‘Please,’ she cried out, as she finally settled hard in his lap, taking him in completely and staying perfectly still while she adjusted to the size of him.
They’d had a conversation about condoms in their first week together. They were both safe, and she was religious about taking the pill.I don’t ever plan to have kids.
He loved doing this with her, without a condom. He loved feeling every part of her.
He was addicted to this.
Sex without the need for a baby. Sex, just because you wanted it. Sex, because they were two passionate people, driven by biological urges and for no other reason.
She cried out and he gripped her hips, holding her right there, burying himself deep inside her, before running his hands over her body, all of her, feeling, touching, finding his cravings for her unabated even then, when he was on the brink of satiation.
