His tongue drove into her. Again and again, taking her like a cock. Unbelievably, she felt ecstasy crash over her again. The waves were slower, deeper this time. Languorous and sweet.
“One more to go.”
Floating in aftermath, she barely registered his words before she found herself turned onto her belly. The position was wicked, her breasts and palms pressed against the hard desk, her toes hovering helplessly above the ground as he stroked her swollen flesh.
“Such a sweet, wet pussy.” His gravelly tones rasped over her satiated nerves, stirring them to life. “You’re going to come one more time for me, aren’t you, darling?”
“I don’t know if I can,” she whimpered.
“Not even if I do this?”
His finger pushed inside her. The sensation was exquisite. Filling an emptiness that had been aching to be filled.
“So tight and hot, I can feel you stretching around me,” he rasped. “You can take more, can’t you?”
“Yes, give me more,” she breathed.
The slick sound of his driving fingers billowed her pleasure. Need reignited, not as desperate as before, but somehow deeper, stronger, tautness building in the core of her. Her fingers curled against the desk as his palm smacked against her sopping sex. Light and steady, his touch was masterful. Designed to drive her mad. Sweet heavens, she needed just a bit more friction…
“Does your love-knot throb, my sweet? Does it need to be frigged?” he said.
He was sinful. Beyond wicked. Right now, so was she.
“Yes,” she sighed.
“Then do it,” he commanded. “Touch yourself while I fuck you with my fingers.”
Lost in sensation, she obeyed. She wedged her hand beneath her sex, searching out the center of her wanting, moaning as she gave herself what she needed. His thrusts rocked her against her own touch.
“You’re so juicy you’re dripping onto my blotter.” His voice was an aphrodisiac in her blood. “You’re taking three of my fingers now. Taking them deep into your tight, hungry cunny. I’m watching my fingers fucking you and thinking how bloody good it’ll feel when I finally bury my cock inside you…”
Tremors started at her center, spreading outward in torpid waves. Her culmination was endless, deep, nearly painful in its intensity. The instant her spasms stopped, he pulled from her, turned her over.
His cock was hugely erect once more. Leaning back with her elbows on the desk, her breath caught at his sensual grace: the way his biceps flexed, the veins bulging as he handled his rampant flesh. His rod pulsed, wetness dripping. Seeing his jaw clench, she felt an answering tightening at her center.
Their gazes met and held.
“Do you want to feel me?” he growled. “To take my seed on your skin?”
She nodded, breathless. His fist flew faster along his rod. The tendons prominent on his neck, he clenched his jaw—and exploded. His essence rained upon her breasts, belly, and thighs. Marked by the silky-hot proof of his desire, she felt a primal satisfaction. His gaze smoldered into hers as he wrung himself of the last drop.
Chest heaving, he touched his forehead to hers.
“See?” she murmured. “I always knew you could rise to a challenge.”
He lifted his head and his brows. “Sweeting, I rose to the challengetwice.”
She giggled. He smirked, his gaze flicking beyond her—and he went stock still. She twisted her head to see what had captured his attention. She’d been so engrossed in their lovemaking that she hadn’t noticed the mess they’d made: papers scattered to the floor, knick-knacks knocked over on the desk. Then she saw what he was looking at.
A red glass bottle shaped like a heart had toppled over, its contents spilling. The liquid had reached the scrap that contained the clue, soaking it, revealingmore words.
Rhys snatched it up. “See with the heart…my uncle meant that literally. He wrote something on this paper in invisible ink, and the stuff in the heart-shaped bottle made it visible.”
“What does the new message say?” She leaned closer.
“I came home to Dorset, but my heart lives on in Bermuda.Another damnable riddle.”
Even as Rhys shook his head in frustration, recognition forked through her like lightning.
