He nipped her neck, and her shoulders dropped a notch. She’d have slid down the wall and fallen on her ass if he hadn’t been holding her. “God, Amaya. Do you know what you do to me?” he said in a pained voice.
Breathless, she stared at him. The blend of regret and affection she found in the depths of his eyes almost melted whatever bones hadn’t yet melted. Her stomach sank, and she wriggled her wrists free from his hold until she was able to circle her hands around his neck and kiss him. Kiss him with all she had, using the silent language to show him just how much she’d foolishly begun to care for him.
Chapter Eleven
Theo reached behind her to unclasp her bra, and with deft fingers, he unhooked it and dropped it to the wet floor. The water spraying on them didn’t dampen the fire consuming him.
He’d been an ass to her, and he’d known it the moment a twinkle of disappointment hit her pretty eyes. Yet, when she’d mentioned she cooked dishes her mother used to make, guilt had iced his heart. How could he, in clear conscience, pretend nothing had happened when he’d found out who stole her parents from Amaya’s life?
She should be mad at him, but no, she’d forgiven his bad behavior and even made fun of it—she’d considered the big picture. Why can’t I do the same? Telling her about his discovery wouldn’t do her any favors. She’d be mad, frustrated, and until they found a plan to work to their advantage, no official accusation could be made.
“Theo,” she called his name in that sexy voice, yanking him from any rational thoughts. With a smile that dimmed the hottest sun, she wriggled her way out of her panties, placing them on the small handle.
Droplets of water drenched her hair, traveling down her smooth mocha skin, making her deliciously wet and ready. He wouldn’t wait to go back to the bedroom—he’d take her right here, in the middle of the steam cloud, with jets splashing them.
She stroked his cheek, the gentle touch sending vibrations of awareness through him. He didn’t move an inch, staring into her rich cocoa depths, letting her take the lead this time. Not that it was easy—his cock hardened, pressure already building in his core. He drew a long breath and willed himself to behave. “You’re so handsome,” she said with a pang of sadness in her voice.
He exhaled without breaking eye contact with her. A warmth he wasn’t used to spread across his cheeks. What the fuck? Was he, a grown man, blushing? The idea disarmed him a bit, and he rubbed his forehead, fidgeting.
She didn’t let up and erased the gap between them. She touched his chest, her fingers sliding up and down his taut pecs, causing a tremor. “When I first saw you at the auction, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I wanted you to bid on me.” She glided her hand south and palmed his cock. He groaned, the sensation too good to ignore. “I hoped you’d win.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to know what it was like to be yours, even for only a month.” She stretched to her full height, coaxing him to dip his head, and she encircled her hands around his neck. He fused his lips with hers in a passionate, urgent, wet kiss.
She pressed her body against his, and a surge of red-hot need bolted through him, searing all his nerve endings. He stroked her tongue with his, reveling in the erotic dance, claiming her sinful mouth. Fuck, was she sexy. Unique. Unforgettable.
She nipped his lower lip, heating his combustible bloodstream. He slammed her against the marble wall, lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around him. Damn it. He’d tried to give her total control…but she drove him to the brink of insanity with desire. He had to have her, and suspected she felt the same way—she wanted him to lose control.
“Amaya, you’re dangerous,” he said, more to himself than to her.
She scratched his forearm, her sharp nails causing tingles on his skin. “I want you to take me in both holes.”
He positioned his cock at her entrance, rubbing the tip against her labia. She moaned, bucking into him, clenching her legs so hard around his torso it became difficult to breathe. “Amaya, you’re driving me crazy.”
“Good.” She took his cock, pushing some of it inside her drenching wet cunt. Her legs loosened just enough so he could move, and he thrust inside her, inch by inch. Heat radiated from his chest, arousal constricting his lungs. He’d either come soon, or die.
“More, mi corazon. More.” She nipped his shoulder, then licked the area, her tongue making an invisible pattern over his skin.
He withdrew and plunged again, deeper, stuffing her, and kept at it, each time feeling his self-control slip away. Then, remembering her request, he palmed her ass and slid a finger between her cheeks, nearing the hole. She moaned and said words in Spanish he didn’t understand—incredibly sexy.
“Amaya,” he said, her name a medicine and an illness.
She glided her hands down his shoulder, scratching his back. A ripple of pleasure flowed through him, warning him he didn’t have long. Growling, he slipped a finger inside her tight channel, this time more easily than the last. He played with her hole, stretching it, his finger making a circular motion around the ring, only to thrust into it again.
She threw her head back, giving him the perfect angle for him to lick her neck. He felt the shudder zapping through her—or was it his? He continued plunging and retreating in both her holes, in a wild, crazy, intense rhythm. When she pulled his head down for a wet, scorching kiss, the back of his knees almost buckled. She withdrew her hips from his, panting, and started quivering. He increased the rhythm of his claim on her body, and within a few seconds, she shouted his name, her lips tender from their kiss. Her face, flustered. Spasms rode her, and the vision of her climaxing unraveled his own—unable to wait any longer, he retreated his cock almost all the way to slam inside her one more time. Pleasure detonated within him, and he held her close, wishing he could never, ever let go of her.
…
“Where are you taking me?” she asked when he wrapped her in the robe and carried her in his arms.
He kissed the top of her head. “To eat.”
She chewed her lower lip. Did eating mean going to an upscale restaurant or ordering in? He hadn’t seemed impressed by the dishes she’d laid out for him an hour earlier. Insecurities churned in her stomach.
She’d done it—she’d gotten emotionally involved with the one man she couldn’t have. He’d told her as much several times. He’d kept her from meeting his family and hidden in his home like a secret. Because he had a proper bride, someone who would live up to the name and fortune of his family. Someone who wouldn’t embarrass him socially—a woman from his country, who spoke his language and lived by its rules.
And as for her…
