‘It’s a bit late for that, meu amante.’ Reaching out to take the tangled robe from her scrambling fingers, he dropped it back to the floor.
Angie squeezed her naked thighs together and wished every hair follicle down there wasn’t tingling like mad. He was standing so close to her she could feel the warm damp heat coming off him, smell the clean sharpness of his soap.
‘You—you said you wanted to talk,’ she reminded him, stretching out a hand towards the voluminous nightdress.
Roque caught the hand and brought it up to his mouth. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘W-well you did—and stop that.’ She pulled her hand free. ‘I n-need to …’
She lost track of what she had been going to say when he took a step closer. Instinct sent Angie falling back a step, and she came up against the drawer unit with a bump. Roque just continued to follow her, with the unremitting certainty of a man who knew exactly what was going to happen next. One of his hands lifted up, open-palmed, with long brown fingers aiming purposefully for the indentation of her waist. When he touched her skin she quivered, and he smiled and just kept on coming, until his hips came to settle against hers.
‘Roque …’ she said, meaning to follow it up with a protest, but he got in first. Low, dark and somber.
‘Sim, minha dolce, it is I.’
He sounded so grim again suddenly that Angie forgot to protest and frowned up at him instead. ‘You—you’re still angry with me,’ she murmured unevenly.
‘I am not angry with you.’
He showed her with the nudge of his hips exactly what he was. The towel folded around his hips was damp, but it did not detract from the burgeoning force Angie could feel making itself felt. Releasing a soft gasp was all she had time to do before he lowered his dark head and captured her mouth, beginning to explore it with a slow, deep, coaxing sensuality. His other hand arrived at her shoulder, gently urging her forward until their upper bodies met.
Trying to fight the kiss, the bold nudge of his erection, and now the feel of her breasts pressing against his warm skin, Angie pulled her head back and looked into the smouldering depths of his eyes. No matter what he’d said, he was still angry, she saw. Frowning, she parted her lips to say so, but he just drove his tongue between the gap, and followed it up with the hungry pressure of his mouth.
With a helpless groan she squirmed against him, trying to fight the helpless meltdown she could feel taking place inside. His long fingers spanned her narrow waistline. He used them to press her up against him. He kissed her until her lips were hot and swollen, and he felt her meltdown start to show itself in the slackening of her tension.
‘Tell me you want me,’ he instructed, seducing her heated lips with the words.
Angie folded her fingernails into the solid satin bulge of his biceps and pushed, trying to give herself some space.
‘I will make you say it,’ he warned, when she snapped her lips shut.
‘You won’t,’ she responded unsteadily, staring with defiance into the burning dark certainty blazing from his eyes.
Raising a hand to clasp her nape, he tilted her head back, then with a precision that set her gasping bent his dark head and closed his mouth over one small, firm pointed breast. A hot stab of pure sensation spun down the front of her body, and she released a wild choking gasp. Her fingernails dug deeper into his skin so she could maintain her balance as raw, unbridled pleasure lost her the will to put up more of a fight. Her defences crashed and burned on a swirling eddy of thick hot craving. She groaned out his name, then lifted her hips into fierce contact with his. She felt his heartbeat quicken, felt the intoxicating throb of pure male muscle swell and harden at the contact.
She wanted him. Angie finally admitted it. She wanted this—Roque standing over her, making her feel small and delicate and fragile with his all-encompassing superiority in height
, his strength, his everything. Her fingers left his arms to graze over his taut satin shoulders, and eventually curled into his wet, clean-scented scalp so she could lift up his head.
Their eyes clashed for a split second—his lit by flames, hers alive with emerald lights. She was panting. He looked ferociously turned on.
‘Yes,’ she said, that was all, and he claimed her waiting mouth.
She kissed him back with the same heated urgency, clinging to him as he ran his hands down her body, shaping her ribcage, the indentation of her waist and the swell of her hips. When the towel disappeared she arched towards him with the instincts of a wanton, going in search of contact with the fierce glory of his erection. The breath left his mouth on a silken hiss and he clamped a hand around one of her thighs and lifted it, arrogant in the way he wrapped it around his waist.
He was going to take her right here up against the drawers, with no preliminaries, and she wanted him to. She didn’t need preliminaries. She was so ready for him, and it was like Roque had described it—an extra pulse beat through her blood. She wanted him to lose his head and sink himself into her to the hilt.
And he knew it too. She could see the knowledge in his eyes as he drew back from the kiss to look at her. He hovered, proud against her, hot and hard, looking down at her, allowing her to press soft, urgent, needy kisses to his lips and his face.
‘Say it.’
Angie released a strangled laugh, because it was crazy that he still needed to hear her say it when she was already close to coming in a shivering, quivering, static-spangled rush.
Tightening her grip on his head, she pulled his mouth down onto hers with a hungry and hot sensuous passion that should give him his answer.
Muttering something deep in his throat, he took charge of the kiss—and of Angie. He lifted her up and wrapped her other leg around him, then carried her into the bedroom and to the bed.
Her hands became restless on his body—searching, greedy. When he started teasing her with slow moist kisses to her eyes, her nose, the sensitive hollows beneath her ears, she curled in closer in such a needy way that he uttered a mocking husky laugh.