He pulled away, looking down at her. His eyes were dark.
Then he yanked her panties off her body in a swift movement, tossing them to the floor. Before reason could start to return, before she could remember she should tell him No, please, we must stop, he knelt before her on the bed. Pushing her legs apart, he moved his head between her legs and took a long, languorous taste.
She gave a high-pitched cry, gripping the pillow beneath her head with both hands.
Holding her hips firmly, refusing to allow her to move away, he held her to him. He licked her, lapping her one moment and suckling her the next. His tongue flicked inside her. Then fingers followed, with rough sensuality she could not deny or escape.
With all his experience, he knew just what to do. He played her like an instrument. He knew how to make her sing. The pleasure was so intense she nearly wept.
She felt the first waves of aching fulfillment start to crest, building inside her. Just as her hips started to lift of their own volition against his mouth, just as her whole body started to tremble and shake, he released her. As she cried out in frustration, he rose to his feet. He pulled down his pants. He did not wait to remove the rest of his clothes before climbing on top of her and covering her body with his own. She felt his hardness seeking entry between her legs for one brief second and he brutally thrust himself inside her. A sharp explosion of agonizing pleasure ripped through her as she felt him impale her so deeply. Pinning her with his massive size and weight, he thrust again, more deeply still and her whole body hummed, tense as a bow. The sweet agony coiled inside her, climbing higher…then still higher…until she could not breathe, until she thought she could bear no more, until she thought she would break.
He pulled back and rode her, holding her hips with his big hands to penetrate her so deep and wide and hard she felt split in two. She moaned, holding her hands against the black headboard, writhing from side to side as he shoved inside her again and again. She had to bite her lip to keep herself from moaning his name, from begging him to not stop, from begging him to love her and never leave…
With a growl, he pushed one last time inside her so deep it shattered her apart into a thousand glimmering pie
ces. He nearly pierced her heart, and as her world exploded, from a distance she heard herself scream his name.
The next morning, Rafael woke up to find his lead housekeeper, the most prized member of his staff, naked and sleeping beside him in bed.
He nearly groaned aloud. He’d done it. Again. After promising himself he’d never touch Louisa again!
Sunlight was shining bright through the tall windows of his bedroom. The dark wood and new furniture, with shining steel fixtures and stark glass lights, had an oddly warm appearance beneath the soft golden light pouring from the windows. Or maybe the golden glow came from the woman now sleeping beside him. She made everything beautiful.
He looked at her lovely face, surrounded by brown hair tumbling over the pillow in waves. A tender smile still curved her pink lips. Sleeping and naked, she looked so vulnerable. So young.
He cursed himself in low, guttural Spanish.
He’d thought he had some self-control. He’d done everything to try to forget his night with Louisa Grey, and the fact that it had been the single most amazing sexual experience of his life. Which with all his experience, was incredible.
Perhaps that was why he’d been unable to forget. Uninterested in other women. Unable to think of anything else.
He still didn’t know why she’d been crying that night in Paris. He’d been shocked when he’d returned from another dull date to find Louisa overcome with emotion. Louisa, who never showed her feelings. He hadn’t known how to deal with it, so he’d taken her in his arms. And then he’d done what he’d longed to do for months. He’d kissed her. He’d done more than kiss her. He’d made passionate, reckless love to her—and discovered to his shock that his beautiful, self-contained housekeeper was, at twenty-eight, still a virgin.
Even now, when by all rights he should have been well satisfied, his body tightened at the memory of making love to her in Paris. Of making love to her last night. He felt the heat off her skin as she lay sleeping beside him, naked in his bed, and he wanted her anew.
He looked at her in the morning light. She looked so beautiful. So impossibly young. So lush and desirable.
He’d tried to rid himself of his inconvenient desire for her. He’d allowed her to transfer to his Istanbul house, though he did not want her to leave. He’d busied himself with work in Paris. He’d tried to move on with another woman, specifically Dominique Lepetit, though the truth was that the amoral actress was no longer of any interest to him.
Louisa, however…
With a low groan, he rolled over in bed and sat up, holding his head in his hands. He could still not quite believe he’d slept with her without a condom again, something he’d never done with any other woman. Oh, other women had told him they were on the Pill, but he’d never trusted them completely. In the past, he’d either been well-prepared with condoms, or he’d walked away from the situation. Simple as that. He never wanted to have a wife or child or be pinned down in any way. He took freedom even more seriously than he took pleasure.
Rafael glanced back over his shoulder at Louisa, who was still sleeping peacefully, like a child. He immediately felt comforted. Louisa Grey would never lie. If she’d said she was on the Pill, then she was.
He trusted her. In fact, she was the only woman he trusted. She’d been a virgin the first time he’d taken her, for God’s sake. That had been an amazing discovery during an incredible night. And last night had been even better…
He had the sudden memory of her naked body beneath his, the way she’d felt when he’d pushed inside her. The image of her ecstatic face as he’d possessed her as their sweaty bodies pressed together urgently in the heat of the night.
He’d thought the first time he’d taken her, in Paris, had been the best night he’d ever had with any woman. But last night had been even better. Something about the feel of her skin—or the smell of her hair. Perhaps it was the way she moved, the combination of sensuality mixed with innocence. Or her elusiveness. She always held something of herself back. Always.
Except in his bed.
Whatever the cause, some chemical reaction took hold of his brain whenever he was near her. He, who’d slept with so many women, who had his choice of heiresses and princesses and models, could not stop wanting his housekeeper. Louisa was like a drug to him.
Because she was forbidden?
His smile fell. And he cursed himself anew.