The wayward thought had the rushed, fumbled encounter and the crushing distaste on Mary-Lou Seagrove’s face coming back.
‘You’re so handsome, but I guess you’re more Mexican than I thought, because you screw like Speedy Gonzalez.’
He cut off the memory of the casual racism that had sliced him to the core, forced his fingers to release. That first sexual encounter might have been a total disaster, but he’d learned a lot since then—the first being, never pick your sexual partners according to their cheerleading abilities.
Iona stood in The middle of the room, her staggered breathing tightening the fabric on her dress as her breasts rose and fell in quick succession. The slatted blinds cast shadows on her face, but he could still read her mood with remarkable ease, her expression a gratifying mix of nervous and excited.
Forget Mary-Lou. You’re not that overeager kid any more.
He sat on the edge of the bed, spread his knees and held Iona’s waist. She stepped between his thighs and rested her hands on his shoulders. His pulse leapt as she took the initiative and bent to capture his mouth.
Her kiss tasted sweet and exotic, sugar and spice. He ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth, delved within, lifted the hem of her dress and cupped the firm cheeks of her bottom. Tracing the edge of lace, he slipped his fingers beneath the satin.
She shuddered and rocked against him as he found the slick moist heat, more potent than any aphrodisiac.
‘You want to get naked?’ he asked, determined to let her set the pace, but not sure he could wait much longer, the hard arousal pulsing painfully back to life in his shorts.
She let out a throaty laugh. ‘That would be nice.’
Nice.
The husky burr of her accent made the word sound rich and full this time, instead of insipid and vaguely patronising.
‘Great,’ he rasped. Finding the zip of her dress, he dragged it down.
She lowered her arms, and stood back to do a wiggle. The simple cotton dress flowed over her curves and drifted down to pool at her feet. The movement was quick, efficient and unbearably arousing.
She straightened, held her shoulders back, bold and determined. The bra was simply made but impossibly erotic in the shifting shadows drawn by the blinds, the dark outline of her nipples clearly visible through the delicate pink lace. He grasped her narrow waist, dragged her back, then, finding the fastening on her bra, he tried to unhook it, but she braced her hands on his shoulders to stop him.
‘You’ll not have me naked and you fully clothed,’ she announced, the brogue much thicker than usual—and a little indignant.
‘Point taken,’ he said. Standing quickly, he gripped the hem of his sweatshirt, and tugged it off, flung it aside. But when he went to undo his fly, she placed a hand over his.
‘Can I do it? Do you mind?’
Did he mind?
He barked out a tense laugh. ‘Be my guest.’
Her fingers found the tab and eased it down. He heard her gasp as the straining erection sprang free.
‘Oh, my,’ she whispered.
He choked out another laugh, stripping off the shorts and his jockeys. The colour tinted her cheekbones, but she didn’t hesitate as she reached out to hold him.
Oh, hell.
His flesh leapt as her fingers curled around him. He sucked in a sharp breath, calling on every reserve he had to stay still, stay focused and submit to the soft touch, the gentle exploration.
‘Who says big isn’t beautiful?’ she said with a joyful laugh, and he thought he might actually die as the last drop of his blood pounded out of his head.
Don’t lose it, Montoya, not now, or you’ll screw everything up.
He took her shoulders in firm hands, knowing there was a limit to how much of this he could take and he was fast approaching it. He had to take charge, take control. He couldn’t let her see how much she affected him.
Her hand dropped away, and her eyes lifted to his face.
‘Is everything okay?’ she asked, the hint of concern as sweet as the rest of her.