‘That this will turn out to be just another dream.’
CHAPTER SIX
HE KISSED HER before he could second-guess his intentions, before she could even realise what he was doing. He crashed his mouth to hers, lacing their fingers together behind her back, dragging her towards him, his tongue sliding into her mouth at first in a slow exploration and then a cataclysmically urgent conquest. He groaned against her mouth, deepening the kiss, ignoring the persistent voice in the back of his head telling him there were a thousand reasons he should have the common sense to resist her.
‘God, Santos.’ She tore her fingers through his hair, her kiss laced with hunger, and he responded in kind, pushing her underpants aside so he could brush his fingers over her sex, teasing her there as he kissed her so hard her head pressed to the wall. She whimpered in his mouth, whispered his name, the words disjointed by passion; and, right as he felt her tremors build up to an almighty crash, he pushed a finger inside her, relishing the sensation of her muscles, their tight spasms almost bringing him to his own deafening crescendo. Christos. He felt like a schoolboy again, incapable of even a shred of control.
Despite what he’d just told her, he didn’t actually make a habit of carrying condoms around his home. ‘We need to take this to my bedroom.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Through the house?’
He understood her hesitation. It was still early, but Chloe was probably awake. Leo too. ‘You’re right. Bad idea.’ He looked over his shoulder towards the pool house. Carrying Amelia wrapped around his waist, striding quickly, he shouldered open the door, placing her on the day bed in the middle of the room.
She looked so completely bemused and sexy, lying there with her dress hitched around her waist, that he despised the necessity of leaving her even for a minutes.
‘Stay here.’ The words were unintentionally curt. He softened them with a smile, though he suspected it too came out terse. ‘I’ll be right back.’
He moved through the house quickly, retrieving protection from his bedside table and stalking back through the lounge area onto the terrace. He had escaped being seen and he’d never been more glad of anything in his life.
He wanted to have sex with Amelia more than he’d ever wanted another woman. It made no sense, but a part of him wondered if his fascination with her would dull once they slept together.
She was sitting up when he returned, and when he strode in her eyes were awash with feeling. Christos, she’d changed her mind. He braced for it, staring at her, waiting for her to tell him to stop.
She stood up and walked towards him; he held his breath. ‘Well?’
Relief had him expelling all his breath in a rush, then grinning. His response was to kiss her, and at the same time to lift her dress from her body, pulling their lips apart for the shortest possible time, just long enough to drive it over her head... And then he was back, kissing her, running his hands over her soft skin, swiftly unclasping her bra, letting it drop to the floor so he could fully palm her beautiful breasts in his hands, no cotton in the way. She was slender, but her breasts were rounded, the perfect size for his hands. He felt their weight, delighted in the puckering of her nipples, the goose bumps that teased her skin. He lifted her again, feeling her legs around his waist, almost the most pleasurable thing he’d ever known.
He fell to the bed with her, his weight on top of hers, his kisses trailing down her body now, his mouth driven to taste every square inch of her. When he took each of her nipples into his mouth, she cried out frantically, throwing her head from side to side, her voice high-pitched, her cries reverberating around the pool house.
Her need for him was obvious and he was surprised by the strength of his own desires; they were tearing through him, demanding response. On the one hand he wanted to savour this, to delight in the feeling of teasing her, but on the other he just wanted to bury himself inside her. Just like the first time they’d kissed when despite the imperfection of that moment—the timing, the location—he had been desperate for her in a way that had driven all sense from his head. It was a miracle he remembered to draw the condom over his erection, his hardness aching at the touch, so desperate was he to fill her around him.
‘Christos.’ He buried his face in the space above her shoulder, his lips against the curtain of her dark hair, his breathing spasmodic. On autopilot he pushed his clothes from his body, impatience making his fingers catch in his zipper so that he cursed and then laughed unevenly. She was steadfastly watching him, her expression incomprehensible, her eyes fevered, her lips parted in a husky, silent invitation he couldn’t ignore. He kissed her, the weight of his desperation pressing her head back to the mattress and into its softness, his hands roaming her body, parting her legs so he could wedge himself between her. The tip of his arousal brushed her womanhood and he groaned, the anticipation of what this would feel like making his blood zip and hum.
‘Please!’ She arched her back, rolling her hips in an ancient, primitive invitation that he had no intention of ignoring. Another time, he might have drawn this out, teased her desire to an even greater fever pitch, but his own needs were there, making that impossible.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, the word simple, his arousal pushing between her legs. He had wanted her almost the first moment he saw her and that desire had only increased with every day that had since passed, so now that he was on top of her, poised to take her, he had no patience for a gentle coming together. He drove himself into her, releasing a guttural cry as impossibly tight muscles almost tormented him, almost rejected him. Beneath him her body stiffened and the tightness inside her gave way, the feeling unfamiliar to him at first, so he pushed up on his elbows to stare at her, a frown on his face. She was looking at him, her skin pale, her eyes not meeting his.
It couldn’t be... ‘Amelia?’ he demanded, knowing he should pull out of her but unable to make his body obey his brain’s commands just yet.
Her eyes, frustratingly, were shielded from his. He pressed a finger beneath her chin, wondering at the different emotional responses that were pounding him from the inside—a sense of betrayal chief amongst them, but even that wasn’t enough to dwarf the still-present longing for her.
‘Amelia?’
But colour was returning to her cheeks and she was moving her hips now, arching her back, his erection buried inside her, her own needs obvious. He watched her for a second and then groaned because, whether she’d been a virgin or not, she definitely wasn’t now, and desire was still threatening to engulf them.
He shifted his weight, pulling out of her a little so she lifted up higher, her eyes finding his at last. ‘Don’t stop.’
He was rarely surprised by anyone or anything but he was surprised now—and furious at himself for being so unable to read her. Looking back, there were myriad signs of her innocence, but he’d bee
n too swept up in his own physical attraction to her. No; it wasn’t just that. She was a woman in her twenties—a schoolteacher, for Christ’s sake—why in the world would he assume she was a virgin?
How was that even possible?
‘We need to talk about this.’ The words were grunted from between snatched breaths—all that his raging blood made possible.
‘Later,’ she insisted, still moving her hips, so he made a noise of acquiescence and dropped his mouth to hers, kissing her once more, pulling out of her slowly and easing himself back into her depths; trying with all his might to be gentle and to avoid hurting her when he wanted to take her with all his strength. It commanded every shred of willpower he possessed, but he held himself back, making love to her in a way that was only a fraction of his usual intensity; needing her to enjoy her first time, constantly needing to remind himself that she wasn’t like him at all—this was all new to her.
Her muscles began to spasm around him, squeezing him hard, releasing then squeezing again, and her voice grew higher in pitch until she was saying his name over and over, the richness of his name in her plum British accent something he could listen to for ever. Later he would make her scream his name, when he took her just as he wanted, but for now...