First Strike

by Pamela Clare

  It didn’t take long.

  She heard his key card slide into the lock, heard the door buzz open.

  He entered, put out the Do Not Disturb sign, and locked the door behind him. Then he turned toward her. “I’ve wanted you all damned day. I… ”

  She stepped out to where he could see her, his words trailing off as he looked her over, her pulse skipping at the naked hunger she saw in his eyes.

  She handed him the champagne.

  He took a sip, set the glass aside, and reached for her, drawing her against him, his lips coming down hard on hers. His tongue carried the taste of champagne into her mouth, his body hard and strong against hers, the urgency of his sexual need fueling hers.

  Oh, God.

  She’d been waiting all day for this, waiting to touch him, to kiss him, to feel his perfect male body pressed against her. And she realized that someone watching them might mistake them for lovers who’d been separated for months, rather than casual sex partners who’d only met last night.

  She felt one of his hands close over her left breast, felt his thumb graze her nipple, scattering sparks deep inside her belly, making her wet. She was aching for him, already feeling the need to have him inside her. But this wasn’t what she’d planned.

  She drew back, her heart thrumming. She didn’t want to lose herself in him. Not yet. “Take off your clothes.”

  He did as she asked, dropping his shirt on the floor, kicking off his shoes, shucking his jeans. She took in the sight of him, his firm muscles, his smooth skin, his delicious cock growing hard and thick while she watched.

  Her gaze locked with his as she knelt before him and wrapped her hand around his erection. She teased the engorged head with her tongue, tasting along its thick rim, flicking the sensitive spot on the underside, lapping at the pre-cum that oozed from the slit at its tip, his male scent filling her head.

  Breath left his lungs in a slow exhale, his fingers sliding into her hair.

  She drew his foreskin up over the head, sucked on it, then teased the head through that thin layer of tender skin, gratified by the way his brow furrowed and his jaw went tight, his fingers delving deeper into her hair. Then she went to work, drawing the foreskin back and moving her hand and mouth in tandem up and down the length of his cock, catching the head with her tongue on each pass, reaching with her other hand to cup and fondle his balls.

  He moaned and his head fell back, their eye contact broken.

  God, it turned her on to turn him on.

  His hips began to move, his abdominal muscles flexing, his grip on her hair getting tighter, and she felt a trickle of moisture between her thighs.

  Then he stopped her. “You like that, don’t you, bella?”

  “Yeah, I do.” She licked him, pleased by the way a flick of her tongue could make his cock jerk. “I like being in control, seeing the effect I have on you.”

  “Is that so?” His lips curved into a lethal smile.

  In a heartbeat, she found herself lifted off her feet and pinned face down on the bed, her body lying across his lap. One of his big hands held her right arm behind her back, while the other hand pushed up her chemise to fondle her bare bottom.

  “God, I love your ass.”

  She had no idea where he was going with this. “I don’t do anal.”

  “Easy, bella. Neither do I.”

  The spanking took her by complete surprise.

  She gasped, her ass stinging where he’d slapped her, the sting turning to tingles that raised goose bumps across her buttocks. She struggled to turn over, but couldn’t budge, his strength holding her still. “What the hell are you—?”

  “How does it feel when you’re not in control?”

  She bit back profanity, a part of her really pissed off. But there was another part of her, some strange, unfamiliar part, that had just been awakened and seemed to enjoy this—especially when he followed that little slap with a caress.

  “Answer me. How does it feel when you’re not in control?” He slapped her ass again, harder this time, his warm palm soothing the sting.

  She bit back a moan, pain melting into heat. “It makes me angry.”

  “Yeah?” He slapped her again and again, then caressed her, one of his fingers angling between her buttocks, finding her vagina, testing her. “You’re wet, bella. You like this. Admit it.”

  “Giving you head is what made me wet, not this.” She squirmed, her thighs instinctively parting to give him access.

  “You’re lying.” He spanked her again—hard.

  She moaned, her vaginal muscles clenching around emptiness as pain once more transformed into pleasure, her skin seeming to shiver. “Oh, yes!”

  Laura surrendered as Javier got down to work, taking time between sharp, little spankings to play between her thighs, stroking her wet entrance, parting her lips, teasing her aching clit.

  He leaned down, nipped her shoulder. “Oh, yeah, you like this. Feel how swollen your clit is.”

  The skin of her buttocks was hypersensitive now, tingling, burning, the scorching sensation settling between her thighs as he fingered her deeply. And she realized he’d released her arm. He wasn’t holding her down now. Nothing was forcing her to lie here—apart from her own relentless hunger.

  She lifted her ass, parted her thighs, her hands fisting the bed sheets, her breath coming in pants and whimpers as he gave her the most incredible finger-fuck she’d ever had, the pleasure punctuated by sharp, stinging slaps.

  She came with a cry, the barrage of sensations sending her over the top, the bliss of it singing through her, his fingers driving her home.

  The tremors of her orgasm hadn’t yet faded when he dragged her to the center of the bed, grabbed her hips, and drew her onto all fours, lifting her ass upward, nudging her thighs apart with his own. Desire flared to life again, fueled by the excitement of his domination.

  “Ass up, thighs apart!” He gave her another quick spanking, the head of his cock nudging against her pussy.

  “Yes!” Oh, she wanted him inside her now.

  He entered her with a single deep thrust, filling and stretching her, his possession of her absolute. He gave her a few slow strokes, and then he was fucking her deep and hard. His hand fisted in her hair and pulled, forcing her head back, this slight pain arousing her even more, her body tingling from her scalp to the tender skin of her ass as he drove himself into her.

  She had never been dominated like this by a man before, would never have imagined she would enjoy it. But there was something about Javier, something that made her want to submit to him, to surrender, to let him take control. He wasn’t even touching her clit and yet she was on the edge, about to come again.

  “Oh, Javi! Yes!” Pleasure drew tight in her belly—then exploded.

  She couldn’t help but cry out, the intensity off the scale as he pounded himself into her, finishing with a deep groan.

  Spent, he bent over her, pressing kisses against the skin of her back, whispering to her in breathless Spanish. “Mi dulce, preciosa belleza.”

  Then he stretched out beside her, drew her into his arms, and held her.

  And through a post-orgasmic haze, Laura found herself wondering whether she’d ever felt this close to a man before.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “The winters are long and dark in Stockholm—cold, rainy.”

  Content and sleepy, Javier sat against the back of the tub, holding Laura against his chest, one hand idly caressing a soft breast while she told him about her life growing up in Sweden, the fruit and cheese long since devoured, the champagne gone. He kissed her hair, a strange tenderness for her stirring inside him.

  He’d never taken things that far before—spanking a woman, pulling her hair. Something about Laura provoked him, her sexual assertiveness goading him, her desire for control a challenge he hadn’t been able to resist.

  So you’ve got a streak of Boricua machismo after all, cabrón.

  He’d found himself wanting to possess her compl
etely. And, God, it had turned him on—watching her creamy ass turn pink, seeing goose bumps dance across her skin, feeling her grow wetter and hornier by the second.

  “We had a sauna in our backyard that my grandfather built.” Her fingers brushed lazy circles on his thigh. “When it was really cold, we would undress and sit together in the steam to keep warm and stay healthy. My mother—”

  “You didn’t sit in there naked.” Obviously he needed to pay better attention, because he couldn’t have understood her correctly.

  She laughed. “Who wears clothes into a sauna?”

  “But you must have wrapped yourselves in towels or something.”

  “We put the towels on the benches. The wood gets very hot.”

  “So you sat in a sauna with your entire family, and you all saw each other naked.” Javier couldn’t imagine his family doing that. He shut his mind against the idea before a horrifying image of his naked abuelos could form in his head.

  “It’s really no big deal. Everyone has a body, you know.”

  “That doesn’t mean I want to see them.”

  His mother? His grandmother? His aunties?

  ¡Pal carajo! Oh, hell, no!

  But Laura was laughing. “I guess we have a different attitude toward nudity in Scandinavia.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  It helped explain why she seemed so at ease with her naked body. She was one of the few women he’d been with who hadn’t cut herself down in some way or tried to get reassurance from him that her butt wasn’t fat or her breasts weren’t too small or too big or too saggy. He could get used to that. Confidence was sexy.

  He nuzzled her ear, ran a thumb over her nipple, watched it pucker. “Did you go topless on the beach?”

  “Of course.”

  The idea of a teenage Laura prancing around in public wearing nothing but bikini bottoms sent a surge of heat to his groin.

  You’re scum, Corbray.

  Incredibly, he began to get hard again, his erection pressing against her hip. He’d thought he was finished for the night, but being near her like this had apparently given his cock other ideas. She was a living, breathing aphrodisiac.

  He pressed kisses along her throat, both hands fondling her breasts now, teasing their sensitive tips, the part of him that had wanted to possess her earlier now longing to show her gentleness.

  Her head lolled to the side, her eyes drifting shut as he kissed and nibbled his way along her pulse. “Javi, what have you done to me? These past two days…”

  He bit her earlobe. “Just enjoy the ride.”

  He nudged his legs between hers, bent his knees and spread them, forcing her legs apart. Reaching with one hand to cup her, his fingers caught and stretched her inner lips and her clit while his fingertips circled the still-slick entrance to her vagina. Soon, her breathing was ragged, each exhale a sexy little moan, her head rolling slowly from side to side on his chest, her nails digging into his thighs.

  He angled his hips to enter her from behind, her pussy closing around him, wet and hot, as he thrust inside her. He fucked her slow and easy, determined to give them both all the sexual pleasure they could take, this position allowing him to pamper her, to touch and tease her everywhere—those sweet rosy nipples, the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, her swollen clit.

  He’d spent years training his body, learning to use it as a weapon, teaching it to respond to his will. Now he used that training to slow himself down, willing his muscles to relax, holding his own climax at bay. He drew slow breaths, his head falling back.

  And then he saw.

  The ceiling above the tub was a mirror.

  “Laura, look up.”

  She did as he asked, her breath catching when she saw the mirror reflecting the two of them in flawless detail—their faces, the crystalline surface of the water, the joining of their bodies. “Oh! I can see everything.”

  He reached down, caught her thighs, and drew her knees back. “Now watch while I make you come.”

  He thrust into her until he was completely buried, nothing visible but his balls, the rest of him deep inside her, then withdrew again, his dark cock stretching her rosy entrance, her labia parted, her clit swollen and pink.

  “That’s… so… sexy, so… erotic.” Her words unraveled on a moan.

  Hell, yeah, it was.

  Sexy. Erotic. So fucking hot.

  Heart slamming in his chest, he thrust inside her again, the rhythm building until he was ramming himself into her fast and hard, both of them watching, the carnal sight pushing Javier close to the edge. And when at last Laura came, Javier came with her, pleasure flooding them both.

  Laura opened the door to her room and set the tray holding the dirty dishes from last night down in the hallway, pretending not to notice the maid who stood outside the room across from hers organizing bed linens on a cleaning cart. She shut the door and locked it, whispering to Javier. “She’s still out there.”

  “I’m hungry, man. Can’t she go clean someplace else?” He peeked out the security peephole, muttered profanity in Spanish.

  Laura hated having to sneak around like this. “We could split an omelet or something.”

  “Wait.” He held up a finger. “She’s turning toward the vacuum. Okay, this is it, bella. I’ll meet you out front in twenty.”

  He kissed her on the cheek, opened the door, and disappeared down the hallway just as the maid turned her back toward Laura’s room and started the vacuum, its loud whir drowning out any noise he might have made. Laura kept the door open a crack to watch, giving a sigh of relief as he disappeared around the corner, heading for the stairs.

  Quietly, she shut and locked the door, then hurried to take a shower, feeling both a little sore and brilliantly alive. Last night had been the most amazing night of sex she could remember. She wanted to believe it was because she’d pushed her boundaries and tried something new, but the truth had much more to do with how she’d felt about being with Javier, as if there were no barriers between them.

  That’s the difference between good sex and fan-freaking-tastic sex, Nilsson.

  She slipped into a vintage dress of filmy rose-colored georgette, cinched it with a metallic gold belt, and put on gold sandals, grabbing a lightweight navy blazer to cover her shoulders in public and ward off air conditioning chill. A few swipes of mascara and some lip gloss, and she was ready.

  Javier was waiting for her when she stepped out, the heat reminding her that it was almost midday. Wearing jeans, black boots, and a plain gray and white ringer T-shirt that seemed to emphasize his biceps, he pretended not to know her, but hailed a cab.

  “Are you going to the Mall of the Emirates?” she asked as he climbed into the back seat. “Can we share the fare?”

  They ate brunch together, then strolled through the mall, Laura amused by Javier’s reaction to the merchandise.

  “More than a hundred grand for a diamond-studded cell phone. You could buy a house with that.”

  Laura laughed. “Not here you couldn’t.”

  “Right.”

  She bought a small bottle of perfume from her favorite parfumier, while he bought a single postcard, one that showed the highlights of the city—Sheikh Zayed Road, the Atlantis Hotel, Jumeirah Beach, and Burj Al Arab.

  “I thought you weren’t impressed by the sights here.”

  “This is for my abuelita,” he explained. “She likes to see where I’ve been. I’ll be home before she gets it, but she’ll love it anyway.”

  “Aw, that’s sweet.”

  He grinned. “Hey, I’m all heart.”

  And then it hit her in a way it hadn’t before.

  In a little more than twelve hours, Javier would be leaving Dubai City, and that would be the end. She wouldn’t see him again.

  They ended up at an expat beach party, more because it allowed them to let down their guard and be themselves than because they actually wanted to be there. It looked like a hundred other beach parties Javier had been to, alcohol
flowing freely, loud music, men and women laughing, dancing, holding hands. But he didn’t need to look at the glittering skyline to know he wasn’t in San Diego. There was a kind of frenetic energy in the crowd, as if everyone were trying hard to convince themselves they were having the time of their lives, their conversation revolving as often as not around wealth—who was rich, who’d just made bank, who they thought was going to hit it big next.

  Javier bought a couple of drinks, guiding Laura away from the crowd, only too aware of the way people watched her, obviously recognizing her. They ended up walking the length of the beach, Javier answering her questions about summers spent as a child in Puerto Rico. It felt good just to walk beside her, their fingers intertwined, the sound of the surf around them. And not for the first time he found himself wishing tonight weren’t their last night together. He hadn’t gotten enough of her—not by a long shot.

  “My brothers, sisters, cousins, and I ran wild from the time the sun came up, playing baseball, swimming in the surf, digging in the sand.”

  “I bet you got into a lot of trouble.” Her lips curved in a little smile.

  “Hell, yeah, I did.” There was more truth to that than she would ever know. But that was the advantage of a relationship like this. She would only ever see him at his best. “When it got dark, someone’s mother would call us in for supper. Mamá Andreína would feed us, throw us in the tub, and put us to bed.”

  “That sounds like a wonderful way to grow up.”

  “It was.” He hadn’t spoken with many people about his childhood. His brother Yadiel’s death made that too painful. But talking to Laura was as easy and natural as breathing. “My brothers and I fell asleep every night to the singing of coquís.”

  “What’s a … coquí?”

  “You don’t know about coquís?” He found himself chuckling. “They’re frogs. They live in the rainforest and the parks, and they sing all night.”

  He did his best to imitate their high-pitched call, more of a whistle really.

  She gave him a skeptical look, one graceful blond brow arched. “That sounds more like a bird than a frog. Frogs say ‘ribbit.’”