by LETO, JULIE
She looked at the bottle with yearning. “Oh, yes. But I think I should have that shower first.”
“Of course,” he said, setting the bottle down. “The bathroom is through here.”
The suite was indeed spacious, with an open-air design and sleek, modern furnishings, but it had only one full bathroom. He walked her to the double doors leading to his bedroom and stopped, even though she continued inside.
After a few steps in, she turned. She was chewing her bottom lip with a keen anxiety he’d never seen in her before—not even when they were hiding from armed robbers.
“You don’t want to join me?” she asked.
“Oh, I want to join you,” he said. “But if I do, there’s no telling how many hours will elapse until you get that brandy, and neither one of us will sleep for a long time.”
She licked her lips and Alex felt his control slip a notch.
“Maybe I don’t want to sleep,” she said, her fingers artfully releasing the buttons of her blouse. She slipped the silky material off her shoulders, revealing a satiny bra that pushed her breasts up into the impressive curves that had driven him mad for weeks. His mouth watered as she twisted her hands behind her and worked the zipper of her skirt. “Maybe I want to forget this whole day ever happened. Maybe I’m the kind of woman who, with the right man, finds her second wind.”
He didn’t speak, but watched in reverent silence while she wiggled out of her skirt. Underneath, she wore silk stockings with tight garters and panties that were nothing more than a triangle of transparent material. Without another word, she turned toward the bathroom, leaving him reeling from the unhampered and mouthwatering view of her sweet, bare derriere.
Blood rushed through Alex’s system, flooding his body with unbearable heat and heady, irrevocable desire. He tore at his collar and released his tie, nearly choking himself in his haste. His shirt would need the buttons replaced, but he didn’t care. Only when he started to unbuckle his slacks did he pause. A weight slapped on his thigh from inside his pocket.
With a curse, he retrieved the ring.
Hell of a lot of good it had done him today when the thieves had broken into the auction house. Maybe if he’d worn the gaudy thing instead of stashing it out sight, he’d have thought of something more valiant to do than block the door with a heavy piece of furniture and follow Lucienne into a filthy hole in the wall.
At least he had looked for a weapon—which was an odd reaction for him, now that he thought about it. In his entire lifetime, he couldn’t remember a situation where he’d ever needed to protect himself. Alex considered himself a lover, not a fighter. Yet when faced with gunfire and sirens, he’d been ready, willing and able to take up arms to protect Lucienne.
Had the ring brought out this unexpected side of him…or the woman?
From the bathroom, he heard the state-of-the-art, multi-head shower turn on and Lucienne’s audible moan. She was naked now—the delectable lingerie abandoned, her flesh exposed beneath powerful jets that he knew from experience could pound out stress and inhibition with heated precision.
So why the hell was he still out here?
On impulse, he slipped the Murrieta ring onto his finger. For a few seconds, he waited—as if anticipating a change or sudden urge to don a black mask and cape and charge into the night to right the wrongs of humanity. And yet, the only thing he wanted to do was join Lucienne in the shower. So that’s what he did.
Thanks to the dozen jets pulsing from the walls, ceiling and floor of the übermodern shower, the bathroom had already filled with steam. She’d draped her lacy underthings on a towel bar, and as he walked by, he brushed his fingers over the sexy silk.
Through the glass tiles, he spied her nude silhouette, her arms up as she soaked her hair, her back arched so that her buttocks rounded and the tips of her breasts jutted as if in offering. Despite the humidity in the room, his mouth dried. When he’d decided to release Lucienne from her contract so that they could pursue a personal relationship, he’d never imagined they’d come this far, this fast. He couldn’t help but glance one last time at the ring. If making love to Lucienne wasn’t the grandest adventure he’d ever undertaken, he didn’t know what was.
On the surface, she was everything he desired in a woman. Beautiful, intelligent, educated and resourceful. But now that the chains of her servitude to him—or more accurately, to the auction house—had been released, he’d picked up hints of an even more fascinating woman underneath her professional persona. She could be querulous and stubborn, seductive, yet shy. He’d spotted the seams of her true self and could not wait to peel aside the layers.
He removed the last of his clothes and paused outside the shower to adjust the computerized controls. She’d set the temperature to an intense 130 degrees and had employed all twelve showerheads, but she’d left the more imaginative features alone. With a couple of adjustments, the lighting in the shower transformed from warm gold to an intense cobalt blue. Then he engaged the sound system so that the lights pulsed to the music piped in from the other room.
Startled, she opened her eyes just as he came around the wall.
“Alejandro?”
“You did invite me,” he said.
Her surprised expression melted to pure, undeniable pleasure. “And here I thought I was going to have to depend only on the water to satisfy my needs.”
He closed the space between them until the spray from the showerheads dampened his skin. “I will give you everything you need, mi tesoro. My treasure. You only have to ask.”
She slid her slick arms around his neck, and then tugged him fully beneath the water. “Then kiss me, Alejandro. Kiss me and make me forget this horrible day.”
He complied, his cock thick against her body as she pulled up hard against him. He filled his hands with her luscious culo and lifted her a few inches so that her mouth met his without water streaming across their faces. The friction of her skin against his sex and the increasingly searing water pushed him past any thoughts of slow, measured seduction. His needs synched with the atmosphere in the shower: he wanted her hard, hot and from every direction imaginable.
He lifted her higher and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Their tongues clashed hungrily and he was hardly aware that he had pressed her against the far wall until she cried out in pleasure.
As much as he wanted to drive into her, he pulled back, untangling her hands from where she’d clutched the dripping strands of his hair and guided them around the showerhead directly above her head.
“Sí, sí,” he encouraged before he slid his hands down over her hips and then up her sides, exploring her wet curves with the appreciation and expertise. “I want to see every inch of you. Taste every inch of you.”
He kissed a path down her throat, loving the feel of her panting breaths beneath his lips. While he explored the tastes and textures of her collarbone, he cupped her breasts. Heavy and full, her flesh responded instantly to his touch.
When he brushed his thumbs over her nipples, she said, “Oh, yes, Alejandro. Yes.”
At her urging, he took her into his mouth. With one flick of his tongue, she started to writhe, her body undulating against the tile with rhythmic, serpentine movements that brought to mind the most intuitive of dances—ritualistic and sexual. Torn between watching her move and spurring further expression of her pleasure, he continued to lave and tease her breasts until she’d dropped one hand from the showerhead and plunged it back into his hair, tugging at the strands and encouraging him to alternate his sucks and licks with nips and bites.
She was so responsive, so needy, so intensely hungry for him that he couldn’t deny her a single pleasure. He dropped to his knees and adjusted the side showerheads so that they splashed across her body while he explored her navel with his tongue.
He kissed a scattered path down her pelvis, across to her hips and thighs, then lifted her foot at the ankle and paid homage to the back of her knee before slinging her leg over his shoulder. He swiped
water from his eyes, clearing the misty steam from his view so he could drink in every inch of her swollen pink flesh. Waxed clean and smooth, she was a blank canvas on which he could ply his deft art. With his fingers first and then his tongue, he explored every visible crevice and fold, drinking in the moisture that had nothing to do with the shower.
“Oh, Alejandro,” she breathed. “Please.”
She wanted release—and he wanted to give it to her. His sex throbbed for the tightness her body promised. The friction. The heat. But he couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of tipping her over the edge with nothing but his tongue.
With his fingers, he parted her flesh and blew one cool breath across her clitoris. On her gasp, he applied maximum pressure and suction until she pulled so hard on his hair, it hurt. But he didn’t care. He wanted to feel her come undone, his mouth on the source, his fingers intensifying every sensation until her screams echoed against the tile, only to be swallowed by the steam.
He continued his kisses until her quaking and quivering subsided. Then he eased her foot back to the floor, careful to bolster her with his hands on her hips as he blazed a path up her body, stopping only when he reached her mouth. “I can’t…believe…”
“You were a feast for my senses, querida,” he said, unable to resist pressing against her so she could feel his full, rigid length. “Your body is so fine-tuned. So sensitive to the touch.”
“Your touch,” she said between gasps.
His chest swelled even as she pulled his face to hers and kissed him with a desperation that belied her very recent orgasm.
“I want you, Alejandro. Inside me.”
“I have no pro—”
“I don’t care,” she said, reaching between them to encircle his sex with her hand. Her grip, tight and insistent on his wet skin, detonated an explosive need that made his vision swim. He braced himself, allowing her to stroke and tug until he could hardly form a coherent thought.
He dug deep, beyond wanting, and pulled back enough so that he could gaze directly into her lusty gaze. “I care.”
Her hold slackened, but she did not release him. “What?”
Tangled in her hair, the emerald stone on his right hand caught the hazy blue LED light and sparkled back in bold, vibrant turquoise. The ring couldn’t make him a saint, but if it kept him from making a mistake, he was thankful.
He turned off the water, snatched the nearest towel, wrapped her in it and lifted her into his arms. “If we stop long enough to get protection, then I will have to make you hot for me all over again. Any objection?”
7
LUCY HAD ENTERTAINED so many private fantasies about Alejandro, she’d figured reality could never top the dream. She’d been so, so wrong. As he lifted her into his arms—arms with much more muscle than she’d guessed would exist under his stiff, stark white shirts—she’d felt as light as air and as hot as molten gold.
With one free hand, he turned off the shower, and then set her down inside a patterned tile circle set just outside the stall. The combination of the dark blue lights and the languor of her orgasm made it hard to see precisely what he was doing when he tapped the computerized controls on the wall. Then a bright red column of light streamed down on her, blinding her with color and blazing her with warmth.
He helped her wrap her sopping hair in another towel and then proceeded to help the drying lamp along by dabbing her softly with a large, cotton bath sheet that was probably big enough to cover them both.
“Alejandro,” she said, aware of the longing in her voice. She couldn’t remember the last time such a glorious orgasm hadn’t completely satisfied her, but instead left her wanting more. Truth was, she couldn’t remember ever coming so hard. With the blue lights and the hot water, he’d given her a concentration of pleasure she’d never experienced, but took nothing for himself. Even now, when she was half ready to lie down on the cold tile so he could pump into her, he instead brushed the towel lightly over her shoulders and down her arms, humming his appreciation as if she were a sculpture by Michelangelo rather than a living, breathing woman who was on the verge of spontaneous combustion.
“Alejandro, please.”
“Shh,” he admonished. “I want to dry every inch of you before I get you wet again.”
He smoothed the towel down her spine. The soft friction created a shivering sensation that had nothing to do with the cold. The orange-red glow from above had already amped up the temperature of her skin so that the damp towel felt like an icy respite from the intense heat.
When he dried her bum, he dropped to his knees and manipulated the towel over her flesh until she wanted to scream in frustration. If he just dipped the towel a little lower, if she just parted her legs a little farther, he might accidentally touch her where she most wanted it. Her heartbeat pounded between her legs, torturing her with pulses of need only he could assuage.
But instead, he dropped to his knees and kissed her, first high on her rump, then lower, until his lips adored the sensitive curve between her backside and her thigh.
“You’re so perfect,” he said, grasping her flesh possessively before he resumed his ministrations by swiping the towel in long, slow strokes up and down her legs.
“Not perfect,” she argued, but without any force of will. At this moment, she imagined herself the most beautiful woman in the world, not because he told her—but because he showed her in the way he touched her, as if the sweet slowness was a kind of worship.
When he crawled around in front of her, she forced herself to look down. He’d said he’d do everything to her a second time. Was he serious?
The wicked look in his eyes made her body tighten from the center of her sex to the tips of her breasts. Tiny beads of sweat formed beneath her hair. She leaned over to disengage the heat lamp, and when she turned back to him, he made good on his promise, locking his mouth onto her and sucking her sex until her knees buckled.
She braced her hands on his shoulders, seriously afraid she might fall, though she suspected if she did, she wouldn’t feel any pain. Primed from his slow and sensual drying, she embraced the feel of his tongue parting her labia, discovering her clit and then toggling it with swift, vibrating flicks. When he slipped a finger inside her, she lost all rational thought. She transformed into a creature of pure, undiluted need. With her hips, she matched the in-and-out rhythm of his hand and mouth until she reached the precipice between rapture and release. Without fear, she jumped, soaring with a cry that reverberated against the solid, tile walls.
“Oh, my,” she said when he stood, catching her as she collapsed against him. “I can’t—I can’t breathe.”
“I always make good on my promises, querida.” He swept a kiss across her temple.
“Yes, you do. You really do.”
Unable to focus her vision and only marginally able to speak in anything above a whisper, she surrendered to a swirl of colors as he lifted her into his arms again. This time, he carried her straight to bed.
While she nestled beneath the comforter and willed her nerve endings to return to a normal state, he disappeared then came back with an overnight bag that he tossed onto the nightstand. He padded through the suite, dousing all the lights until the shine from the city through the windows provided a sexy, uncertain glow. He dug into his bag and retrieved a trio of condoms.
She took a deep breath, and then tested her ability to speak.
“You came prepared,” she said.
He slid into bed beside her. “A gentleman always comes prepared.”
The minute he brought his body heat into the cool sheets, Lucy surrendered to the undeniable fact that when it came to lovemaking, Alejandro Aguilar knew what he was doing. From her first orgasm in the shower and the second after his sensual towel work all the way to his carrying her to bed and having protection ready and available, he hadn’t missed a beat. In any other man, she would have questioned his motives—considered him too slick, too prepared…too much. But Alejandro donned the role of expert love
r with elegance. She couldn’t resist staring into his pitch-dark eyes and watching passion flame there while he ran his hand oh-so-lazily up her outer thigh.
“I could touch you all night,” he whispered.
“No one’s stopped you so far,” she replied.
“The same is true for you.”
His comment held just the right combination of challenge and chastisement to fuel her next move.
She’d been dying to fully explore his body, but so far, he’d made it impossible for her to think beyond her own needs. With his invitation, however, she drew a single finger around the shell of his ear, noticing how he flinched when she touched his earlobe.
What a wonderful place for him to have a sensitive spot.
She leaned forward and took the crescent of skin into her mouth, teasing him with her teeth and tongue while she smoothed her hand down his neck, across his muscular shoulders, down his chest, then across to his hip. His glutes were like stone. She couldn’t resist the urge to grab hold and squeeze hard, particularly when he started nibbling her shoulder and her over-sensitized nipples scraped across his chest hairs.
“You have such a beautiful body,” she said, curving her hand up his spine. Even his back was muscled. He wasn’t bulky or stocky, but lean and hard. Like a runner. Like a lover’s dream.
“Gracias,” he said, closing his eyes as her hand skimmed across his abdomen and then followed the prickly trail from his navel to his cock. “How much would you appraise me for?”
She laughed as she explored, but nearly forgot the question when he cupped her breasts and softly traced the ring of her areola with his thumb. The sensation was lazy and unfocused—and deliciously intimate.
“I’m no expert in what men are going for these days.”
She brushed her fingers lightly over his penis, which pulsed in response. He was thick and hard and long—the perfect size, in her estimation—with definitely an exquisite texture. His flesh felt like hot silk beneath her palm, his balls full, warm sacs that she fondled and caressed until his lids drifted closed in the beginnings of ecstasy.