Husband Heel (Husband #3)

by Louise Cusack

  But I wanted the kiss, even if it was a brief slide of his lips over mine before he pulled back. I noticed then that his chest was rising and falling more rapidly than it should, but my pulse was so loud in my ears I had trouble concentrating.

  “I didn’t deserve that,” he said softly. “But thank you for letting me kiss you.”

  I licked my lips and nodded, telling myself to speak, but I was so dazzled by the riot of sensations racing through me, overlaying the throb of arousal that was always there in his presence. Finally, however, I managed to say something I’d rehearsed. “I want you to know I’m not angry anymore about what happened when Marcus died.”

  He seemed surprised and it took him a moment to say, “That’s very gracious of you—”

  “I don’t understand it,” I cut in. “But it helped to distract me from grief.”

  “I see.” Several expressions chased themselves over his expressive face, and I suddenly realized he wasn’t hiding behind his bodyguard ‘face’. He was being as honest as he could be with me.

  So I added, “I didn’t give you the chance to explain. That wasn’t fair.”

  He gazed at me a few moments longer, then said, “Can we go to dinner?”

  I felt some of my arousal falter. “Of course.” Was he hungry?

  “It’s just…” His gaze flicked behind me and then he refocused on my eyes. “There’s a bed behind you and I…” He shook his head. “I can’t think about anything other than what’s under those beautiful clothes.” His gaze drifted down, to linger on my breasts, my hips, then down my legs to my ankles and the slender heels that suddenly wobbled beneath me as the full force of my own arousal threatened to topple me.

  My suite in the convent was Spartan, with only a wardrobe, a desk an adjoining private bathroom and a bed that was wide and clean. Every night I’d lain on those simple cotton sheets fantasizing about having Nicholas with me.

  In me.

  And I knew that a word from me would allow that.

  Or at least that’s what I thought until Nicholas took a single step forward and pulled me into his arms, wiping away my memory of the chaste kiss he’d just given me with the hot, sweet onslaught of his tongue against mine as he ran both hands into my hair, scattering my careful curls as he turned me and pinned me against the door with his body, kissing me until I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

  “Tell me to stop,” he breathed against my lips as his hands came down to caress my shoulders, then slid to my upper chest. “Tell me I don’t deserve to touch you.”

  But I shook my head and arched my back, wanting more, and when one of his hands closed over a breast I moaned softly, feeling the tingles of pleasure radiate down under my ribs, all the way to my clitoris which I could feel throbbing, waiting, wanting.

  But instead of rushing to pleasure, his kiss became slower, more persuasive, as if he’d realized there was no fight in me and he was controlling my arousal, pulling my shirt out of my skirt and running his hands up under it, onto my bra, then around to unclip it.

  When I felt his fingers slide under the bra and across my nipples, I moaned into his mouth, wanting everything he could give me and not caring about whatever would follow. The craving to have him inside me burned, and I barely noticed when he took off my shirt and my bra, pressing me back against the door and replacing the cool air on my skin with his mouth.

  By the time his lips reached my breast, the nipple was so hard it ached, and his hot tongue sliding over it made me shudder as pleasure washed up on me like waves on a shoreline. Then he sucked the hard nipple and I was moaning again, barely able to stand.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “So perfect.”

  “I want you inside me,” I panted, thinking nothing could be more important than that.

  He licked the nipple, making me shudder in his arms again, and then looked up at me, his eyes so dark they glittered with arousal. “I know,” he said. “But you’ll have to wait.”

  I shook my head, but he simply went back to licking and suckling on my breasts. His hands must have been working on the zip of my skirt, however, because a moment later I felt him sliding if off my hips.

  “Fuck,” he whispered, crouched in front of me, at eye level with my black lace g-string and garter belt. His hands ran down the sides of my legs, over the fine denier stockings, then up the backs to rest on my bare ass cheeks. His eyes closed briefly as he fingers tightened, then he said quietly, “Tell me that no one else has been here. Tell me it’s only me, even if that’s not true.”

  My throat was dry from panting, but I forced myself to say, “It is true. You are my only lover.”

  He looked up into my eyes and inside the beautiful jacket I could see his chest rising and falling. “You can’t imagine how much I want to fuck you. Against this door. Right now. The convent could be burning down and they’d have to turn a hose on me to get me off you.”

  I wanted him so badly I was trembling.

  “Do it,” I demanded, but he shook his head.

  His fingers tightened on my ass, and I had to close my eyes because I was too confused by all the feelings sweeping over me. Colors were swimming around behind my eyelids, then he slid my G-string down and said, “Step out of it.”

  My legs wobbled badly, but I kept my eyes closed and did as I was told, then I felt his tongue questing between those downy blond curls and I started to quake. His mouth was hot and the sensations were so wet and lush that I felt as if I was unravelling as the pleasure spiraled around inside me, loosening every clenched muscle and spreading a honeyed languor into every crevice.

  He seemed to know exactly how to touch me, gently caressing my ass as his tongue slid over and around my clitoris so lazily I wanted to scream. But instead I leant back on the door and panted, spreading my arms out wide to support me.

  Inside my mind I could hear a voice saying, You love this. You love him. But I ignored it to surrender to the pleasure he was so confidently bestowing on me. And when it pushed me close to the edge and I suddenly realized I was about to have a noisy orgasm in a convent, I stiffened, wanting, belatedly to think this through, but he simply clenched my buttocks tightly and drove me over.

  And there was no sense in me then. The pleasure smashed into me, shaking me where I stood and I could do nothing to stop the moan that morphed into a squeal as the sensations peaked and he didn’t stop—he drove me along the top of that amazing orgasm until it was just too much and I opened my eyes. The room swam in front of me as I put my hands on his head and said, “No…stop.”

  And then thankfully he pulled back, but I wobbled so badly he transferred his hands to my waist, holding me against the door as he stood, still fully dressed while I trembled before him in black garters, stockings and heels.

  His eyes were still dark, but now they were possessive, as if the territorialism he’d talked about had been re-established and I was now his. I’d told him that. He’d just proven it. No other man could undo me like he could, and I suddenly wanted him to know that.

  So I licked my lips and said, “Every time you touch me, it’s better. Stronger. And it’s not just sex.”

  “I know.”

  He pulled me off the door and held me up, kissing me, and I tasted myself on his lips as he claimed me. There was no other way to describe the kiss, and despite the orgasm that had turned me liquid, I felt stirrings of arousal again. There was something primeval about the scent of sex, and I suddenly realized I wanted to taste him.

  But before I could suggest that, he swung me up into his arms and carried me to the bed, laying me carefully onto the crisp white sheets. Then he stood over me, gazing down at me, his chest rising and falling—as if he’d had the orgasm, and not me.

  “You know I’m in love with you,” he said softly, and I nodded. The fact that he hadn’t rushed toward his own pleasure, when I was clearly willing, spoke volumes. And even if I hadn’t noticed the way he looked at me, I could feel love in his gentle touch, and hear it in the ro
ughness of his tone. “There are few things I’ve been frightened of in my adult life, but I’m terrified of losing you.”

  He was frowning so earnestly, I wanted to say I do love you, but I suddenly wasn’t sure. What if it was all about sex? I was so dazzled by that orgasm I could barely think.

  “Say something,” he demanded.

  “I didn’t love Marcus.”

  That made his frown deepen.

  “I was fond of him. But I didn’t feel…what I feel with you.”

  “Desire?”

  I nodded.

  “So this might be just about sex for you.” He was drawing conclusions, and I wanted to contradict him, to say I wasn’t sure, but before I could, he said, “So I’d better make it good.”

  Then I didn’t want to talk, because he was stripping off his jacket, and watching me as he loosened his tie and took that off as well. It was unutterably sexy to watch him divest himself of the civilized veneer he’d clad for my benefit, and when his shirt came off and I saw the breadth of his golden chest and that swirling tattoo on one bicep, I caught my breath.

  There was something determined in his gaze now, and anticipation built inside me as he shed the rest of his clothing, finally standing beside me gloriously naked and with an erection that daunted me until I remembered that there had been no pain in the panic room, only pleasurable stretching.

  “Promise me a week,” he demanded, slipping off my shoes and then leaning over to spread kisses across my thighs as he unclipped my stockings and removed them, along with the garter belt.

  I could barely breathe because the feather-light touches were like sparks of electricity, tickling and teasing and worming their way inside to stir my so-recently sated flesh.

  “Louella?”

  “Yes,” I breathed willingly, captive to a craving that I knew instinctively would heal me. Mental and emotional turbulence had pushed me too close to the edge of what I could bear. To pull myself back, I needed to concentrate on the physical. Nicholas could do that to me. He could satisfy my needs. So I said, “I don’t want to talk about the future or the past. I just want to be here, with you, now.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, climbing onto the bed. “I won’t give you time to think. I just want you to feel.” Then he was looming over me, pushing my legs apart with his knees so he could nudge his erection against my clitoris. That gave me a jolt of pleasure, then he slid the tip back and forth over my slippery flesh, setting off a firestorm of sensation while he kissed me, first waking my mouth to pleasure, and then returning to my breasts to lick and suck and nibble me into melting submission.

  My hands were restless so I ran my fingers into his hair, pulling sometimes when I arched my back, unable to stop myself making inarticulate sounds deep in my throat. He was working me toward an orgasm again and I craved it so badly, it seemed impossible that I’d only just had one.

  One of his hands ran down my side and then up over my midriff to cup a breast. “Your bones are so fine,” he said. “You can’t believe how much that turns me on.”

  He went back to licking and suckling on a nipple, and I started wriggling beneath him, pressing my pelvis up into him, wanting him inside me.

  “And that…” he said, rearing back to take my hands and push them over my head, locking his fingers through mine, “Is going to drive me insane.”

  I was panting, but I managed to say, “Don’t make me wait.”

  He closed his eyes briefly, and without a connection to that dark gaze I could notice that his shoulders were tense and his jaw appeared clenched.

  “I want you—”

  His eyes snapped open before I could finish. “I’m holding on by a thread here.” He swallowed and his gaze dropped to my breasts and then back up to my face. “From the moment you opened the door, my cock has been telling me to pound you so hard, I nail you to the mattress.”

  I blinked at him in surprise.

  “But my head is telling me that we both deserve more finesse than that.”

  He moved his hips, and I felt the tip of his penis slip down my labia to press against the opening and then slide inside, stretching me deliciously. I gazed up at him, still panting, my eyes widening as he pushed his hips forward, all the way in, somehow making my breasts tighten with tingling expectation.

  “Fuck,” he said again, but this time in wonder, then he shook his head. “I don’t ever want to be anywhere but here. In you.” He squeezed my fingers and then swallowed, as if he was holding some emotion in. “This is home, do you understand?”

  I nodded, because I could see it was true. When he gazed at me that way, making me feel as if I was a part of him, and he touched me with such pleasure, I couldn’t imagine anywhere else I wanted to be.

  So I said, “I love this,” and he kissed me, so sweetly I wanted to cry. I could feel his heart pouring through me, and I kissed him back with all the passion and the gratitude I could find.

  Then he pulled back to gaze at me as he started to move—in and out—stretching and rubbing me deliciously. I pulled on his hands because I wanted to touch him, to pull him down so I could rub myself up against him, but he just shook his head and held me pinned down as he drove into me, harder and faster.

  All I could so was wind my legs around him as the sensations built, holding him against me where it was rubbing deliciously, and whether it was because I’d just come—it all rushed back so fast I felt dizzy and my head fell back.

  Then I felt his lips on my throat, his breath hot as his hands clenched tighter on mine and without any warning, white light exploded in my brain, making me cry out again and buck up against him as the liquid pleasure roared around my body, spasming on and on until his own body stiffened above me and his groan of release was muffled against my neck.

  It took such a long time for my brain to settle down to any sort of normal recognition, and neither of us said anything, so apart from the odd car horn or Vespa roaring faintly in the distance, the only sound in the room was our harsh breathing.

  Then he said, “I know I have to stop swearing, but fuck.” He kissed my forehead, then let my hands go and carefully rolled us over so I was sprawled across his much larger frame. I lay atop him limply, every bone in my body liquid as I listened to his husky voice. “If we could stop the world right now, and I could just have this hour over and over…” He ran his hands up my body, making it shiver with aftershocks, then he wrapped his arms around me and cuddled me close, surrounding me with those biceps I loved so much. “That would be my version of heaven.”

  It took effort, but I raised my head so I could gaze into those bottomless blue eyes. “I’m not sure the nuns would approve.”

  He grinned back at me, all white teeth and wicked sexiness. “You were very loud, Ms Chanel and Pearls. Just saying.”

  I leant down and bit his chin gently, then I kissed it, strangely pleased by his teasing. “I was provoked.”

  He raised an eyebrow as if he disbelieved me. “The devil made you do it?”

  “You’re no devil.” I kissed his tattoo, then rubbed my cheek against it. “You might try to look tough, but—”

  “I should never have told you that I loved you.” I looked up and he was shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Now you know you can twist me around your little finger.”

  “Can I?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’d like to say no, but I can’t imagine anything you’d ask that I’d refuse.”

  I stared at him, trying to process that.

  And couldn’t.

  Except for the fact that I loved my girls. I’d do anything for them.

  It made sense, only, I’d never imagined to have that relationship with a man.

  His smile grew wry. “I can see the cogs working in your brain, and the answer to the question that’s coming is, No, I don’t expect the same from you.”

  I shook my head. He was going too fast.

  But he merely kissed the tip of my nose. “I expect you to continue getting your own way,
exactly as you have all your adult life. Am I right?”

  I felt momentarily embarrassed, but I nodded. I had ordered my life so I could get my own way. Even helping the girls was always my decision, and felt like no sacrifice to me.

  “So,” he went on. “Seeing as I’m putty in your small and very capable hands, I expect that you’ll boss me around relentlessly, and as long as I get my own way in the bedroom—which I’m sure you won’t complain about,” he added with a very sexy smile, “then all will be well.”

  I wasn’t sure about that, and when I made no reply he said, “Don’t think about the future or the past. These are your rules. We’re just having a holiday, mostly without clothes on.”

  That made me laugh. “There’s no room service at the convent,” I reminded him. “We’ll have to go out to eat.”

  “We could move to The Midas? That way I could lock away your clothes…” He trailed off, frowning at me because I must have had some expression on my face.

  I was thinking that no one knew us at the convent, but if we stayed in one of the big hotels in town, we’d risk running into someone I knew.

  “Okay,” he said, and rolled me carefully onto my back so he could sit beside me in the bed, not bothering to cover anything with the sheet. “What’s going on? I mention The Midas and…? Did you think I was expecting you to pay?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  My frown deepened, because I was happy to shower money on the girls if they would let me, but it would never occur to me to pay when I was with a man—I was old-fashioned that way and Marcus had reinforced that habit. There was no getting around the fact, however, that I had luxurious tastes and Nicholas was on a bodyguard’s wage. “It’s an expensive hotel,” I said, as if he wouldn’t know.

  “How expensive?” he replied, as if he was humoring me.

  I shrugged. “Somewhere from 1,500 to 20,000 Australian dollars a night.” It was a far cry from the two hundred dollars we were paying at the convent, although I had also given them a healthy donation to their fund for supporting local unwed mothers.

  He didn’t bat an eyelash at the rate, which surprised me greatly. And after watching me for a moment longer, he asked, “You don’t think I can afford that?”