by Hebby Roman
“I’ve enjoyed knowing you, Adriana. I wish you all the success and—”
He didn’t get any further. Brushing his hand aside, she rose on tiptoe and fastened her mouth to his. Groaning in the back of his throat, he took her offering, unable to push her away. Their mouths fused, devouring each other.
The kiss went on and on, hot and wet and filled with mutual hunger. She opened her mouth, and he didn’t hesitate to plunge his tongue inside.
He knew they were fast becoming the local spectacle. He registered the murmurs and chuckles of other hotel guests, ebbing and flowing around them, getting on and off the elevators. But he couldn’t stop, couldn’t tear himself from her.
Adriana was the one who broke their kiss, as abruptly as she’d initiated it, to whisper, “I want to kiss you properly, in privacy, please. Can we go to your room?”
#
As soon as Rafael closed the door behind them, Adriana flew into his arms and offered her mouth again. She’d meant it when she’d told him she wanted to kiss him properly. And even better, when they were kissing, they couldn’t talk. No more talk. No more discussion of the futures. All that interested her was the here and now.
All she wanted was to melt into his strong arms, taste his hot mouth, and feel his hard lean body pressed against hers. Nothing else mattered. Rafael revered words, believed they expressed people’s true feelings, but words could be a trap. A finely meshed net to ensnare and enslave, take away your freedom and give you nothing in return.
She didn’t know what that meant exactly or where the realization had come from, and she didn’t care. All she cared about at this moment was Rafael holding her.
Her fingers tightened around his neck, brushing the silky ends of his hair. She mated her mouth and tongue with his, demanding and giving, wanting more—wanting to be closer, skin against skin, flesh against flesh.
With a will of their own, her fingers found the buttons of his shirt, worrying them free, parting them until a triangle of his bronzed chest appeared, lightly dusted with black, curly hair. She scored her fingernails there, branding him, delighting in the feel of him under her fingertips: the rock-hard muscles of his chest, the ridged, masculine lines of him.
He lifted his hands and caressed her breasts through the thin fabric of her dress, molding them to fit his hands, rubbing the material over her nipples. Arching her back, she begged for more. Her breasts heated under his touch, swelling with need, growing rounder and fuller, heavy with passion. Her nipples hardened and peaked, straining against the lace of her bra.
She pulled his shirt open and freed it from his trousers. He broke their kiss to undo his cuffs and shrug out of the shirt, letting it drift to the floor in a crumpled heap.
Her gaze traveled over his bare chest, drinking in the sight of him, the masculine lines and planes, the ridges of muscles. Just looking at him set her heart pounding, her blood racing. She laid her head against his naked chest and listened to his heartbeat, strong and sure, a rapid trip-hammer, throbbing with excitement.
His arms welcomed her, enfolding her while his lips strayed down her throat, kissing and nuzzling. His tongue followed, licking and stroking, setting her blood on fire. His hands were busy at her back, and she heard the rasp of her zipper parting. A gust of cool air touched her bare back, and she shivered.
Hot and then cold, sensations piling on top of one another, mounting, building inside of her, driving her to a frenzy—to that mindless place where her brain shut down, and her body’s senses took over. At this one moment in time, she lived for sensations only, for the touch of his hands, the heat of his kisses, the wet and rough caress of his tongue.
His hands bunched the hem of her dress, pulling it up while his fingertips roamed and explored, tracing the line of her hip. He paused at her breasts to knead them gently, stroking lightly over her nipples, making her scream silently for more.
OMG, she wanted to be naked---now.
She wanted him now ... to have his hands, his mouth, and his tongue roaming all her body, discovering her secrets and driving her to the edge of ecstasy. Oh, how she wanted that shimmering brink of insanity he’d driven her to at their picnic.
She pulled away from him, bracing herself against the circle of his arms. Her gaze locked with his deep brown eyes, and she grabbed the hem of her dress, lifting it over her head. He gasped, and his gaze traveled over her, as if he could drink her in. The pupils of his eyes darkened.
She stood proudly before him clothed in only her bra, panties, and high heels.
“Por Dios,” he whispered, his voice low with awe. “¡Qué belleza!” You’re so beautiful, so very beautiful. Like a dream, Adriana, like a dream.”
“I’m no dream, Rafael,” she said, moving closer. “Touch me, I’m real. I won’t disappear.”
He did as she asked, skimming his fingertips over her collarbone and the mounds of her breasts, tracing an imaginary line down her abdomen to the top of her panties. And when he cupped her woman’s mound, she couldn’t help but moan with pleasure.
Leaning into his hand, she gyrated her hips, pushing herself against him, straining toward that paradise she’d only glimpsed before.
But he surprised her by going down on his knees and moving his hands to run them over her legs, down and back again, up and down, tracing the contour of her calf muscles, lingering at the sensitive spot behind her knees. He brought his hands up again, between her legs this time, tantalizing her, teasing her, circling close but not touching her there again.
She swayed slightly on her feet, drowning in desire. Kicking off her shoes, she bent her knees, arching into his touch, craving it, burning up with it. His fingers worked their magic, bringing every nerve ending alive in her body with a quivering need. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. Reaching behind her back, she unfastened her bra, allowing her breasts to swing free.
He gazed at her breasts, his dark eyes liquid pools of desire. He lifted one hand and gently cupped the flesh of her breast while his other hand moved to her panties, slowly peeling them down. Tenderly, he stroked the flesh of her legs, leaving a searing path on her sensitized skin. Her panties puddled at her feet, and she kicked them aside.
Now she was naked, completely naked, giving herself to the man whom she desired more than anyone in the world.
Kneeling at her feet, he said, “There are no words, Adriana, no words I can say. Except I want you so much I could die.”
“Don’t want, take,” she said. “Please, make love to me.”
Groaning, he buried his face in the triangle of her curls. When his mouth pressed against that most intimate part of her, desire streaked through her like a summer storm—hot and bright, a thunderclap of desire, a lightning bolt of passion. Her knees turned to jelly, and she stumbled, grabbing his shoulder so she wouldn’t fall.
He grasped her and held onto her tightly, one arm encircling her buttocks. His clever fingertips found her clitoris and he played with that most intimate part of her, stroking and caressing her.
She leaned into him, twining her hands in his wavy hair to steady herself, offering herself on the altar of their desire. His fingers fell away suddenly, as he grasped her buttocks tighter and buried his face in that most secret part of her.
Gasping, she almost dissolved when she felt the hot adhesion of his mouth, sucking her clitoris gently, while his tongue explored the sensitive lips of her labia. A tornado of passion tore through her and she was crazed, molten and feverish. She tried to pull away, not knowing if she could stand it, the pure unadulterated bliss of his mouth on her.
He lifted his head. His dark eyes were glassy with passion. “Let me do this. Por favor, let me give you pleasure.” His hold on her buttocks tightened, and his other hand reached up to circle her nipple, plucking and pulling at the hardened point, pushing her to the edge.
She sagged against him, unable to protest further, unable to argue with both him and the demands of her body. She was slick and hot with desire. She could smell the musk o
f her own arousal. Her vaginal muscles contracted painfully, wanting release, begging for surcease.
His mouth and tongue were hot and wet against her again, tenderly exploring and stroking her clitoris, bringing her shuddering, shimmering pleasure, a pleasure so bright and so hot, it was like being swallowed by the sun—searing her and enflaming her.
OMG, she was burning up inside.
Heaven help her but she couldn’t stop grinding her hips against his mouth, taking his gift within her, accepting it fully, feverish with need, blazing with desire. The fire inside of her mounted and mounted, her pleasure taking wings, soaring, filling her, expanding endlessly. Until she exploded.
She screamed his name over and over, while she shattered into a thousand pieces, a thousand glorious pieces, as bright as the sun, raining softly down and down. Floating to earth gently, slowly, having touched heaven.
Rafael rose and stood beside her, tenderly cradling her in his arms. Triumph suffused him, triumph and a bold satisfaction, knowing that he’d pleasured her once again.
And now it was his turn. Por Dios, he’d waited for this, wanted it so much. And now he knew she wanted him, too. And that was enough for him, more than enough.
He lifted her pliant body in his arms and covered her mouth with his. With their lips fused together, he carried her to the bed and gently laid her there. He kicked off his shoes, unbuckled his belt, and unzipped his trousers. He stripped his trousers down, bringing his boxer shorts with them and stooping quickly to remove his socks.
As he towered above her, she reached out to him, her gaze lingering on his body. Lowering himself to lie beside her on the bed, he kissed her long and hard while his hands strayed over her, tracing the contours of her body again. Por Dios, how he loved the feel of her, the silken slide of her flesh against his, hot and slick. He wanted to memorize her body, to commit every curve, every line of her, to memory.
His mouth strayed downwards, capturing her breast, tenderly sucking, wanting to unravel her again, one inch at a time. He cupped her mound, gently stroking, going slowly this time and brushing lightly, teasing her desire, bringing it awake again. Bit by bit, his hands and mouth moved over her, igniting her passion to a feverish pitch once more.
And while he touched her, she began her own gentle exploration, as well, running her hands over his chest and buttocks, tracing lazy patterns on his thighs. When her hand closed around his penis, molten, throbbing pleasure poured through him, an ecstasy almost painful too to contain.
He gasped against the petal-soft skin of her throat. His heartbeat accelerated, and his breathing was a rasping pant. Her fingers closed, and she rubbed him up and down. The friction almost sent him over the edge. He could feel himself trembling, fighting to hold himself in check, wanting to drive himself into her body with a need so great it filled his mind, filled his senses.
And when she cupped his testicles in her hand, he went rigid with desire, growing harder and bucking against her. Groaning, he admitted, “I can’t take much more of this.”
“Then don’t. I’m ready. More than ready.”
He wanted to believe her because he couldn’t hold back, couldn’t wait any longer.
“Are you prepared to protect us?” she asked.
“Keep that thought,” he said, smiling at her. Leaning down, he scooped up his pants and found his wallet. Drawing out a foil package, he turned his back to her and readied himself.
When he joined her on the bed again, he positioned himself over her, capturing her mouth with his. He nudged at her thighs with his knee, and she opened to him. With one swift stroke, he entered her.
And she was ready. Hot and wet and sweet, so damnably sweet that he wanted to scream with mindless pleasure. The muscles of her vagina contracted around him, bringing him to the brink. He couldn’t stand much more, but he didn’t want to take and not give. He moved his right hand between their bodies and caressed the hardened nub of her clitoris.
She gasped and lifted her hips off the bed, bringing her legs up and crossing them over his back. He moaned deep in his throat and began the rhythm, the rocking sensuous movement, as old as time itself. She matched his rhythm, moving with him, thrust for thrust.
The room and bed receded, mere phantoms, wisps of smoke. There was no one else in the world, just the two of them, intimately joined together, their bodies giving and receiving pleasure. He drove deeper, harder into her, wanting them to be as one, one flesh.
A waterfall of pleasure spread through him, sending trails of molten fire pouring down his spine. White-hot bursts of ecstasy ricocheted through his body, bringing him to a shuddering release. At the same moment, he felt her climax, intensifying their shared bliss and making them one, as he’d desired.
He collapsed against her and she welcomed the awkward weight of him as he tenderly nuzzled her neck. Slick with perspiration, they lay twined together, skin pressed against skin, the musky scent of spent sex surrounding them, their bodies clinging, while they tenderly held each other.
For Rafael, this was the sweetest moment of all, with her curled in his arms, having shared what they’d shared. Closing his eyes, he savored the moment, wanting it to last forever.
#
He must have dozed off, Rafael realized, waking with a start. Adriana lay nestled in his arms, sound asleep. Carefully, so he wouldn’t disturb her, he bent backwards and glanced at the digital clock beside the bed. It was after three in the morning. She’d said tomorrow was a free day for her, and he wished she could stay with him.
They could rise late, he fantasized, take a shower together, soaping each other all over, and then make slow and sensual love. Thinking about it, he grew hard and stiff as a pole.
But he shook his head, knowing that Adriana lived at home with her father. It wasn’t meant to be. He had to think of her and her situation.
He brushed one silky, auburn curl from her cheek. She shifted slightly in his arms and murmured.
“Adriana,” he whispered. “Time to wake up, bella durmiente.”
She stiffened in his arms. Her eyes flew open, and he found himself staring into deep pools of violet-blue. Realization dawned on her, and she grasped the sheet, trying to pull it over her naked body.
He laid one hand on hers, wanting to calm her. Then he drew the sheet up. But she scooted backward on the bed, putting distance between them.
Was this how it was going to be?
Her gaze darted to the bedside clock. “It’s so late.”
“That’s why I woke you.”
He planted a kiss on her nose, but she brushed him away and leaped to her feet, dragging the sheet with her, covering herself, toga style.
“I’ve got to get dressed and get home. I hope Papá hasn’t called the police yet.”
“I certainly hope not.” He glanced up, noticing the widening of her eyes, the involuntary dilation of her pupils as her gaze swept his naked form. After all, she was the one who had pulled the sheet off the bed. Sensing her discomfort, he teased, “Though, I wouldn’t mind a shotgun wedding, if it came to that.”
Her head snapped up. “A what? What are you talking about?”
He held his hands out with the palms up. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything. Just a joke.”
“I haven’t time for joking around.”
She’d wound the sheet around herself and was frantically searching the floor for discarded pieces of clothing. When she found them, she headed for the bathroom without another word.
Crossing his arms behind his head, he settled against a pillow with a sigh. So that was how it was. Nothing had changed between them.
So much for shared passion.
So much for hoping their intimacy might change her and make her realize how much they desired each other, how much they meant to each other.
He laughed—a harsh sound. Based on the way Adriana had acted, he didn’t mean much more to her than a good lay. But if he was any judge of women, which he probably wasn’t, considering his track record, he was certain sh
e’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her.
Maybe his brother had been right. Maybe that was what this infatuation thing was all about, just a roll in the hay to dispel their mutual sexual tension.
Maybe for her.
Not for him.
Chapter Eight
Rafael lifted his head and removed his glasses to rub his eyes. Glancing outside, he was surprised night had fallen. It was spring, but the days were still short. And the nights were long.
Too long—endless without Adriana.
On the outside, nothing had changed. He’d slipped back into his world at home: going to class, giving lectures, and grading papers. Working was the only sure way that he could lose himself and forget how much he missed her. Today, after his regular office hours, he’d locked himself in his office and graded his students’ research papers. And he’d managed to forget for a time, oblivious to the hours slipping by.
But as soon as he stopped working, his thoughts inevitably turned to her. He wondered what she was doing, and how school was going for her. He worried that high rollers were making passes at her and being disrespectful. Shaking his head, he should know better, it was none of his concern.
He grabbed his cell phone off the desk and started to punch in her contact number. His finger hovered over the tiny keyboard. He put his cell back on the desk. He’d wanted to call her a million times during the past two weeks, but he hadn’t. He’d texted a couple of times, just to say “hi.” And she’d texted him back with a brief, impersonal reply. Those ‘non-contacts’ left him hungry for more, for the chance to talk with her. But he just couldn’t bring himself to call her. Maybe he was a coward.
Exasperated, he picked up his cell again and punched her contact name, but before the other end started ringing, he hung up, telling himself it was too late to call her at work, though it was two hours earlier in Vegas.