Читать книгу Contracted As His Cinderella Bride - Heidi Rice - Страница 12

‘I DISCOVERED WHERE my housekeeper hides the medical supplies,’ Ally’s host announced as he strolled into the large study on the first floor and placed a red box on the mahogany desk.

Ally swallowed down the lump of anxiety in her throat. She wrapped her arms around her midriff, but remained rooted to her spot by the room’s large mullioned windows.

How did Dominic have the ability to suck all the oxygen out of the room simply by walking into it?

At least she was warm and clean and dry now. Unfortunately, the oversized sweatpants and top that smelled of him, which she’d found in the guest bedroom next door—after taking the world’s fastest shower in the en-suite wet room—still put her at a huge disadvantage.

In her bare feet, he towered over her, his suit trousers and white shirt perfectly tailored to accentuate his lean, well-muscled body.

‘I see you found some dry clothes.’ He studied her makeshift outfit in a way that made her feel like a street urchin playing dress-up before a king.

The intense look had her heart thundering harder against her ribs.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she said.

‘Is the leg still bleeding?’ The gruff question had goosebumps springing up all over her skin, despite the cosy cotton sweats.

‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘I took a shower to clean it. I’m sure it’s fine.’

‘We’ll see,’ he said, sounding doubtful. He beckoned her with one finger and indicated a large armchair in the corner of the room. ‘Sit down so I can inspect it.’

She debated arguing with him again, because goosebumps were rising on the goosebumps now at the thought of getting any closer to him. But she could see by the muscle twitching in his jaw he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

She crossed the room, trying not to limp, and sat in the chair. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner she could start breathing freely again.

To her astonishment he knelt down in front of her. She braced her hands on the arms of the chair as he opened the box, and began to rummage through the array of medical supplies.

How had this happened? How had she ended up playing doctor with Dominic LeGrand? In his billion-pound house? In the intimacy of his study? While wearing his sweats with virtually nothing under them?

The traitorous heat—which had been lodged in her belly ever since the dispatcher had said his name—throbbed and glowed at her core.

But this time, she replayed the pep talk she’d given herself in the shower.

Why should she feel ashamed of her reaction to him? They were both consenting adults. Dominic had always captivated her, even as a delinquent boy, and he was a world-renowned womaniser now. So she was bound to find him a little overwhelming—especially as she was so pathetically inexperienced with men.

Looking after her mother and keeping food on the table and a roof over both their heads hadn’t left her any time to date while she was at school. And after her mother died, trying to realise her dream of becoming a fashion designer and stop her finances from slipping into a black hole hadn’t increased her opportunities much. In fact, despite a few fumbling encounters, she was still a virgin. Which explained why she had such a violent reaction to someone as overwhelming as Dominic LeGrand.

Having rationalised her attraction, she watched him unobserved as he arranged a bandage and a packet of antiseptic wipes on the side table.

Even when he was on his knees, his head was almost level with hers. The light from the lamp behind her caught the streaks of gold in his tawny hair. She could make out the scar on his brow, the one she’d wondered about often when they were children. How had he got it?

His shoulders flexed, stretching the seams of his shirt, as he reached down to cradle her heel in his palm.

She jumped, sensation sprinting up her leg and sinking deep into her sex as callused fingers gripped her ankle.

‘Does that hurt?’ he asked, his chocolate gaze locking on her face.

‘No, it’s just...’ No man has ever touched me there before. ‘I was just surprised.’ Who knew my ankle was an erogenous zone?

‘Okay.’ He frowned, but seemed to take the explanation at face value. ‘Let me know if it does hurt.’

She nodded, her whole foot humming as he gripped her heel and used his other hand to lift the leg of her sweatpants past her knee.

He hissed as the gash was revealed. It wasn’t too deep, more like a bad scrape where the pedal had dug into the skin, but it was still bleeding a little and there was some bruising visible around the wound.

‘Nasty,’ he murmured as he grabbed one of the antiseptic wipes with his free hand.

He ripped the small packet open with his teeth.

‘Do you know how you did it?’ he asked, dabbing at the wound.

‘I got in the way of your fiancée while she was leaving,’ she said.

His fingers tensed on her heel. ‘Mira did this?’ he said and she could hear the fury in his voice.

She nodded, wishing she could take the words back.

Why did you bring up his broken engagement?

He’d seemed pragmatic about it downstairs, but how did she know that wasn’t all an act? Like the act he had put on as a boy, when his father had referred to him as ‘my bastard son’ at the supper table, or the don’t-give-a-damn smile he’d sent her when she had witnessed Pierre backhand him across the face—and she’d tried to defend him.

‘Some people deserve to be hurt, ma petite.’

His father’s answer still haunted her.

No one deserved to be hurt, least of all Dominic, who had seemed to her back then—despite that don’t-give-a-damn bravado—like a lost boy, jealously guarding secrets he refused to share.

What if he was just as hurt about his broken engagement? And his anger now was only there to disguise that hurt?

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘Upset me?’ The flash of anger was replaced by an incredulous look. ‘What could you have done to upset me?’

‘By bringing up the end of your engagement. I didn’t mean to remind you of it. I’m sure it must be awful for you. The break-up?’

She was babbling, but she couldn’t help it, because he had settled back onto his heels and was staring at her as if she’d lost her mind.

‘Alison,’ he said and she could hear the hint of condescension. ‘In the first place, you haven’t upset me. She has, by her spoilt, unpleasant behaviour. She made you bleed...’

‘I’m sure it was an accident,’ she said, despite the warm glow at his concern.

‘Knowing Mira and her selfish, capricious temperament, I doubt that,’ he said. ‘And in the second place, the break-up has not upset me. The engagement was a mistake and the marriage would have been an even bigger one.’

‘But you must have loved her once?’ she said, then felt like a fool, when the rueful smile widened.

‘Must I?’ he said. ‘Why must I?’

‘Because... Because you were going to marry her?’ Wasn’t it obvious?

He tilted his head, and studied her. ‘I see you’re still as much of a romantic as you were at ten,’ he said, with much more than just a hint of condescension.

‘I wasn’t ten that summer, I was thirteen,’ she countered.

‘Really?’ he said, mocking her now. ‘So grown up.’

She shifted in her seat, supremely uncomfortable. It was as if he could see right past the bravado, the pretence of maturity, to the girl she’d been all those years ago when she’d idolised him. But she wasn’t that teenager any more, she was twenty-five years old. And maybe she didn’t have much relationship experience, but she had enough life experience to make up for it.

‘If I was a romantic then,’ she said, because maybe she had been, ‘I’m certainly not one now.’

‘Then why would you believe I was in love with Mira?’ he said, as if it were the most ridiculous thing in the world.

‘Maybe because you were planning to spend the rest of your life with her.’ She wanted to add a ‘Duh’ but managed to control it. The room was already full to bursting with sarcasm.

‘It wasn’t a love match,’ he said, the pragmatic tone disconcerting as he bent his head and continued tending her leg as he spoke. ‘I needed a wife to secure an important business deal and Mira fit the bill. Or so I thought. But even if I hadn’t discovered my mistake in time, the marriage was only supposed to last for a few months.’

‘Your marriage had a sell-by date?’ she asked, shocked by the depth of his cynicism.

‘I might have been misguided enough to propose to Mira,’ he said, smiling at her as he grabbed the bandage on the side table. ‘But I would never be foolish enough to shackle myself to her, or any woman, for life.’

‘I see,’ she said, although she really didn’t.

He’d always been guarded, and wary, even at sixteen. But had he always been this jaded?

One encounter blasted into her brain, when she’d caught him sitting in one of the chateau’s walled gardens, inhaling deeply on a cigarette after his father had goaded him at the lunch table, calling him a name in French she hadn’t really understood but had known was bad.

‘You shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for you. Papa will be angry.’

‘Go ahead and tell him if you want, Allycat. He won’t care.’

He’d had the same mocking smile on his face then as he had now, but she’d seen the sadness in his eyes—and had known his father’s insult had hurt him much more than he’d been letting on. There was no sadness in his eyes now, though, just a sort of rueful amusement at her naiveté.

He finished bandaging her leg.

‘All done.’ He ran his thumbs along her calf, and she shivered as a trail of fire was left by the light caress. ‘How does it feel?’

‘Good,’ she said and then flushed at his husky chuckle.

Had he sensed it wasn’t only her leg she was talking about?

A sensual smile curved his lips and her breath clogged in her lungs.

Yes, he did know.

‘Bien,’ he murmured, then grabbed the arms of the chair, caging her in for a moment as he levered himself to his feet.

Her heartbeat thundered into her throat and some other key parts of her anatomy as he offered her his hand.

‘Let’s try walking on it,’ he said.

She placed her fingers in his palm, but as she got to her feet the warm grip had the sweet spot between her thighs becoming heavy and hot.

She tested her leg as he led her across the room.

‘Still good?’ he asked, still smiling that knowing smile.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Still good.’ And couldn’t resist smiling back at him.

Maybe it was dangerous to flirt with him—if that was what they were doing. But she’d never had much of a chance to flirt with anyone before. And certainly not someone as gorgeous as he was.

And let’s not forget the massive crush you had on him once upon a time, her subconscious added, helpfully.

‘How about that drink?’ he asked as he let her hand go, to walk to the liquor cabinet in the bookshelves.

She ought to say no. But she was feeling languid and a little giddy. Maybe it was the fire crackling in the hearth, or the sound of the rain still beating down outside, or the cosy feel of the sweats she’d borrowed, or the glimmer of appreciation in his hot chocolate eyes—which was probably all in her imagination. Or maybe it was the fact he had tended her leg.

When was the last time anyone had taken care of her?

Whatever the reason, she couldn’t seem to conjure the ability to be careful or cautious for once. She’d denied herself so many things in the last twelve years—why should she deny herself a chance to have a drink with a man who had always fascinated her?

‘Were you serious about ordering me a cab home?’ she asked. Because she couldn’t drink if she was going to have to cycle all the way to East London.

‘Of course,’ he said.

‘Then thank you, I’d love a drink.’

‘What would you like? I have whisky. Gin. Brandy.’ He opened the drinks cabinet and bent to look inside, giving her a far too tempting view of tight male buns confined in designer trousers. ‘A spicy Merlot? A refreshing Chablis?’

‘Spoken like a true Frenchman,’ she teased.

‘C’est vrai. I am French. I take my wine seriously,’ he said, laying on his accent extra thick and making her grin.

‘The Merlot sounds good,’ she said.

He poured the red wine into a crystal tumbler, his fingers brushing hers as he passed her the glass. The prickle of reaction sprinted up her arm, but it didn’t scare her or shame her this time. It excited her.

She took a sip of the wine, and the rich fruity flavours burst on her tongue.

‘Bon?’ he asked.

‘Very.’

He leaned his hips against the cabinet and crossed his arms over his chest, making his pectoral muscles flex distractingly against the white linen.

‘You’re not drinking?’ she asked.

‘I have already had one whisky tonight. And I want to keep a clear head.’

‘Oh?’ she said. She wanted to ask why he needed to keep a clear head, but it seemed like a loaded question—especially when he smiled that sensual smile again, as if they were sharing an intimate secret.

She got a little distracted by the astonishing beauty of his face—rugged and masculine—dappled by firelight and the ridged contours of his chest visible through the tailored shirt.

She took another sip of the wine, let the warmth of it spread through her torso. This was definitely better than having to cycle back to Whitechapel in the pouring rain.

Mira Whatsherface’s loss was Ally Jones’s gain.

‘Are you enjoying the view?’ The deep mocking voice had her gaze jerking back to his face.

She blinked, blinded by the heat of his smile. Momentarily.

Her cheeks heated.

For goodness’ sake, Ally, stop staring at his exceptional chest and make some small talk.

‘What’s the deal?’ she asked.

His scarred eyebrow arched. ‘Deal?’

‘The deal you were prepared to enter into a loveless short-term marriage for,’ she elaborated.

‘An extremely important one for my business,’ he said, without an ounce of embarrassment or remorse. ‘There is a large tract of undeveloped land on the Brooklyn waterfront. It is the only undeveloped parcel of that size in the five boroughs. I intend to reclaim it, and build on it. Homes mostly. Unfortunately it is owned by a group of men who refuse to invest with someone they regard as—how did they put it? “Morally suspect.”’ He used finger quotes while sending her a wry smile. ‘My private life needs to be stable and settled without a whiff of scandal while the project is in its early stages. As soon as I was in a position to engineer a board takeover and buy them out, I planned to end the marriage.’

‘So it’s all about money?’ she said.

His smile quirked as if she had said something particularly amusing. ‘Money is important. You of all people should understand that,’ he said, and she felt her blush heat. ‘But no, it’s not all about money. This is about taking my business to the next level. This project will put LeGrand Nationale in a position to dominate the regeneration market in the United States.’

So it wasn’t just about money, it was also about legacy and prestige. Was it any surprise that would be so important to him? When he had been forced to prove himself from a young age, the illegitimate son who had been called a ‘bastard’ by his own father. She couldn’t blame him for his drive and ambition, even though his cynicism made her feel sad.

‘But let’s not talk about business,’ he murmured as he released his arms and walked towards her. His thumb glided down her cheek and her breath caught in her throat, the sizzle of heat darting into her sex. ‘Tell me about you. How did you come to be a bike messenger? Has your life been hard, since that summer, Allycat?’

His voice caressed the childhood nickname in a way that inflamed her senses—but his attention was even more potent. She needed to be careful; this was a casual conversation, nothing more.

‘Not that hard,’ she lied. ‘I became a bike courier because it’s good money. And I can fit it around my classes. I’m... I’m in college at the moment,’ she added, as she found herself staring into his eyes, spotting the strands of gold in the chocolate brown.

‘So you are smart as well as beautiful.’ His thumb glided across her lips and her mouth opened instinctively on a sigh, the blood rushing in her ears.

‘If I asked to kiss you, Alison,’ he said, the rasp of need in his voice both raw and sublime, ‘what would you say?’

She nodded without thinking.

Kissing Dominic probably wasn’t a good idea, but she was incapable of controlling the euphoria rioting in her blood. The knowledge he wanted her was even more intoxicating than his fresh woodsy scent and the feel of his thumb tracing over the pulse in her neck.

‘You must say the word,’ he coaxed as he stroked the well of her collarbone.

‘Yes.’ Please.

‘Merci.’

The hoarse thank-you was as tortured as the need twisting her belly into tight knots.

Her bottom bumped the wall as he pressed her against it, found the hem of her sweatshirt and slid his hands under it to hold her steady.

Then his lips were on hers, hot and firm and seeking. A groan escaped from her constricted throat and his tongue plunged deep into her mouth.

He explored in masterful, demanding strokes as his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her sweatpants and cupped her naked bottom.

He ripped his mouth away. ‘No panties?’ he said, the pupils so dilated his chocolate brown eyes had become black.

‘They... They were wet,’ she choked out.

‘I may have to punish you for that, Alison,’ he murmured, the mocking tone so fierce it was only half joking.

Raw need careered through her.

‘I want to see more of you,’ he said. ‘D’accord?’

She nodded again, having lost the power of speech.

Lifting the hem of her sweatshirt, he tugged it over her head. She shuddered as his gaze glided over the damp sports bra she had donned after her shower.

Could she have been wearing anything less alluring?

But his gaze when it met hers still blazed with arousal. ‘Très belle.’

Capturing both her wrists in one hand, he lifted her arms above her head, until she was pinned against the wall, her breasts thrust out, begging for attention, her breathing so ragged it sounded deafening.

He covered one straining breast with his free hand and scooped it free of her bra. Exposing her to his gaze.

‘Magnifique...’ he murmured, then lowered his head and licked across the swollen tip.

She bucked against his hold, shocked by the sensations firing down to her core as he teased and tortured the oversensitive peak with his tongue, his teeth.

She couldn’t stop shaking, sobbing. Until he covered the erect nipple with his mouth and suckled.

It was too much and yet not nearly enough. The jut of his erection, so hard and large confined in the suit trousers, pressed against her belly. She wanted to feel it inside her, to take the ache away.

Her breathing guttered out when at last he released her engorged nipple. But the relief was short-lived, as he unhooked the bra and freed her other breast to begin again. Torturing, teasing, tormenting.

She was begging, bucking against his hold when he finally returned his mouth to hers. He held her captive, both wrists shackled above her head. The huge erection notched between her thighs, her bare breasts crushed against his chest. The hard shaft found that sweet spot through their clothing, rubbing, rocking, the waves of sensation building from her core.

The orgasm built so swiftly, she couldn’t control it, the shattering wave crashing over her with staggering intensity. Her body arched as the bright light fired from her core and shattered into a million glittering shards.

She was struggling to breathe, her body slumped against his, when his voice rasped against her ear.

‘Dieu, did you just climax, Alison?’

Her eyelids fluttered open, to find him staring at her with a need so fierce it was terrifying and liberating all at once.

Her thundering heart began to slow. He did not look happy. In fact, he looked stunned. Had she done something wrong?

‘Yes...’ she said. ‘I’m... I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop it. Was I supposed to?’

His lips quirked and then, to her astonishment, he dropped his head back and laughed.

She tugged on her arms, tried to wrestle herself free of his hold, humiliation engulfing her.

He was still fully dressed. With her bra hanging from one arm and her nipples raw and swollen where he’d played with them she’d never felt more exposed.

‘I should go,’ she murmured.

But he didn’t release her, as the rough chuckles died. His thumbs pressed into the rampaging pulse at her wrists.

‘No way. We’re not finished yet. Even if you jumped the gun.’

‘I said I was sorry about...’ She tried to protest, but he silenced her, the swift kiss both demanding and possessive.

‘There was no need to apologise,’ he said, his gaze compelling—the humour replaced with something much more potent. ‘Do you have any idea how adorable you are?’

The gruff words were quietly spoken, but so achingly sincere her heart punched her ribs.

Cupping her cheek, he swept his gaze over her, the approval she saw making her heartbeat thunder in her ears.

What was happening? Because this felt too intimate, too emotional. More than sex.

‘Please, I...’ she began.

‘Shh...’ He stroked his hand down to her collarbone, the ripple of sensation making her shiver. ‘I wish to take you to bed, Alison. How do you feel about that?’

‘I... I want you too.’ Very much.

‘Bien.’

He sent her a devilish grin, full of wickedness and intent. Letting her arms drop, he dragged the bra away, leaving her standing before him in only the baggy sweatpants.

‘Très, très belle,’ he murmured again, his voice thick with arousal. ‘My gym pants have never looked so good.’

She crossed her arms over her breasts, brutally aware of how naked she was, compared to him.

But then he scooped her into his arms.

She grasped his neck as he marched her into the spare bedroom. The room was luxuriously furnished with a large tester bed complemented by an array of antique pieces. He closed the door to the study, so the only light in the room came from the bathroom and the bay window that looked out onto the house’s grounds. The low lighting had a little of her anxiety retreating as he laid her on the bed.

Her pulse sped up again though as he unbuttoned his shirt, then stripped it off.

Moonlight flickered over the tanned skin, putting the bunched muscles of his torso into stark relief. He was magnificent. Tall, muscular, lean and powerful. The dark hair that defined flat brown nipples and arrowed down into his trousers through his abs had her lungs seizing. Her throat dried as he released the hook on his suit trousers and kicked off his shoes.

The rigid erection sprang up as he lowered his boxers.

Her gaze met his, her breathing so shallow now it was a miracle she didn’t faint as he climbed onto the bed.

‘Lose the pants, ma belle,’ he said.

She wriggled out of the sweatpants and flung them away. He climbed on top of her. His skin felt hot and firm as he pressed her into the mattress and a rough palm coasted up her bare thigh. A hoarse cry escaped her throat.

Their skin touched everywhere. His fingertips electrified her nerve endings as they found the sensitive seam of skin at the top of her thigh, then located the slick heat at her core.

‘So wet for me, ma belle.’ She could hear the hunger in his voice. ‘Tell me what you like.’

I don’t know.

She trapped the answer in her throat. And flattened her palms against the ridged muscles, stalling for time. She didn’t know how to answer that question; no man had ever seen her naked before, let alone touched her, stroked her.

His thumb found the bundle of nerves again and she moaned, jerking her hips towards the intimate torture.

‘You like that?’ he asked as his thumb circled, not quite touching her again where she needed.

‘Yes, yes, please do it again.’ She didn’t care any more about the naked need in her voice, the raw desperation. She wanted to feel that glorious release once more.

‘Can I touch you, too?’ she asked.

The deep groan against her neck felt like a benediction. ‘Oui.’

She slid her hand down his chest, feeling the muscles quiver. His whole body shook as she wrapped her fingers around the stiff column of flesh. She had a moment of panic as she gauged his size, his girth and the steely strength beneath the velvet-soft skin. How would anything that large and hard ever fit inside her?

But then his thumb found that devastating spot between her thighs and every thought flew out of her head.

She stroked him as he stroked her. But where his caresses were firm and assured, her movements were jerky and uncertain. Still she took pleasure in his shudder when her thumb found the bead of moisture at the head of his erection. She could feel his passion building as the coil at her core twisted and tightened. Her knees fell open, her hips angling forward, in a wanton display of need she couldn’t control. Her fingers gripped his rigid flesh as one blunt finger entered her, sinking into the tight flesh, his thumb still working her into a frenzy.

‘You are very tight. It has been a while, yes?’ he asked.

She nodded. Because what else could she say? It was a lifetime since she’d felt this good.

He swore softly in French, his hips driving into her hand, the hard flesh getting longer, thicker.

‘Come for me again, ma chérie,’ he demanded, and just like that the wave slammed into her, flinging her over that final peak.

She let out a hoarse moan as she fell to earth, sinking into the glorious oblivion. But as the afterglow settled over her like a glittering cloud, her fingers flexed on the erection. He was still rigid, still huge.

Leaning over her, he fumbled in the bedside drawer, the rip of foil was loud enough to be heard over her staggered breathing.

Lifting her hand from his erection, he kissed the knuckles. ‘I cannot wait any longer,’ he murmured, the urgency sending new ripples of longing through her exhausted flesh.

He rolled on the condom, then grasped her hips.

She felt the head of his erection probe, before he thrust deep.

Rending pain seared through her and she choked off a sob.

‘Merde!’ He reared back.

She bit into her lip to stop the cry of pain. Intense pleasure had turned to shock and discomfort, but far worse than the soreness where his erection was lodged deep inside her was the look of pure horror that shadowed Dominic’s face.

He knew.

The thought doused the heat, until all that was left was the chill of his disapproval.

Of course, he knew. Why had she thought he wouldn’t notice? A man with his experience, who had probably slept with dozens of women.

She shifted, trying to adjust to the thick length inside her, hoping to regain the desire that had disappeared in a rush. But his fingers flexed on her hips, and he flinched.

‘Don’t move,’ he groaned. ‘I don’t want to hurt you more.’

‘It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt.’

‘Don’t lie,’ he said, his gaze shadowed now, the horror replaced with surprise and something that looked like guilt. ‘I am your first. Is this not the case?’

She wanted to lie, to take the guilt out of his expression. But how could she, when it was clearly obvious?

‘Yes, but it’s not a big deal,’ she murmured, because it really wasn’t. Or at least it shouldn’t have been. Up until the moment he had entered her, she’d been delirious with pleasure. He’d brought her to orgasm. Twice. And more than anything she wanted to do the same for him. To see him shatter the way he had made her shatter.

‘I must withdraw,’ he said.

‘No, don’t.’ She clasped his shoulders. ‘Don’t stop. I don’t want you to stop.’ The tearing pain had already lessened, the tendrils of heat building again at her core, the pulsing ache becoming sharp and insistent.

‘Damn it, Alison, you don’t know what you ask of me. I am not sure I can be gentle.’

The growled admission, grudging and yet gruff with desperation, had her heart contracting.

‘I don’t need you to be gentle, Dominic. I just need you to treat me like a woman.’

To treat me like your woman.

The foolishly romantic thought echoed in her head.

She buried it deep. She hadn’t lied when she’d told him her virginity was not a big deal to her. She was twenty-five years old. It was ridiculous she’d waited this long. And yes, it had hurt. But already the full stretched feeling had changed into something closer to pleasure than pain. He filled her up in a way that made her breath hitch, and her clitoris throb with renewed yearning.

‘I’m not fragile,’ she added, because he was still braced above her, not moving, his face strained with the effort it was taking him to hold still. ‘Really I’m not. I know what I want.’ And what I want is you.

She threaded her fingers into his hair, coaxing him to do what they both needed. He swore softly, but then placed a hand at her cheek, brushing his thumb across her lips.

‘D’accord, ma belle,’ he murmured, his gaze becoming dark and intense as he glided out of her, then thrust back in, slowly, carefully, sinking in to the hilt.

The head of his penis massaged a spot deep inside her and she gasped, the delicious shudder adding to the heat at her core.

‘C’est bien?’ he asked, his perfect English having deserted him.

‘Yes,’ she moaned. ‘It’s good.’

He established a rhythm—slow at first, and then building—digging at that spot ruthlessly, relentlessly as heat fired over her skin.

The waves of pleasure gathered again with each new thrust of his hips, each new jolt of desire. She clung to him, the only solid object in the storm engulfing her. Every pulse and heartbeat became attuned to the ravages of pleasure he was waging on her body. The steady rhythm became harder, faster, overwhelming, unstoppable.

She couldn’t think any more, couldn’t make sense of the sounds and sights around her, all she could do was feel...

Her moans became pants, her sex contracting, massaging the hard length. The brutal pleasure coiled tighter at her core. The edge of desire so sharp she felt buffeted, burned, undone.

Then his thumb found the swollen folds where their bodies joined, triggering a conflagration so fierce and all-consuming she cried out.

Her body arched into his, the shattering orgasm exploding along her nerve-endings, like a shimmering light, splintering and then retreating to splinter again.

She could hear her own sobs, her fingers fisting in his hair, as he finally let her tumble to earth—his shout of fulfilment following her over that high wide edge.

His big body collapsed on top of her, his raw pants matched hers, the musty scent of sex and sweat mingling with the shiver of surrender.

She hugged him, exhausted, spent. Her sex sore, her body limp. She caressed the silky strands at his nape now damp with sweat, and tried not to acknowledge the debilitating wave of emotion threatening to engulf her.

It’s just sex. Just for one night. It doesn’t mean anything.

But still she couldn’t quite ignore the faltering beat of her heart at the realisation that, after twelve years, all her foolish teenage fantasises had finally come true. And it had definitely been worth the wait.