Читать книгу Modern Romance January Books 1-4 - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 21

IT WAS FOR SHOW, of course. That was why Matías had leaned down and pressed a kiss to Camilla’s mouth. Not because it was so full and edible he could no longer resist it. Not because keeping his hands off her had been an exercise in futility from the moment he had seen her earlier. Not because he would rather kiss her than continue their entirely too honest brand of conversation.

Not because he was beginning to feel an impossible, immeasurable shift happening inside his chest that seemed to uncover parts of him that he had thought long destroyed.

A part of his soul he thought had bled into the earth and soaked into the ground along with his mother’s life’s blood on that terrible day.

This was for show. It was for the cameras. For the pictures that his grandfather would expect to see in the papers tomorrow. To go with that perfect headline he had spoken to Señora Gomez earlier in the evening.

Yes, that was why he pressed his mouth to hers. That was why he parted those delicate, sweet lips with his tongue and thrust deep inside her mouth, gripping her chin hard as he angled her head so that he could taste her deeper, take greater advantage of her inexperience, of the involuntary gasp she made, so that he might gorge himself on her.

It was all to give the impression of a man consumed by passion. It was not because he was a man consumed by passion, that was impossible. He was Matías Navarro, and he was consumed by nothing. He controlled each and every impulse, had dominion over all that he was, all that he wanted.

He did nothing more than what he chose to do. He was not a man like his father, ruled by temper. Or like his brother, steeped in debauchery.

He was not seduced. He never had been. He had always done the seduction. And the fact that she was trembling beneath his touch indicated that he was doing the seducing yet again. And if he was shaking, as well, it was only because of adrenaline. Because of arousal. Because his body was readying itself for an intimate act that would never eventuate. Not with her.

Though, he was having difficulty remembering why now.

When he pulled away from her, he remembered. Her lips were flushed with her arousal, her eyes glassy, but it was the look of wonder in them that hit him square in the gut.

The innocence there.

If there was any part of him that was pretending she was not a virgin, he could no longer pretend. He was not a man who had ever allowed himself to entertain the idea of taking a woman’s virginity. That was the territory of villains like his brother, and the fact he wanted Camilla, even though he did not intend to make their union permanent, appalled him. It had been different with Liliana. He had intended to offer her a commitment that would last. To do the honorable thing. To offer her his name, his protection. She was like a hothouse flower. She would not only require protection, require being coddled, but she would expect and demand it.

Camilla would never submit to such a thing. She was wild, untamable. She was nothing like Liliana and all her pale, quiet beauty. Camilla was the sun, but she was also a storm. Uncontrollable. Unmanageable. She would tear through the rancho, tear through his life and tear through her own with all that same vigor and carelessness that she had employed when she had cut off all her hair and posed as a boy to get hired on by him.

He would never be able to tame her, never be able to leash her, and of course, he didn’t want to.

But she had all that reckless spirit and it was not compatible to his life. Still.

Right now he wanted to crush her beneath him, spread those thighs and bury himself inside her.

But he could not. He would not.

“Wow,” she breathed, that sweet, innocent reaction touching him in places he should not allow.

“Do not look at me like that.”

She blinked. “Look at you like what?”

“Like you’re looking at me right now,” he returned. “Like I have taught you something new. It will look strange in a picture.”

He tacked that last part on quickly, and he felt guilty when she looked like she had been struck.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “You have done nothing wrong.”

Except reached inside him and changed something around. Moved parts of himself so that sacred spaces that had long been covered were exposed.

It was only a kiss. There was no reason to apply so much to it. One would be forgiven for thinking he was the virgin given that response.

“You said I did.”

“I only meant...you cannot look at me as though that was your first kiss. We are supposed to be a couple.”

“But it was,” she said softly.

His groin tightened, his stomach tense. “Do not tell me things like that, Camilla.”

“Why not? You told me all those dark things about your past. Surely, this isn’t a deeper revelation than that.”

Again, she produced a kind of clear, real honesty in him he could not fight. “When you tell me things like that I am tempted. Tempted to teach you everything those eyes tell me you do not know. Tempted to make sure that I am not only your first kiss but also your first lover. And the lover that you think about every time thereafter. The lover you compare all other men to.”

He was certain that that would scare her. Certain that that was a bridge too far for his innocent beauty. She would not want those things. She was fearsome, a warrior, but she was not worldly. She had been protected from the advances of men like him. She didn’t have to say that for him to know it was true. Had she not been, she would have been kissed many times already. Would have been far from untouched.

She deserved her first time to be with a nice man. A man who would honor that gift. A man who was careful with things, rather than breaking them.

“What if I want you to?” she said softly. “What if I want you to teach me those things?”

“You do not know what you ask for,” he said.

“I do. I am not so sheltered that I don’t understand the way things are between men and women. And I...I will not fall in love with you. I’m independent. I was born with a fierce spirit. I’m like my father. I have the gift of speaking to horses. I have the gift of strength and solitude. I am not meant to be tied down. So you have no worries on that score. Not for me.”

“Your father married your mother. He fell for someone who betrayed him immeasurably over the course of his life. Why do you assume that because you’re like him you’re immune?”

“My father was bound to my mother because of me. And he was bound to stay married because of his faith. He could have sought an annulment, I suppose, because of her behavior, but he did not. It suited him. To keep that marriage. I think, in the end, he knew that a real marriage was not for him anyway. He wanted to spend long hours out on the rancho. He did not want to throw dinner parties. He did not want to spend his time catering to a wife. Any more than I want to spend my time catering to a husband. Do you think that I want to get dressed up and go to parties like this all the time? No. I would rather wear jeans. And I would rather ride horses. I would rather wear boots than these glittering gold shoes, no matter how beautiful they are. But just because I want those things does not mean that I’m immune to the desires of a man’s touch. And I want yours, Matías. I crave yours.”

She was bold, even in this. He was reminded of that first meeting. When she had spoken to him with such force, and he had imagined that it had come from the brashness of youth. Now he knew. It was simply the fire inside her. Some might call it an unearned confidence. But he found it to be a singular, beautiful gift.

She was no seductress. She was looking at him with frankness, with open desire. She was not gazing at him through her veiled lashes, fluttering her eyes at him. No. There was no shame. If there was embarrassment, it was simply because she was afraid of rejection. But there was no game being played here. She wanted. And so she asked. It was a fascinating thing to see. And it was...

Intoxicating.

To have a woman look him in the eye and swear she would not fall in love with him. To have a woman ask for what she wanted.

To want this creature that could offer him nothing in terms of skill in the bedroom. Who could not do tricks and would likely have no idea of what to do with his body once he took his clothes off for her.

That novelty should not appeal to him, and yet it did. Just as he had said, the temptation to educate her was real. The temptation to brand her as his. To burn his mark into her skin.

Perhaps he should be appalled by such an impulse and yet he could no more fight against it than he could fight against her honest, open request.

“You must tell me,” he said, “little one.” He braced his hand on the back of her head, holding her steady as he looked into her dark eyes. “That you want me to take your virginity. That you want me to take you back to my penthouse here in Barcelona. You want me to taste you, touch you. That you want me inside your body. You must say those things to me, so that I know for sure you understand what you ask.”

“Remember,” she said, those pouty lips curving upward. “I am not fourteen. I am a woman.”

“When it comes to experience with men, you are barely that. You must ask, mi tesoro, so that I know that this is what you want.”

“I want to,” she said. She swallowed hard, that fine throat working as she did. “I want for you to make love to me. I want you to take my virginity.” And then she did something he did not expect. She curved her fingers around the back of his head, holding him tight as he was holding her. “I want you inside me.” And then she kissed him, with all the boldness of a harlot, licked his lips with the seductive attention of a Siren. Then when she drew back, she blushed like an innocent.

And he was lost.

“Very well,” he rasped, his voice a stranger’s. “I will give you what you desire. But we will finish tonight. We will finish this together, and when we leave, we will leave it behind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Here,” he said, looking around the room, “we are an engaged couple. Here, we are engaging in a performance. Once we are in my bedroom, it will simply be Camilla and Matías. There will be nothing outside of that. It will not be a business transaction. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“No,” he said, “I don’t think you do. I do not require you to be this glittering creature. I require nothing of you beyond yourself. That is who I want in my bed tonight.”

She ducked her head. “I’m not sure that you’ve met her before.”

“Then I feel, mi amor, this would be an excellent time for you to introduce me.”

It was those words that stuck with her. Those words that propelled her through the evening. That empowered her as she danced with him, each song powerful and deep, like something more intimate than it was, because of the shared knowledge of what was going to take place later.

He wanted her. He had said so. Her as she was, not her as this elegant creature that had been fashioned by a team of people. Not her, the one who had come to him in disguise.

The her that perhaps not even she knew. That she had shown to no one.

And it terrified her. Because she was suddenly so certain that in many ways she had spent all of her life burying some desires of hers down deep.

Her father had given her a great many things. He had given her the freedom to do as she pleased as long as she stayed within the boundaries of the rancho. He had given her a kind of freedom from her mother’s expectations by allowing her to be the opposite.

But there had been no place for her to explore that other part of herself. The part that was very much a woman and wanted to be with a man. The part that wanted to be beautiful. To feel lovely.

They managed to make it through the entire evening, and she marveled at the way that Matías dealt with the people around him. He was a chameleon. Able to be charming and firm in the same conversation. To speak hard truths, and then smooth them over with a smile.

He was not a man that anyone wanted to defy, and she had a feeling that it had nothing to do with his family name or their formidable reputation, but everything to do with the magnetism of the man himself.

He was unlike anyone she had ever known. And she had a feeling that would always be the case.

Had a feeling that after this was over she would remember him forever. She would carry a small piece of him with her.

It felt...romantic in many ways. At least the right kind of romance for a woman like her. A woman who wanted nothing more than her freedom. Who wanted nothing more than to feel desired when she wished to, and to have total agency in her life at other moments.

When he swept her out of the ballroom, and back into the limo, she was afraid she might have left her stomach behind. Her anticipation had been growing stronger with each passing moment, but now that it was time, she found herself getting nervous. Found herself feeling that confidence slipping away again.

The limo pulled up outside the penthouse, and she looked up, her heart pounding hard at the base of her throat. “I didn’t bring anything with me,” she said.

“I’ve taken care of everything,” he said.

“Have you?” she asked.

“Yes. You do not have to fear anything. Just follow my lead.”

“Will there be music?” she asked.

“You will not be following a song,” he said, brushing his fingertips to her lips. “You will be following me.”

It was such a strange assurance, quietly spoken, and should be dissonant from the mouth of a man who was just so very masculine and dangerous as Matías was, and yet she believed him.

That while she was with him, while she was his, he would care for her.

No one had ever assured her of such a thing before. She hadn’t realized she had wanted it until now.

“Even a toothbrush?” she asked, not wanting to reveal the vulnerability that she felt.

“Oh, yes,” he said, “everything has been provided for you.”

“And a nightgown?”

He chuckled, then grabbed hold of her chin, holding her face steady. “You won’t be needing one.”

Then she found herself being swept out of the limo and into the antechamber of the lovely, antiquated apartment building. They swept through the lobby and down to an elevator at the very end of the marble-carved room.

He pulled out a key card and swiped it, then they stepped inside. “This only goes to my floor,” he said.

“You have your own floor?”

He shrugged. “I’m a man with specific needs. Privacy is one of them.”

“I see,” she said, suddenly feeling a lead weight in her stomach. “For when you bring women here,” she said.

“I never claimed to be a saint, Camilla,” he said, leaning against the door of the elevator, those deft fingers working the knot on his bow tie, letting it fall loose. “I have had lovers. Many of them. Not when I was engaged to Liliana. And not since meeting you. But yes. It suits me to have luxury accommodation in various places in the world for that reason.”

“Just very strange. To think about, I mean. I’ve never touched another man. And you’ve touched...”

“Trust me,” he said, a smile tipping the corner of his lips. “You will benefit from my experience.”

“I’m sure I will,” she said.

But that didn’t mean jealousy didn’t burn hot and fierce in her stomach, like a particularly vicious acid.

She had never kissed another man. Never wanted another man. But this man wanted easily. He wanted for no other reason than a face was beautiful, or a body pleasingly shaped.

It wasn’t a flaw, she supposed, but it was certainly something.

The elevator doors swept open when it reached the top floor, and he pushed away from the door, leading her out into an apartment that was shockingly modern against the ornate backdrop of the lift.

“This is what you were talking about,” she said, thinking of what he had said about the decor at the rancho.

“Yes,” he said. “Most of my properties look more like this.” He indicated the stark black-and-white design, the touches of chrome and other sorts of things that screamed masculinity in a very basic way.

She squinted. “You didn’t do the decor,” she commented.

“No,” he said. He began to undo the cuffs on his shirt. “How did you know?” He slipped his jacket off and let it slide down onto the sleek leather couch that was positioned at the center of the room. Then he began to work the buttons on his white shirt.

“It doesn’t look particularly like you. It just looks like someone was told to design a room for a man. Any man. One who doesn’t particularly like frills. It’s very generic.”

He laughed. “And you think, perhaps, the ornate florals and powder blues of the rancho are more to my taste?”

She laughed. “I do. Because they have history. Because they’re part of you. Whether you wanted to be or not.”

Something in his face went hard, his mouth setting into a grim line. “I think that’s quite enough talking.”

And then she found herself being caught up in his strong embrace, pulled forward, his mouth hard and hot on hers as he devastated her with a savage kiss.

When he moved away from her she was breathing hard, and then he took a step back, unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way.

His body was...well, it was as classically masculine as their surroundings. But much, much more compelling. All strong lines and incredible muscle, dark hair covering that taut, bronzed skin.

She had never seen a man who looked quite like him before.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I’m just...staring,” she said.

“Why are you staring?”

“Because you’re...you’re beautiful,” she said before she could stop herself.

It was an incredibly gauche thing to say, but at the moment she felt that she was incredibly gauche and there was no way around it. She was inexperienced. Nonexperienced.

Had never even kissed a man until tonight, and she was about to do everything with him. Let him see her, let him touch her. See him, touch him. It was intoxicating, exhilarating and terrifying.

She wanted it. And she wanted to remember what he had told her earlier. Wanted to embrace who she was. Not who she was pretending to be. Not who she had dressed up as, either to get hired at the rancho or to get ready for the ball tonight.

And that meant committing to not being embarrassed when she said things like that. That he was beautiful. She was going to enjoy this. All of this. Claim it for herself. Because she supposed, that was the flipside to all that experience. He had had this experience before. It was not foreign to him. It wasn’t new. Which meant that it was so much more for her than for him. She wanted to embrace that. Relish it.

“You’re beautiful,” she said again. “Truly.”

Then, bolstered by that thought, she took a step forward, and she pressed her palm flat against his chest. He was so warm. Hot. She could feel his heartbeat raging against her touch. And that bolstered her, too. The fact that he wasn’t unmoved by this. The fact that she did tempt him. Did test him. The fact that she created the same response in him as he created in her.

And no matter that her mother had always told her men were led around by their members. She chose to believe that it mattered still.

Her mother had taught her very few things, but that was one of the things she remembered. And along with that, she remembered her saying that men wanted sex and women wanted attention. And so she had imagined that if she ever came to this moment she would be in a situation of unequal desires. That she would crave attention, and he would simply crave touch.

But she knew, standing there looking at him, looking at the fire in his eyes, listening to the desires of her own body, that their desires were one. That they were united in their need tonight.

She didn’t simply want attention. She wanted him.

Needed him.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said softly.

“I do,” he said. “You don’t have to know the steps. You simply have to follow my lead. And I will not let you fall.”

Her heart swelled, those words, that promise, echoing through her.

Then he reached around behind her and grabbed hold of her zipper tab, drawing it down the center of her back. The bodice fell loose, the dress falling around her hips. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her forward, and she stepped away from the glittering fabric, standing before him wearing nothing but glimmering, lacy underwear that she knew did very little to cover her body. She was not wearing a bra, because the dress had possessed built-in support, and so her breasts were bare to him, her nipples tight beneath his inspection.

She knew that he could see her dark curls at the apex of her thighs through that flimsy, light-colored lace. She knew that she should be embarrassed, but she wasn’t. Because he wanted her. He wanted this. And just like with the dancing he had promised to lead. Promised to help make sure her steps didn’t falter. She trusted him. Trusted him to do what he said, even if she had no reason to. But he was Matías. He was everything. He was the fulfillment of fantasies she hadn’t even known she possessed. He was every secret desire she had always been afraid to put words to. He was the man that made her feel happiest to be a woman.

And for however long she could have him, she would. Oh, she would.

“Beautiful,” he said, his dark eyes sharp, intense, as they looked at her mostly naked form.

She didn’t wish for her long hair then. She didn’t even wish for the gown. She had never felt more wholly female, perfectly feminine, than she did in that moment.

He reached out, and he dragged one of those callous thumbs over her tightened nipple. She gasped, drawing away from him because it was so shocking, so sensational.

“Teach me,” he said, his voice rough. “Teach me what you like. Tell me when something feels good to you. Though I might embarrass myself.”

“How?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Such an innocent.” He reached out, wrapping his fingers around her wrist, and drawing her hand toward the front of his pants. She gasped when she felt him there, hard, masculine and much larger than she had expected him to be.

“When a man wants a woman very, very much it becomes difficult for him to control himself. I would like to stay hard for you. I need to last for you. So that you can have as many orgasms as you want. So that I can pleasure you, over and over again before I finally take my own pleasure. And if I do not maintain my control, that may be difficult.”

“Because you can only...you can only...once?” Her lack of experience was slightly mortifying, but they were naked together so she supposed being coy now was just silly.

“I can only come once in a certain amount of time. You, on the other hand, will not be similarly limited.”

“That’s...very interesting.”

He leaned in, the tendons in his neck standing out, tension clear in every line of his body. “How is it you don’t know about this? Haven’t you talked to friends? Overheard men talking at the rancho?”

“I was the boss’s daughter. They were very careful around me. And as for friends... I have horses. Which is informative enough regarding procreation but not regarding um...sexual...pleasures.”

“But you must be somewhat familiar with pleasure,” he insisted. “Haven’t you explored your body on your own?”

She shook her head. “And I haven’t... I don’t think I’ve experienced the pleasure you’re talking about before,” she said, feeling her face growing hot.

“You don’t think you’ve had an orgasm?”

“No.”

“Then you haven’t,” he said firmly. “If you had, you would have known.”

And then on a growl, he lifted her up off her feet and pressed her against his body, kissing her, hard and deep, one hand pressed firmly against the center of her shoulder blades, the other cupping the back of her head.

The hair on his chest was rough, and it abraded her nipples, but it was not an unpleasant sensation.

It was...well, it was perfect. It was everything that she loved about their contrast. He was so hot, so hard, rough and intense. He matched her softness. Her smoothness. In the tentative feeling inside her.

And he coaxed something else out of her. Her recklessness. A wildness that she had not known existed.

Everything she had felt when on the dance floor with him, that sense of flying, freedom, was amplified now. And there was an edge to it. Something sharp, something sweet. A sense of desperation, but also something leisurely. As if she could hold on to this desperate, building feeling forever and ever. Hold off whatever storm was encroaching.

Because those rough hands skating over every inch of her curves, that large palm coming down to cup her butt as he pulled her more firmly against his body, allowing her to feel his heart and arousal up against her stomach, was such a heady, magical thing that she never wanted it to end.

Then he moved both hands to her hips, drawing them down to her thighs, and he lifted her up off the ground completely, wrapping her legs around his waist, bringing the vulnerable center of her up against all that hardened masculinity.

She gasped, a burst of pleasure breaking inside her, a wave of sensation pulsing between her legs.

And she wondered if that was it.

“Not yet,” he said as if reading her mind. He dragged his lips down her throat, kissing the tender skin there, before licking the edge of her collarbone, and down farther to her breast, drawing one nipple into his mouth as he rocked his hips forward, sending another shock of sensation through her.

He squeezed her bottom, pulling her forward as he arched his hips again, and she gripped his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin as that small, pulsing sensation bloomed, expanded and became a never-ending storm inside her. That earlier feeling had only been a preview. A small taste of what was to come. This was endless. It was incredible. She never wanted it to stop, and yet she wasn’t afraid she could withstand much more. He wanted this to happen to her multiple times over the course of the evening? She would never survive. Ever. It would break her. Destroy her. She was certain.

She gasped, and then went limp in his arms, resting her head against his shoulder, and he held her fast, moving through the open floor plan toward a door off to the left. He kicked it open, and then deposited her on a large bed at the center of the room.

She was still feeling languid and boneless from the force of her release, far too aroused and satisfied to feel any nerves about what might come next.

When he lowered himself down onto the bed, her heart leaped into her throat, her entire body on edge.

But then he looked at her, and she remembered his promise. That he would not let her fall. That he wouldn’t let her steps falter.

He hadn’t promised not to hurt her. She imagined that even with all of her years of riding horses it was going to hurt a bit, but he had promised that in the end it would be right. And she clung to that. She didn’t need for it to be painless. She just needed it to be.

He moved his rough hand down her stomach, beneath the waistband of her panties and down between her thighs where he found her aroused and ready for his touch.

She wasn’t embarrassed for him to know. How much she desired him. How ready her body was for his invasion.

He pressed two fingers down tightly, bracketing that sensitive bundle of nerves there, making her shiver, making her shake. Making her long for another release, which she would have imagined impossible only a moment before.

She shivered. “I want you,” she whispered.

“Do you want me?” he asked, his dark eyes burning intensely into her own. “Do you, Camilla? Or do you simply want the pleasure that you know I can give you?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice trembling. “The kind of pleasure you can give me, I mean. I don’t know anything about it at all. But I knew the minute that I saw you that there was something about you. Something about you that called to something in me. I just knew that you changed something inside me. And I wanted so badly for that not to be true. I wanted so badly to want nothing more than to simply be there with the horses. To simply gain back what the family lost. It was all I was supposed to do. All I was supposed to care about. And then there was you. There was you and this need inside me. And it wasn’t there before. So yes, Matías, I want you.”

She felt incredibly vulnerable, more naked than she had a moment ago. Even with his hand between her legs, she had not felt this vulnerable. But now she had admitted that. That her desire had appeared, manifested itself in her life at the same time that he had exposed a level she had not known possible. And yet, it also felt worth it. It also felt real.

So much deeper, so much stronger, than any other relationship she’d had. Than that nonexistent one with her mother as long as she could be a cute accessory, and then thereafter had ceased to exist. And even to her father, who had loved her, but who had also molded her into the image of what he had wanted. A companion to stay with him on the rancho. A daughter who behaved more like a son. This thing with Matías was like none of that. It was stripped bare of any artifice. Of any kind of calculation or manipulation. It was simply about the two of them. And about desire.

She ignored the tightening around her heart, focused on the need in her stomach. Because that was simpler. She could still make that about him. That heaviness gathering between her thighs. She could still make it about him and be safe. But anything in her chest. No. She couldn’t risk that.

“Tell me you want me,” he said, moving his fingers up slightly, squeezing that sensitive bundle of nerves again, before sliding them back down, not allowing himself to delve into her crease, not allowing himself to touch where she ached for him the most.

She bucked her hips, trying to force his touch to become yet more intimate.

He chuckled, his hold remaining fast. “Be a good girl,” he said. “And tell me that you want me.” He leaned in, his lips nearly touching hers. “When you wish to break a horse, you must first show it who its master is. And I think you will find that I am the master of your body, mi amor.”

She shivered, trying to muster up some kind of rage at that statement. Wanting to tell him that she was the master of her own body, of her own future. Wanting to tell him that he could not play such games with her.

But instead, only a whimper came out of her lips, and she bucked her hips even more intently, desperate now. For more. For his touch. For his possession, whatever that might mean.

“Patience,” he said. Then he nipped her bottom lip before kissing her deep, hard, and shifting his hand so that his thumb was pressed up against her, one finger plunging deep inside her.

She gasped. The invasion was both welcome and unfamiliar, and it took a moment for her body to acclimate. But then...she wanted more. Oh, how she wanted more. She wanted all of him. Every last bit. Every hard, breathless inch.

“Matías,” she said, the words coming out choked, desperate.

But she had already purposed that there would be no place for pride here. Had already committed herself to honesty. And as he worked his finger in and out of her desperate body, as he slid his thumb over and over her body, she gave herself up to it. To him. Surrendered herself completely, pleasure finding her this time on a short, sharp scream. Her body pulsed around his finger, her release like a storm, no less powerful for the fact that she’d had her first one only moments before in his living room.

She had surrendered her pride to him. And she did not regret it. But she did want something in return. On trembling limbs she rose up to her knees and pushed her panties down her thighs, stripping them off and throwing them off the edge of the bed, so that she was completely naked before him. There really was no point in being shy when she’d come apart in his arms twice, not when he had already had his fingers buried inside her.

She pushed lightly at his shoulder, and he went down on his back, not resisting her touch. Then she bent down, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder, to his chest, to that place where his heart raged beneath that solid wall of muscle. Then she kissed his stomach, that hard, ridged abdomen that made her body weak with need. She paused, appraising the bulge in his pants. That was uncharted territory. But she would never be able to reclaim anything if she lost her boldness now.

A smile curved her lips and she let her fingertips drift across that cloth-covered arousal. “I think that I know a great deal more about horses than you,” she said, biting her lip as she squeezed him. “And perhaps a bit more about mastery.”

“Do not challenge me, Camilla,” he said. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Good. I’ve always liked to live dangerously.”

“You might get burned.”

“Perhaps,” she said, moving both hands to his belt and beginning to work through the loops. “I want to be burned.”

She worked his pants down his lean hips and exposed his arousal to her hungry gaze. He was gorgeous. Intimidating, certainly, but he made her mouth water. Made her body feel hollow, aching to be filled. And she knew exactly with what.

But first...

But first.

She leaned down, boldly sliding her tongue over his hardened length. He swore, raising his hand and fisting her short hair. It hurt, but she pressed on. She tilted her head, taking him deep into her mouth, relishing that musky, masculine flavor on her tongue, his heat and hardness.

Everything.

She wrapped her fingers around his base and continued to move her tongue over him, savoring him as if he were a delicacy.

“Enough,” he said roughly, reaching down and lifting her up by the waist, bringing her down so that she was straddling him as though she was about to ride, her center connecting with his body. “I need you,” he said, his voice rough.

And that was enough. It was all she needed. She rocked backward slightly, holding on to his arousal and guiding it to the center of her body.

He swore, then reached over to his nightstand quickly. “Condom,” he said through gritted teeth. He produced a plastic packet and held it out to her. “Put it on me.”

Another challenge. She wasn’t going to back down, either.

She tore the packet open with shaking fingers, and thence resituated herself, fumbling for a moment before rolling the latex down over his length. Then she moved back into her previous position, struggling slightly to find the angle, and then lowering herself down slowly, biting her lip to keep from crying out as he stretched her in new and unfamiliar ways, inch by tantalizing inch.

There was no dramatic tearing pain, and she credited her years as a horsewoman with that, but it was strange. New and different and not entirely pleasurable. But he was big, and she imagined that was difficult to get used to.

But then, as she seated herself fully onto him, a sensual thrill shot through her. Not just because of how it felt, but because the idea of getting used to him—to this—meant being with him...more.

She would have months with him. To do just this. To feel him deep inside her, to have him beneath her, naked and gorgeous. To explore his body, taste him, lick him wherever she wanted.

It made her feel powerful.

It made her feel free.

And then she began to ride him. She pressed her hands on his chest, her eyes meeting his as she rose up, and then went back down, as she explored that ancient rhythm, her body honed and fit from years of outdoor labor.

A ripple of pleasure worked its way through her body, that slight discomfort being replaced by a deep, intense satisfaction. And when her orgasm began to build inside her again, she knew what it was. She knew what to chase. She rolled her hips forward, seeking out that completion that she had already experienced twice before.

Then suddenly, she found their positions reversed, found herself on her back, Matías looming over her, dark and intense, his teeth gritted.

The air rushed from her body, and she felt...small. Fragile.

Completely out of control, as opposed to the way she had felt a moment before.

He captured her arms and lifted them up over her head, holding them tight with his hand, both wrists captured in his iron grip.

His thrusts were harder, setting a rhythm she could not anticipate or control. She was the one being written, and she had no experience of such a thing.

She also had no choice but to surrender to it.

She let her head fall back, and she allowed him to be her master.

The erotic thrill of such a thing shocked her. The joy in her helplessness something she had not anticipated.

She rocked against him, then wrapped her legs around his lean hips, moving along with his every thrust, meeting him each time.

And then he began to shake, then he began to tremble, and that mask of his, all that control, fell away and for one moment, one fleeting glance, she saw him as he was. Stripped completely bare of everything in its entirety as he shook and shuddered out his release.

But she only had a moment to watch, only a moment to enjoy before she gave herself up to her own pleasure, before she lost herself completely, clung to him as her internal muscles pulsed around him, as he shook in her arms and as she trembled in his. And when the storm passed, the only sound in the room was their labored breathing. It felt right. It felt like home. Like the wind through the olive groves. Familiar somehow, even though she had never experienced anything like it before.

Then he looked at her, like he might need her.

And it was no longer the pleasure in her body that commended her sole focus, but the pain in her heart.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and wished that it would go away.