Читать книгу Unbuttoned by the Boss: Unbuttoned by Her Maverick Boss / The Far Side of Paradise / Rub It In - Kira Sinclair, Robyn Donald - Страница 11

LORENZO had been fantasising about this for too long. That was why he was so edgy. Had Sophy known the XXX rating of his dreams, she’d never have offered him this kind of access. The things he wanted to do…

He took a deep breath. Her home was as he’d expected. A cute little villa in the heart of poshville. Just the place for a young Auckland socialite. He walked up the path with the fatalistic feeling growing inside him. He hadn’t brought flowers, not even a bottle of wine. Just himself. His body was what she wanted—and it was all she was getting. He shook off the clanging bell of doom—stupid. This was just going to be some hot sex—nothing more.

She answered the door swiftly. Delicate colour sat high in her cheeks. She’d changed her clothes. Wearing a different blouse, a casual skirt that flared out, emphasising her little waist. Sandals on her feet. Pink polish gleaming on her toenails. Her hair was styled in that nineteen-fifties Hollywood-starlet style.

‘I didn’t cook. Sorry. Been busy.’

Getting ready for him? He liked that idea a little too much.

She turned and led him down the polished wooden hallway.

‘It’s okay.’ He wasn’t that hungry anyway. Not for food.

‘I cheated and picked up some stuff from the deli.’ She led him to the dining area. ‘Thought we could snack.’

‘Sure.’ He looked at the table. She’d unloaded the deli pots into pretty little dishes. Floral. Heaven help him. Fragile fine bone china. That was her all over.

She was watching him, a knowing look in her eyes that unsettled him more. ‘You’re not having regrets already?’

‘I don’t do regrets. Why, do you?’

She shook her head. ‘New Year’s resolution not to.’

Yeah, right. ‘You’ve never done anything to regret, have you?’ He couldn’t hold back the bitter note of accusation.

‘You think?’ She stepped up to him. ‘I’m no angel, Lorenzo.’ She leaned forward and whispered, ‘And I’m no virgin. You’re not going to hurt me.’

He swallowed. For someone who’d said she’d never done this before, she was holding her own. So the snacking could wait a while. There was something far more pressing to be done. He lifted a hand and stroked her hair, gathered a lock and ran his finger and thumb along the length of it. He tugged gently, straightening the curl at the bottom. When he let it go it bounced right back. ‘So you’re sure.’

A look of irritation crossed her face. ‘You know I am. You’re here, I’m here. End of conversation.’

He laughed inwardly. It seemed he wasn’t the only one to have been dreaming of this for too long. He watched her, waited and soon saw the slight nervousness steal into her eyes, despite her words. She’d taken a smidge of her lower lip between her teeth, he could see her biting hard on it. And she was staying very, very still—waiting.

He leaned forward and so slowly, so gently caught that lower lip between his own teeth. She gasped, freeing it so it was his. He sucked on it, let his tongue run over the swell of soft flesh. She opened for him completely—and they hurtled straight back into the red-hot kiss of earlier. Her hands lifted to his shoulders; he liked the feel of them, he liked the feel of her hips digging into him too. It was as if everywhere they touched the power surged, pulsing between them.

He broke free, determined to slow it down. ‘You don’t want to eat first?’

‘Can’t you just shut up and get on with it?’ She thrust against him again. ‘Anyone would think you’re stalling.’

He looked at the gleam in her eyes. The nerves had gone. She was enjoying being provocative now. And she wanted it fast. Too bad. She’d told him the truth earlier. She wasn’t a one-night-only girl. Not before now.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked bluntly. ‘Why do you want it to be over so quick?’ Did she want it done and then him leave inside the hour? Like some naughty fantasy that she could tell herself wasn’t really real?

Not happening. If she wanted it, then she was getting it—one whole night. And one night didn’t mean once only. And it certainly didn’t mean quick.

She didn’t answer, had fallen silent, breathless as she leaned her lower belly against him. He understood—even just that simple closeness turned him on too. He traced her collarbones with the tips of his fingers. Watched for the reaction. Yeah, there it was. The widening of her pupils and the increase in her breathing. Her response so quick, so gorgeous. Impulsively he leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

She turned her head but he didn’t take the mouth she offered. Instead he kissed her ear, let his tongue lightly trace the whorls, let his teeth gently bite on the soft lobe.

Then he kissed the skin just below—she shivered. Yes, she was sensitive there, vulnerable.

He liked to touch her where she was vulnerable.

The constraint fell from him. Too late to pull back now. Inside he knew it had always been too late—from the moment he’d seen her looking so crossly at him at the back of the warehouse he’d wanted her. And he was going to get what he wanted—now.

She moved restlessly. He saw the flicker in her eyes but he refused to kiss her again. Not yet—he needed to regain his control so he could play with her the way he wanted. He undid each button on her blouse, so slowly, until it fell open. He pushed it back on her shoulders, took in the pretty bra. White, floral lace. Very pretty—but the soft globes it encased were even prettier. He could see her lush nipples pressing against the lace and nearly groaned aloud.

He had to kiss her again, not her mouth—not yet—but the soft creamy column of her throat. He brushed his lips against it, felt her pulse beating beneath him, breathed in the subtle scent that he found so sexy. Her head fell back, giving him greater access to that sensitive area. He traversed down, seeking to anoint more of the sweet skin with his tongue, his lips, eventually crossing over her collarbones and to the rising slope of her breasts.

Her hands lifted to his waist, pulling on the belt loops of his jeans, trying to draw him closer. He refused to move. So she did. Rising to tiptoe, bumping against him. He smiled as he hit the lace edging of her bra.

‘Lorenzo.’ The need made her voice sound raw.

He slid his hands up her thighs, soothing the ache he knew she was feeling with the promise of that intimate caress. Soon. Very soon. He was so glad she was wearing a skirt.

‘Lorenzo, please.’ She swirled harder against him.

He felt her hands on his back, on his skin as she went beneath his tee shirt. He tensed. He couldn’t handle her touch just yet. He lifted his fingers higher against her, swept them across the front of her panties.

She jumped. Stepped back from him.

He froze.

She wasn’t looking at him. ‘Like the good little girl scout I am, I’m prepared,’ she gabbled, fumbling with her skirt. He watched narrow-eyed. Finally she pulled a condom out of her pocket with shaking fingers. But she dropped it as soon as she had it. She groaned with frustration.

He spared a quick glance down to where it had fallen and then stepped forward and slid his hand round the back of her neck, pulling her to him. ‘We don’t need it.’ He bent and resumed his savouring of her skin.

‘We don’t?’ She sounded startled.

He bit back the laugh—barely succeeded. ‘Not yet.’

‘No?’ She was panting now, her hips circling again, pushing into his in that way that was slowly driving him out of his mind.

He gripped her butt, stopped her. ‘No. Not yet.’

He was determined to have his slow discovery of her, but he’d give her a taste of what was to come. He kissed his way across her breast, moving up the gentle slope, finally taking the nub deep into his mouth, his tongue raking over the tip—pretty lace and all.

She cried out. He felt the satisfaction burning into him. Couldn’t resist sucking harder, letting her feel the edge of his teeth. She jerked, and he clutched her closer, stopping her from slipping to the floor.

Her hands clasped his shoulders. He lifted away from her so he could see into her eyes and tease the hell out of her. ‘You’re not that well prepared, are you?’

Looking dazed, confused, she said nothing.

‘Don’t you think we might need more than one?’ He straightened and set her right on her feet again, dug one hand into his back pocket and pulled out the stash he’d stuffed in there earlier. Holding his hand in front of her, he uncurled his fingers and half a dozen condoms scattered on the floor between them.

He caught her round the waist as he felt her soften. ‘Now stop trying to control me.’ He pushed her into the dining chair, and went down in front of her. Placed his palms on the inside of her knees and pushed them apart.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Maximising pleasure,’ he muttered, hands sliding up her thighs. ‘It’s like making wine, Sophy—producing the best takes time. Patience. A gentle touch.’

‘But I like to get things done.’

‘I know you do. And this is one thing we’re going to do very thoroughly.’ He slid his hands back down to her knees, skimmed them down to her ankles.

This wasn’t going to be quick. He’d wanted too long. He was going to touch every sweet part of her—and make her mindless.

Sophy looked down as he knelt between her legs. His eyes jet black, his face concentrated as he watched his fingers trace over her soft skin. He bent and she closed her eyes. Yes. There it was. That sensual mouth, those full lips brushing against her—setting every tiny spot he touched on fire. Someone had to help her—he did. She just couldn’t take this kind of torture.

‘Lorenzo.’ But there was no point—he wasn’t in any hurry as he kissed across her thighs. She tilted her hips towards him in an ancient rhythm, mentally begging him to go higher, to where she needed him. Finally his hands glided to her hips, his fingers grasping the elastic. She pressed her heels into the floor, lifted her butt from the chair so he could slide her knickers down. In seconds his hands were back at her knees, pushing them wide again. She screwed her eyes shut tighter.

But the kiss she expected didn’t come. It was her breasts that he touched, nuzzling through the lace, his hands pushing her skirt up higher around her waist.

She could feel the heat of his torso so close, she wanted it closer. She honestly thought she was going to die, she wanted him so badly. ‘Please, Lorenzo. Please.’

‘No.’ His half-laugh was unbearably wicked.

‘I can’t wait any longer.’ The touch of his lips to her nipples sent an SOS to her cervix—starting the contractions, the searing need of her sex to have his.

‘Yes, you can.’

‘But if I come now, I won’t…’ How could she make him understand? She didn’t want the edge taken off her hunger, she wanted all of him inside her when she had the release. She wanted it to be the best she’d ever had—she could almost taste it. ‘I want it all.’ All at once. Immediately. She was reduced to basic instinct now—to demand his possession.

He laughed. ‘You’ll have me. Again and again. I promise. Why not just enjoy this moment?’

She was going to go insane, that was why. The volcano inside her threatened to erupt. He moved—but not how she’d wanted—not to pull her to the floor so he could thrust into her in the way she was so desperate for.

No. It was only a slight change in hold but it was enough to bring her firmly under his control. He spread one hand wide on the inside of her thigh, placed his other much higher, cupping her breast, his fingers caressing her painfully taut nipple. But she could no longer move, her body bound by his, utterly enthralled by the simplest of touches: he licked her.

She gasped as his tongue swirled, tasting, teasing her most intimate, most sensitive part.

And it killed her.

She pushed back against the hard chair, unashamedly thrusting her pelvis into him. The waves of pleasure lapping at her, as he lapped her. Oh he knew what to do, how she wanted him to do it. The waves rose higher, starting to wash over her—every muscle tensed, tingled.

‘Don’t stop, please don’t stop,’ she begged him, shaking as she felt it surging. She wanted it, but she wanted more. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, with her heart, with the heat burning her inside out. In the end she reached out and drove them into his hair. Thick and vibrant beneath her fingertips, the texture rough and all male. Her head hit the back of the chair as she arched higher to meet his kiss—tension locking her body in an endless moment of stillness. His hand went from her thigh to support her beneath—holding her to his hungry mouth so he could go deeper, suck and stroke harder. And he didn’t stop. The slow, rhythmic, divine touches intensified. Her fingers curled into claws as she shook, her cry high and harsh. And as she buckled he still didn’t stop, not giving her any respite, forcing every last ripple of response from her—until neither her body nor mind could take any more and the world went black.

Sophy was no longer a sentient being. She couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even open her eyes. His hands traced over her. Gentle kisses followed their path. It was as if he was worshipping her skin, her scent, her sex.

Her pulse slowed, steadied and then started to leisurely rise again as she heard him murmuring her name. She opened her eyes then. He lifted his head from her skin, met her gaze, his smile almost boyish with pleasure. He knew, he knew just how well he’d thrilled her and how ready she was for him to do it again. Like now.

‘You still want it all?’

‘More than ever,’ she answered honestly.

His smile faded as his hand cupped her jaw. ‘You humble me.’

He twisted away, grabbed a few of the condoms. Once on his feet he lifted her into his arms and walked, instinctively stopping at the door to the master bedroom.

‘Not that one.’ She was in the smaller of the two rooms.

He placed her in the middle of her bed. Stood back and whipped his tee shirt from his head. ‘I think you’d better take off your bra and skirt.’

She was too busy enjoying watching him strip to bother with that. He took a moment with his jeans, taking care with the zip.

When finally, jaw-droppingly naked, he ripped open a little pack and rolled the condom over his erection, his teeth clenched for the few seconds it took.

Then he looked up at her. Frowned. ‘Bra and skirt Sophy? I’ll lose it if I do it.’

Maybe she wanted him to lose it.

‘If you want me inside you then you have to do it.’

She smiled, thrilled to see him so tense. But she knelt up on the bed and twisted her arms behind her back to undo her bra clasp.

He stood at the foot of her bed, looking like some ancient Greek athlete—no, some ancient Greek god.

And the look on his face made her feel like a goddess. She stood on the bed then, unzipped her skirt, and with a shimmy of her hips let it fall.

He stood stiller than a statue.

Legs apart, she put her hands on her hips, filled with a new confidence—just from the way he was watching her. ‘What are you waiting for?’

He answered slowly, through clenched teeth. ‘Some degree of control.’

She dropped to her knees and crawled to the end of the bed. Straightened up and put her hand on his chest—watching it rise and fall. Then she looked up into his searing black gaze.

His fingers tangled in her hair, twisting in her curls, and he pulled. She didn’t resist, let her head fall back so her mouth was his to plunder. And he did.

But then she ran both hands through his hair, holding him to her as she let herself fall back onto the mattress. As she intended, he overbalanced and came down hard on top of her.

‘Sophy,’ he grunted, automatically bracing a hand on either side of her, lifting his weight off her. ‘You okay?’

She hooked her legs around him, arched up to stop him moving too far away. ‘No. I’m tired of waiting for you.’

‘I can’t wait any more.’

She smiled and rippled beneath him. ‘Good.’

He stayed braced above her for a long moment, gazing into her eyes. She lifted her hips, trying to hurry him. He just smiled—that heart-meltingly brilliant smile. Then he lowered his weight half onto her again. Her heartbeat rocketed. Anticipation made breathing difficult. At last he moved, a smooth powerful stroke forward, filling her in the one hit.

She gasped, expelled an even harsher breath as she shook.

‘You okay?’ He moved again.

‘Yes,’ she panted. ‘Yes. Yes. Yes.’ But her breathing pitched wildly, the blackness threatening again as she gasped, struggling to cope with the blissful sensations. Too much, it was too much.

‘Easy honey.’ He pressed into her once more—slow, deliberate—and held there until she steadied. The weight of him and his careful hold anchored her, but his power had the potential to pull her apart. After a wavering moment, she began to breathe more deeply, softening, increasingly able to handle the intensity.

He kissed her, a soothing kiss. ‘Stay with me,’ he muttered.

She nodded, feeling his slow rhythm begin again, and she started to move with him this time. She ran her hands over his back, feeling the strength he had to offer her. She smiled as she felt it surge beneath her fingers. In her most secret fantasies she’d never imagined it would be like this.

‘Yeah.’ He kissed her properly then.

She took his face in her hands and kissed him back—as deeply as she possibly could. As the feelings ratcheted she felt him grow more tense. Until he wrenched his mouth from hers and bored a burning look into her, the smile gone, his breathing ragged and uneven now.

He rose higher above her, working them both harder, until she started to lose it again. Then he kissed her jaw, her ears, her brow, her neck, while his hips moved in that maddening, magical way. All at once the sensations rushed at her from every direction. She was half panting, half crying, mostly screaming. And just like that, too soon, not soon enough, she shattered. Her body convulsed in ecstasy, clamping hard—forcing utter capitulation from him too.

The tips of his fingers touched her damp skin. ‘So you do sweat.’

‘Contrary to popular opinion, I am actually human,’ she answered with her eyes closed.

‘And do you like it when I make you sweat?’

She didn’t answer. He’d had enough from her already. He’d had everything.

‘Your hair is still perfect.’ He ran his fingers through it. ‘What do you do to it?’

She made herself answer this time—keep the conversation on this light level. Even though she felt as if she were on shakier ground than if she were standing on the rim of an active volcano. Really she didn’t want to talk at all. She just wanted to absorb herself again. Right now she felt all that was precious in her was hanging up in the air, able to be seen—and shot down. She wanted to suck it back up. ‘Nothing. It’s just the way it is.’ She knew he didn’t believe her. But it was true—she could only have the one style. Boring as anything.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so still.’

She turned her head and looked at him. ‘What do you mean?’

He lay on his side, facing her, watching her with an impudent grin. ‘You’re usually doing a million things, ever so efficiently, never stopping.’

‘I only work fast because I want to get the job done. There are other things I want to be doing.’

He levered up higher on his arm, glanced around her room. At the table. ‘Making the necklaces?’

She was such an open book, wasn’t she? ‘Yes. And other pieces.’ She watched him closely. If he dared laugh she’d brain him one. She’d hidden it from her parents. Her brother and sister had teased her one too many times about never getting over the toddler threading beads phase. She was just the child who’d been unable to live up to their achievements, was only useful as the errand girl.

And the silly thing was she was like a child—eager for their acceptance. But she couldn’t help that craving. She’d never been one to disrespect her parents, always had been dutiful. But she wanted more than that; she wanted to make them proud. She wanted them to value her contribution to the world as much as they valued her brother and sister’s and their own. Trouble was, she was hardly off saving people as they were.

He’d hopped off the bed and was looking at the pieces on the desk. ‘They’re pretty good.’

‘And you’re an expert?’

He whirled, looked all wolf. ‘I’ve seen a few necklaces in my time.’

Of course he had. He’d seen a few necks, hadn’t he? And he knew how to make love to a woman’s neck, that was for sure. The niggle she felt about that was shamefully fleeting. She just wanted him to do it again.

He looked at the tray of beads and glass and trinkets. ‘They’re different.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’ve got a few done.’

Sophy hesitated. Then the small burst of pride beat over her usual reticence. She wanted to impress him—just a little. ‘I’m putting them in a show.’

As soon as she’d said it she regretted it. The nerves flared—what if no one liked them? What if she sold none?

‘What show?’

‘There’s a film festival coming up at the academy. My jewellery is going to be showcased in the foyer.’

‘Cool.’ He nodded. ‘That’ll be great.’

Sophy’s bubble of excitement popped. ‘I just have to finish enough to mount a decent display.’

He looked at the table. ‘This is where you work?’

‘Sometimes I use the dining table, but it’s easier in here.’ Less mess for Rosanna.

His brows flickered, but then he looked at her. She knew the subject had gone from his mind and something else was in its place. It was obvious—his body gave him away.

Lorenzo hadn’t snuck out of a girl’s room in years. Usually he could manage breakfast. He’d mastered the art of a sweet departure—a kiss, a smile, some lush words. But final. Always final.

But he didn’t want to touch Sophy again. If he did, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. And he refused to mess with her any more—although the reality was, she’d messed with him. He’d known it would be wild, but he hadn’t thought he’d be filled with such awe. Be so moved by her. In truth, she scared him. How she made him feel scared him. She was so soft, so abandoned, so delicious.

She made him want more.

He carefully eased from her bed. She was lying in a sweet curve, her blonde curls spilling over the pillow. He resisted the urge to kiss her goodbye. He was hard again anyway. He didn’t need to make it worse.

It was more nerve-racking then when he’d been trying to sneak out of the school dormitory with Alex crashing round behind him. It was all right for Alex—if he’d been caught it would have been a figurative rap on the knuckles. For Lorenzo it would have meant expulsion. He was always on that last chance. But then, as now, he made it.

He stood on the footpath outside her house and stretched, feeling the adrenalin surge through his muscles as he thought of their night together. He watched the dark sky start to lighten. Oh, yeah, as fantastic as it had been, he shouldn’t have done it. Never, ever should have done it. And he sure as hell wasn’t doing it again.