Mistresses: The Consequences Of Desire. Оливия Гейтс

so flat across her hip bones now pillowing his erection.

      The dumb wave of regret that her body had undergone that small change and he hadn’t been there to see it, to witness it, passed over like a shadow then disappeared as her breasts pressed into his chest—demanding more friction. He ducked his head, to suck at the pulse point in her neck, which beat in frantic flutters. Her addictive scent surrounded him, lemon and spice and all things nice.

      His lips curved, holding her as she hooked toned legs around his waist. Her fingers threaded into the short, damp hair at his ears.

      ‘I haven’t got any condoms,’ he admitted, his mind trying to engage with the need to slow the hell down. To think through the driving urge to sink into her tight heat. He hadn’t had time to stop and pick any protection up because he’d come straight from the airport. And he hadn’t figured things would get this hot, this quickly. But could he risk it? Just this once? She was on the pill? ‘You okay with me using withdrawal? I’m clean, I swear.’

      He felt her nod, and lifted his head to see her eyes, glazed with an emotion that made his heart thud against his chest wall like a sledgehammer.

      ‘So am I,’ she replied

      It was all the permission he needed. His shaft jerked against her belly from the kick of desperation. Palming her buttocks, and angling her pelvis as best he could, he thrust home in one long, solid glide. Her slick, wet sex stretched to receive him, then massaged him like a velvet vice. Her head dropped back, thudding the wall, as he began to move, the thrusts jerky, desperate, the need quickly becoming too fast and furious, the need so raw and draining he couldn’t slow down, couldn’t stop now if his life depended on it.

      She sobbed, her fingernails scraping his back as she clung on. Her muscles began to milk him, and he knew she was coming.

      Don’t pull out. Not yet. Hold on. Damn it.

      His seed boiled, driving up from his balls, hurling him closer and closer to the cliff edge, her sobs of completion beckoning him to come faster, harder. And a tiny part of his mind screamed to the animal inside him.

      Now. Pull out, now.

      He wrenched himself free. Dropping his head against her shoulder, kissing the salt, sweet taste of her neck, the pain of separation as devastating as the brutal, unstoppable roll of orgasm as his seed pumped into the welcoming softness of her belly.

      * * *

      ‘Damn, that was even more awesome than I remember.’

      Ella’s gaze shimmered back into focus as a rough palm touched her cheek and blunt fingers sank into her hair. Those deep emerald eyes searched her face, making her chest tighten.

      She nodded, gently, feeling stunned, her sex still clenching and releasing from the intensity of her orgasm. Seemed absence didn’t just make the heart grow fonder.

      ‘Yes,’ she whispered, her throat raw from the wellspring of emotion.

      His lips curved, and he placed a tender kiss on her forehead. ‘Come on.’ He hefted her into his arms, bracing his forearm under her buttocks as she held onto his shoulders. ‘Let’s grab a shower. Then I want a cupcake.’

      ‘But we still need to talk,’ she murmured against his neck.

      ‘Sure. But first I want to see that magnificent rack covered in soap suds.’

      She chuckled, resting her head on his shoulder, and draping her arms around his neck, her emotions too close to the surface to protest. Surely a few more minutes of intimacy, of getting reacquainted, wouldn’t do any harm—she’d waited this long already?

      Locating the tiny bathroom at the back of the flat, he put her down to twist on the shower. But kept one hand on her hip, as if he were afraid she’d run off. She remembered leaving him, that morning with only a thank you. And felt the renewed trickle of guilt.

      The water gurgled and spurted out of the shower head, the stream thin and underwhelming.

      ‘Is that as good as it gets?’ he remarked.

      She smiled. ‘This is British plumbing we’re talking about. That’s the equivalent of Niagara Falls.’

      His quick grin lifted her spirits and made the trickle of guilt dry up.

      ‘At least it’s hot,’ he said, testing the temperature before he hauled her into the cubicle.

      ‘Not for long.’

      He grabbed her lemon verbena soap off the ledge, and worked up a lather, his hair plastered to his head, his eyes wicked with intent. ‘Then we better get this party started.’

      Gentle hands cupped her breasts, lifting and testing the weight as his thumbs glided over pebbled nipples. The heat pulsed and tugged between her thighs.

      She took the soap to wash him in return, putting all the emotion she felt into the task as her hands stroked the lean, muscular slopes of his abdomen, explored the roped sinews that defined his hip bones. She took his penis into her palm, felt it lengthen and harden as she caressed it.

      Blood surged into her tender clitoris, and she knew she wanted him again, already, surging deep, the delicious decadent stretching feeling of his flesh entering hers. Touching her womb where their child grew.

      Soon he would know, and, whatever his reaction, surely it would be okay, when this closeness, this physical joining felt so good, so right.

      But then he lifted her breasts, the cooling water sluicing away the soap, and said, ‘I like the extra weight—it looks great on you.’

      The approval in his gaze had the wave of guilt flopping over in her stomach. She couldn’t wait any longer. It wasn’t fair to him, or to their child. She drew away from him, her back wedged against the wall of the cubicle.

      ‘We need to get dressed. I have something I have to tell you.’

      ‘Okay.’

      He flipped off the shower control, but took hold of her wrist as she opened the cubicle door. The sudden silence felt deafening, despite the blood roaring in her ears. He tugged her towards him as he stepped out behind her, tucked a finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to his. ‘What’s up? Is something wrong?’

      ‘No, I just...’ She gulped past the tightness.

      Not yet. Get yourself together first. You need to tell him gently. Carefully.

      Her gaze dropped to his erection. She certainly couldn’t function, let alone think clearly, while he was standing naked in front of her, visibly aroused.

      ‘I just need a minute.’

      His grip had loosened, his gaze puzzled, but not yet wary. She pulled her hand free, headed for the door. ‘Shall we get dressed? I can meet you in the living room in ten minutes? Make you that coffee I promised?’

      He shrugged, grabbed a towel from the rail to wrap around his waist. ‘Sure.’

      She darted out of the door before he could change his mind.

      * * *

      ‘All right, let’s have it, what was so important we couldn’t finish what I was busy starting in the shower?’

      Ella smiled at the rueful tone, and glanced up from the cupcakes she was busy arranging on a plate.

      He stood with his legs crossed at the ankles, leaning against the kitchen counter. He’d changed into a pair of faded jeans and a black T-shirt, which must have been in the bag he’d had with him. Had he come straight from the airport, then, to see her? She felt a renewed spike of optimism, of hope.

      She’d figured so many outcomes for what she was about to tell him, but none of them had included the possibility that he might be pleased with her news. Yes, it would be a shock, but why had she assumed it would necessarily be a disaster?

      She never would have guessed he would come to London, or the chemistry between them would have remained