And then she tensed under him, tensed for that sweet second, poised on the brink of the point of no return, before a flick of his tongue catapulted her over and she came apart in his mouth. And he somehow managed to smile under the weight of his own need for release. Somehow watching her come had been more satisfying than he’d imagined. He could wait.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. But oh, how she could feel! Every part of her was alight, every part of her sang with pleasure and then he joined her, his kiss deep and drugging, a kiss that tasted of him and tasted of her and the thought of that was enough to ignite her senses all over again.
‘I have to have you.’ The words sounded as if they’d been ground through his teeth. He splayed a hand over her belly. ‘I will try to be gentle.’
‘The baby is fine,’ she whispered. It is me who will get hurt. And the hurt would come, she knew. The hurt and the regret and the sorrow. But there was time for that later. A lifetime for sorrow. And right now there was no room for hurt. There was only time to feel.
‘You are so unbelievably sexy,’ he whispered, his lips against her breast, his tongue flicking at a nipple. His words stirred her, his voice husky and rich, brushing over her skin and senses like a velvet rasp. He was the magnificent one, broad-chested, lean and powerful, all muscle and corded strength, and he was calling her sexy?
And then she felt him. There.
He was so big. A momentary fear gripped her and held on tight. It had been a while. Months. And even then…
But then he pulled her into another of those kisses with that tongue that seemed to reach right in and rip her very soul from her body and she forgot everything except how to feel.
And how he made her feel.
He entered her in a thrust that made her gasp and sent her head driving back into the pillows, her back arching as her body stretched to accommodate him.
Time stood still while they lay joined. Fused.
And then he moaned above her, a low moan that sounded as if it had been ground through his teeth and spoke restraint that was being sorely tested, and slowly withdrew. She clung to him, desperate to keep him there, using all her muscles to contain him, the slide of his skin against hers a delicious friction, the feel of him poised once again at her entrance an exquisite torture.
She tilted her hips and he groaned again, this cry more desperate, his need matching her own, before he lunged into her, deeper this time, impossibly better.
She was gasping now, wild with need as he moved inside her, building the rhythm, his kisses pulling her deeper, his mouth hot and hungry, his big hands on her breasts, at her hips, setting her skin alight wherever he made contact.
Slick and hard, he filled her. Stretched her. Completed her.
Colours were her new friends. Colours that sparked behind her eyelids, colours that shot fireworks searing through her senses.
She could not come again. Somewhere in the vague recesses of her mind she knew that. Not twice in one night. It had never happened before. It couldn’t happen now. But still the colours flashed, the sensations mounted and denial slowly turned into a smouldering sense of wonderment, a rising tide of tension, a need that went beyond mere completion. A need that demanded his completion too.
He drove into her, his sculpted back slick beneath her hands, every muscle tight and taut with that skin straining, every last part of him focused and true, until the smoulder became a curling ripple of smoke that became a raging fire that sent clouds to obliterate the sun.
With one final thrust he set her alight, her senses exploding, shorting, fusing as she came. She burned up in the inferno he’d triggered inside her. She lost herself in the flames. And she wondered, vaguely, from a very, very long way away, if she would ever really find herself again.
Later, much later, she left him while he slept, lifted his arm from her body and eased herself away. It was late in the afternoon. Rosa would wonder why she wasn’t in the kitchen—if she came to the nursery looking and found her like this, Angie would never live it down. Worse, she couldn’t bear it if Dominic woke and she saw the resentment return to those dark eyes. She couldn’t bear to be there when he realised what a mistake he’d made.
For it was a mistake, she should know. From the moment of her conception her entire life had been based on mistakes.
An unplanned pregnancy, an ill-conceived wedding, a wrong embryo. A mistake had brought her to Dominic’s home and now another mistake had seen her fall into his bed.
When would she ever learn?
She located her clothes, slipped on her crumpled dress, smoothing it down her legs. She spared him one last lingering glance, admiring the sheer unadulterated magnificence of the man—this was one mistake that would haunt her for the rest of her life.