And that niggle of doubt at the back of her head? That little voice that whispered she shouldn’t be doing this? That he’d despise her more for it in the end? Well, it was silenced when he pushed up to his knees, letting go of her wrists to grab the waistband of her skirt.
Damn, but the man was pretty. Yes, pretty. There was just no other way to describe the way his dark skin glowed under the sheen of rain and sweat. The way his black eyes were like lasers inside the dimness of the hut. His heavy chest muscles and corded stomach muscles bunched and flexed as he slowly, ever so slowly pulled the wet skirt from her legs. Carelessly tossing it aside, he peeled the soft-soled shoes from her feet and dropped them to the mat. When her heels landed on the dried palm leaf, his position between her thighs kept her legs splayed and her sex… Oh, God!
Embarrassment or shyness or…something along those lines had her face flushing hot. She lifted her arms, ready to cover herself, but he stopped her.
“No, bonita,” he rasped, his deep voice heavy with desire as he caught her wrists in a firm grasp. Leaning over her, his warm chest brushing against her distended, aching nipples, he once against placed her hands behind her head. “You will keep them here for me, sí?” And, as if to lessen the demand in his tone, he placed a gentle kiss on her mouth. His day’s growth of beard stubble was wonderfully abrasive against her lips. “I want to look at you. I want to see you.”
She swallowed, nodding jerkily as he pushed back to his knees, doing just as he said he would. Slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, his gaze traveled down the length of her body. Past the quick rise and fall of her breasts, past the hollowed quiver of her stomach, to the place where she burned and ached.
His nostrils flared, and every inch of Abby’s skin flushed with a deep blush. She’d never had a man look at her. Not like this. Not so openly. She couldn’t stand it. She was too exposed, too vulnerable. And he was too…intense.
Covering her face with her hands, she whimpered his name.
“Don’t be shy, cariño.” He nudged her hands away. She bit her lip when she saw his eyes sparkling above her, his cheeks flushed pink with the heat of his desire. “Don’t you know how beautiful you are?”
She shook her head. She’d wasn’t beautiful. Cute, perhaps. But never beautiful. And that place on her body, her most intimate place, was never something—
“Oh, sweet heavens!” she cried when he reached down to spread her labia, pressing the rough pad of his thumb into the hard knot of nerves at the top of her sex.
“You are gorgeous.” His eyes watched what his fingers were doing. “So pink. So plump and wet for me.” His voice was solemn, almost reverent, as if he were worshiping her. And when his middle finger stroked into her like rough velvet, abrading the tender nerve endings that had been screaming for sensation, the good Lord knew she felt like a goddess. Powerful and divine. Her body having become a glorious instrument of pure pleasure.
“C-Carlos,” she panted when he stroked her. Just that one thick finger. In and out. In and out. Until she thought she’d go crazy.
“Sí, mi vida,” he growled, a muscle ticking in his jaw, his chest rising and falling heavily, telling her that he was enjoying this as much as she. “Tell me how it feels.”
“So good,” she rasped, lifting her hips so he could go deeper. “It feels so good.”
“And this?” he asked as he slowly, gently forced another finger inside her, stretching her, filling her.
“Uhnn,” she whimpered, her heart pounding, her lungs struggling to remember to breathe when every single synapse in her brain was focused on Carlos and the intense pleasure he inflicted on her body. “Yesss,” she managed to hiss after a second. “Please, Carlos.”
“Please, Carlos, what?” he asked, placing the pad of thumb on her clit and slowly caressing it in a tight, circular motion.
Abby was surprised she didn’t spontaneously combust. Her blood was running so hot. Every inch of her skin was on fire. And her sex, where he stimulated her so well, was blazing like a furnace. “Please, make me come. I need you to—”
“Not yet,” he grumbled, stroking her one last time before pulling his fingers from her.
She couldn’t help herself, she growled her frustration as she clenched around the void his fingers had left behind.
“Shhh,” he crooned, scooting back and going down on his belly on the mat. When she lifted her head, she saw his face no more than a few inches from her sex. But he wasn’t returning her gaze. Oh, no. Once again, his attention was focused solely on the center of her, where she was, as he’d said, so pink and plump and wet. Only this time there was no embarrassment. Because the hot, yearning look in his eyes was impossible to miss. As was the hunger. And when he licked his lips like a man about to feast, her head dropped back to floor.