‘Santos …’
His tormenting hands had moved further inwards, stroking over the creamy lace of her bra, the delicate covering lasting only a second or two under his knowing fingers. Swiftly and expertly he freed the clasp at the back, easing the soft material from her swollen breasts and replacing it with the heat of his palms, cupping and lifting her in a way that no underwear could ever do. And all trace of embarrassment, all trace of thought, fled from her mind completely as he stroked caressing thumbs over each taut nipple, making her gasp aloud at the shock of stinging arousal.
She caught the faint sound of his laughter once more as he kissed her again, taking that gasp into his own mouth and swallowing it down without taking his lips from hers. And all the time his hands worked magic on her breasts, stroking, teasing, caressing until she was writhing under his touch, almost out of her mind with pleasure.
‘I knew this was how it would be,’ Santos muttered against her skin as that hot, demanding mouth started to move downwards, over her chin, along the sensitive line of her throat, leaving a trail of burning kisses everywhere it touched. ‘Knew how it had to be.’
She felt his tongue touch her too, slick and warm, lingering over the spot where her pulse beat frantically under the delicate skin at the base of her neck. Then, shocking her into lying totally still, holding her breath in stunned excitement, he moved his caresses to the soft slopes of her breast, kisses replacing his fingers, moving slowly, sinfully, seductively upwards, until at last his lips closed over the taut bud of her nipple, drawing it into the heat of his mouth, teeth grazing it so very gently.
‘Santos!’
Her use of his name was a raw, primitive sound that shocked her to hear it. She hadn’t known that she was capable of being so out of control, so far from civilised, and her fingers clutched in his hair, holding him still against her. This time his laughter was a warm feathering across her sensitive nipple, making her shiver and wriggle in ecstatic response.
But she couldn’t control his hands, and they were far from still, roaming even lower, stroking over the soft planes of her stomach, blunt fingertips circling her navel then dipping into the small, soft valley. She had barely caught her breath before they moved again, tracing slow, erotic patterns over her skin as they slid lower, easing the satin skirts upwards, slipping under the near-transparent panties, tangling in the dark hair that shielded the most intimate spot of her body. The spot that throbbed and burned in anticipation of the pleasure of his touch. Arching herself into those caressing fingers, Alexa sighed her contentment and encouragement, urging him onward, lower …
‘Oh, yes—Santos … please …’
Eyes closed, she reached for him blindly, arms locking around his strong neck, drawing him down to her again so that his lips captured hers once more. The feel of his breath against her cheek was as hot, as raw and uneven as her own, telling her without the need for words that he was as far beyond control as she was.
‘How have you done this to me?’ he muttered against her mouth. ‘How has it come to this so fast?’
The same questions were whirling inside her head but she didn’t want to stop and consider them, didn’t want to let them take root in any way that might make her pause and think, reconsider how she had come to be here. She simply wanted to feel, to experience this wild rush of passion. To know the full force of Santos’s possession.
With hands that shook with need, she tugged at Santos’s clothing, wrenching the buttons of the silk waistcoat from their fastenings, pushing it aside.
His shirt followed, buttons dispensed with with more haste than finesse, the fine garment tossed aside as her hungry fingers closed over the warmth of his skin, the power of tight, clenched muscle, drawing him even closer to her.
That tormenting touch left her briefly as Santos dealt with the rest of his clothing, coming back to her before she had really realised that he had gone, the heat of his body coming over her like an enfolding wave, swamping her thought processes. She coiled around him so tightly that she could almost not tell where she ended and he began. But there was still that one, vital part of her that was hungry, empty. Longing for, needing his possession. Unable to put her need into words, she could only press herself against him, mutely imploring him to ease the agony of waiting, to take her, to take them both to the wild oblivion she could sense was just out of sight, just out of reach.
And Santos needed no extra urging. With his mouth still tight against hers, he slid one hard-muscled leg between both of hers, edging them apart to open her up to him. His arms slid underneath her pliant body, raising her slightly so that her hips cradled him, her legs curling around his.