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Nothing could keep him from learning the taste and feel of her skin.
He kissed her breasts, drawing the beaded nipples deep into his mouth, and when she cried out his name and arced toward him, her excitement fueled his own. He ran his hand along her hip, his fingers barely stroking across the feathery curls that formed a sweet, inverted triangle between her thighs, and the tightness in his belly grew.
“Laurel,” he said. “Look at me.”
Her lashes fluttered open. Her eyes were huge, the blue irises all but consumed by the black pupils. She was breathing hard; her face, her rounded breasts, were stained with the crimson flush of passion.
He had done this to her, he thought fiercely, he had brought her this pleasure. He said her name again, his gaze holding hers as he moved his hand lower and when, at last, he touched her, she let out a cry so soft and wild that he thought he could feel it against his palm.
He rolled away from her and stripped off his clothing. His hands shook; it was as if he was entering into an unknown world where what awaited him could bring joy beyond imagining or the darkness of despair. He didn’t know which right know, and he didn’t give a damn.
All that mattered was this moment, and this woman.
Laurel. Beautiful Laurel.
Naked, he knelt on the bed beside her. She was watching him, her face pale but for the glow on her cheeks, and the urgency deep within him seemed to diminish. Just for a moment, he thought it might almost be enough to take her in his arms, kiss her, hold her close and listen to the beat of her heart against his the whole night through.
But then she whispered his name and held her arms up to him, and he knew that he needed more. He needed to penetrate her, to make her his in the way men have done since the dawn of time.
“Laurel,” he said, and when her eyes met his, he gave up thinking, parted her thighs and sank deep into her heat.
* * *
Laurel rose carefully from the bed.
It was very late, and Damian was asleep. She was sure of it; she could hear the steady susurration of his breath.
Her clothing was scattered across the room. She gathered up the bits and pieces, moving quietly so as not to wake him, and she thought about how he had undressed her, how she’d let him undress her, how she’d wanted him to undress her.
A hot, sick feeling roiled in the pit of her stomach.
The apartment was silent as she slipped out of his bedroom, though the darkness had given way to a cheerless grey. It made it easier to see, at least; the last thing she wanted to do was put on a light and risk waking him.
What in heaven’s name had she done?
Sex, she told herself coldly. An experience, a seduction, the kind other women whispered about, even joked about. That was what had happened to her, a mind-blowing night of passion in the arms of a man who obviously knew his way around the boudoir.
Laurel’s hands trembled as she zipped up her skirt.
She had given up all the moral precepts she’d lived by. She’d humiliated herself. She’d...she’d...
A moan broke from her throat. She’d become someone else, that was what had happened, and the knowledge that such a woman even existed inside her would haunt her forever.
The things she’d done tonight, the things she’d let Damian do...
What had happened to her? Just the sight of him, kneeling between her thighs, had made her come apart. He was so magnificent, such a perfect male animal, his broad shoulders gleaming as if they’d been oiled, his hair dark and tumbling around his face. The tiny gold stud, glinting in his ear, had been all the adornment such a man would ever need.
And then he’d entered her. She’d felt her body stretching to welcome him, to contain him...and then he’d moved, and moved again, and a cry had burst from her throat and she’d shattered into a million shining pieces.
“Damian,” she’d sobbed, “oh, Damian...”
“I know,” he’d whispered, his mouth on hers, and then she’d felt him beginning to move again, and she’d realized he was still hard within her. The flames had ignited more slowly the second time, not because she’d wanted him less but because he’d made it happen that way, pulling back, then easing forward, filling her and filling her, taking her closer and closer to the edge until, once again, she’d felt herself soar into the night sky where she’d blazed as brightly as a comet before tumbling back to earth.
She’d found paradise, she’d thought dreamily, as Damian’s arms closed around her. She’d blushed as he whispered soft words to her and when, at last, he’d kissed her forehead, and her mouth, and held her close against his heart, she’d drifted into dreamless sleep.
Hours later, something—a sound, a whisper of breeze from the window—had awakened her. For a moment, she’d been confused. This wasn’t her bedroom...
And then she’d remembered. She was in Damian’s arms, in his bed, with the scent of him and what they’d done on her skin, and suddenly, in the cold, sharp light of dawn, she’d seen the night for what it really had been.
Cheap. Tawdry. Ugly.
Paradise? Laurel’s throat constricted. A one-night stand, was more like it. She’d gone to bed with a stranger, not just gone to bed with him but—but done things with him she’d never...
...felt things she’d never...
“Laurel?”
She gasped and spun around. The bedroom door had opened; Damian stood in a pool of golden light that spilled from a bedside lamp. Naked, unashamed, he was a Greek statue come to life, hewn not of cold marble but of warm flesh. There was a little smile on his lips, a sexy, sleepy one, but as he looked at her, it began to fade.
“You’re all dressed.”
“Yes.” Laurel cleared her throat. “I—I’m sorry if I woke you, Damian. I tried to be quiet but—”
God, she was babbling! She’d never sneaked out of a man’s apartment before, but she’d be damned if she’d let him know that. Anyway, there was a first time for everything. Hadn’t she proved that tonight?
“I apologize if I disturbed you.”
“Apologize?” he said, his eyes narrowing.
“Yes. Oh, and thank you for...” For what? Are you crazy? What are you thanking him for? “For everything,” she said brightly.
“Laurel...”
“No, really, you needn’t see me out. I’m sure I can find my way, just down the stairs and through the—”
“Dammit,” he said sharply, “what is this?”
“What is what? It’s late. Very late. Or early, I don’t really know which. And I have to go home, and change, and—” The quick, brittle flow of words ended in a gasp as he reached out and brought her against him. “Damian, don’t.”
“Ah,” he said softly, “I understand.” He laughed softly, bent his head and took the tip of her earlobe gently between his teeth. “Morning-after jitters. Well, I know how to fix that.”
“Don’t,”
she said again. She could hear the faint rasp in her own voice; it said, more clearly than words, that though her head meant one thing, her traitorous body meant something very different. She could feel him stirring against her and a warm heaviness settled in her loins.
“Laurel.” Damian spoke in a whisper. He wasn’t laughing now; he was looking at her through eyes that had darkened to silvery ash. “Come back to bed.”
“No,” she said, “I just told you, I can’t.”
His smile was honeyed. Slowly he dipped his head and kissed her, parting her lips with his.
“You can. And you want to. You know that you do.”
She closed her eyes as he kissed the hollow of her throat. He was right, that was the worst of it. She wanted to go with him into that wide bed, where the scent of their lovemaking still lingered.
Except that it hadn’t been lovemaking. It had been... There was a word for what they’d done, a word so ugly, so alien, that even thinking it made her feel unclean.
His hands were at the top button of her blouse. In a moment, he’d have them all undone, and then he’d touch her, and she wouldn’t want to stop him...
“Stop it!” Her hands wrapped around his wrists. His brows, as black as a crow’s wings, drew together. She’d taken him by surprise, she saw, and she made the most of the advantage and pressed on. “We had—we had fun, I agree, but let’s not spoil it. Really, we both knew it was just one of those things that happen. There’s no need to say anything more.”
His eyes narrowed. “I thought we might—”
“Might what? Work out an arrangement?” She forced a smile to her lips. “I’m sorry, Damian, but I’d rather leave it at this. You know what they say about too much of anything spoiling it.”
He was angry, she could see that in the flush that swept over his high cheekbones. His ego had taken a hit but that was too damn bad. What had he expected? An if-it’s-Tuesday-it-must-be-your-place kind of deal, the sort he’d no doubt had with the blonde?
