“If there’s nothing else? Feel free to see yourself out.” She waggled her fingers toward the door. “Perhaps you would be good enough to send Babette to assist me in my packing.”
He gave her a long, hard look. Then, his expression changed. Softened slightly. Speculation gleamed in the depths of his eyes.
She got the horrible sense he’d seen through her act.
Moving in unhurried steps, he approached her. The nearer he came, the louder her insides chattered, like so many birds squawking over handfuls of seed. He did not stop until he stood toe-to-toe with her.
“You’re sure you wish to prolong our time apart.”
“Of course. I said so, didn’t I?”
He nodded. “I must go out, shortly. Something off the island requires my attention.” As he spoke, he fitted one large, hot palm around her nape.
Though she fought it, a tell-tale shiver went through her. She swallowed. “Don’t let mehinderyou,” she said icily, deliberately using his own word against him.
“Kiss me farewell?” he asked. Then he bent his head and took her mouth with his. The kiss was tender, searching, and devastatingly seductive.
Her knees went weak. Then, her arms, as if of their own accord, snaked around his neck.
A husky groan sounded in his throat, and he yanked her close, melding their bodies, before deepening the kiss.
In a matter of seconds desire for him was like a flame consuming her from the inside out. “Sterling, oh, Sterling,” she breathed against his lips.
“I know,” he muttered, breaking off the kiss. “But I must go.” He pressed his forehead to hers.
Whatever he read in her expression had him sucking in a breath, and summarily lifting her off her feet.
In the next instant, she found her back pressed to the cold, stone wall.
Holding her aloft with one strong arm around her waist, he used his free hand to jerk up her skirts ’til they foamed around her hips. “Wrap your legs around me,” he rasped.
“Y-yes,” she agreed, feathering kisses over his face as she locked her ankles behind him.
He reached between them to fumble with the fly of his trousers, then freed his erection. A moment later, the slick head of his manhood nudged her opening.
She tried and failed to contain her whimper of need as she arched and shifted her hips, inviting him to take her.
But he did not accede to her silent demand. Instead, he rocked his hips incrementally into hers, gliding his shaft over her fevered flesh. Again and again and again.
Soon his fingers wedged between them to trace her with the barest of touches. “Does this feel good, Annabelle?”
“Y—yes,” she answered without hesitation.
“And this?” he whispered, as he increased the pressure.
She choked out an inarticulate assent.
“Mmmm,” he breathed, circling her, faster. Faster. Bringing her close. So close. Then he nudged into her channel—and no further. His fingers danced over her, increasing the tempo, then lessening it with maddening effects.
She clung, she shivered, she kicked.
“Please,” she begged.
Only then did he plunge into her, sinking himself to the hilt. On his first withdrawal, her climax crashed through her with the force of a tidal wave and she sobbed his name.
“Yes, oh yes,” he said on a gasp, as he thrust into her in a relentless thrilling drive that had her pleasure soaring and her heart swelling in her chest.
She loved this man. Loved him more than she thought possible. More than she’d known she could. More than she ought.
