Page 56 of Diego

"Diego," I whisper, my voice hoarse and desperate. "We can't."

"Can't what?" he asks, his lips trailing down my neck again. "Can't do this? Seems we're doing quite well, don't you?"

He's right. We're doing very, very well.

"Someone could come in," I say. "The fire department... building security..."

"The doors have locks, don't they?" He sounds amused. "Or were you trying to sell me a house with no lock?"

Somehow, without my realizing it, the front of my shirt has been completely unbuttoned. My bra has been pulled down, exposing my breasts to the cool air, the light, his hungry gaze.

"You play dirty," I say.

"Always." He dips his head, taking one of my nipples into his mouth, and I forget whatever thoughts still remained, including my own damn name.

His tongue is magic. He licks, he sucks, he nips with just enough pressure to make my whole body tense with pleasure. One of my hands tangles in his hair, holding him to me, while the other grips the back of the chair for support.

He lifts his head, and my nipple is flushed and wet. He gives the other one the same treatment. I'm completely undone, a writhing mess of sensation and need.

"Still thinking about Switzerland?" he asks, looking up at me with a smug smirk.

"Hmm?" I manage.

He chuckles and bites down on one sensitive peak. "That's what I thought." He pulls back, and I make a small, involuntary protest.

His hands drop to my waist, and then he's sliding them under my skirt, pushing it up, up, until it's bunched around my hips. His strong hands lift me effortlessly, and I find myself sitting on the back of the sofa, my legs parted to accommodate him. He stands between them, a perfect fit.

His fingers trace the edge of my panties, and my whole body trembles.

"These are very professional," he notes. "Beige. Very practical."

"They're nude," I say, a little breathlessly. "Not beige."

"Right. Nude." He hooks a finger under the fabric, pulling it to the side. "And very wet."

My face flushes with heat, but it's not embarrassment.

"That's your fault," I barely manage.

"Oh, I do apologize." He sounds proud, and not at all apologetic.

Then he slides a finger inside me.

A gasp escapes my lips. My head falls back, my eyes close. He curls that finger, stroking me.

He adds another finger, stretching me. My hips buck against his hand, seeking more. He obliges, stroking in and out, a delicious rhythm that has me climbing toward a peak at an astonishing speed.

"Look at me, Blair," he says, torturing me with slow strokes. "Open your eyes."

My eyes flutter open.

"That's it," he coaxes. "Right on me."

He holds my eyes, watching my every reaction, as he continues to thrust his fingers into me.

The intensity is like nothing I've ever experienced before. Watching him watching me is almost too much, but I can't look away.

His thumb presses against my clit, and I cry out, a sharp, broken sound.