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Lazaro’s hand was in her hair, undoing it and combing his fingers through it, massaging her scalp. He tugged her head back and she looked up at him. She couldn’t escape that glittering green gaze. He looked back at her for a long moment, and then he cupped her face and he was kissing her again. Sliding his tongue along hers in a flagrantly sexual and drugging dance.
Skye gripped on to him to stay standing, the blood turning to fire in her veins. Her breasts were pressed against his bare chest and she strained to get closer, creating delicious friction.
He cupped her bottom then, lifting her up against him, and she wound her arms around his neck. If she could have climbed into his skin she would.
Then she was falling backwards, landing on the soft surface of the bed where Lazaro laid her down.
She sucked in a breath, dizzy. And watched as he removed his clothing with far more efficiency than she could have managed. He stood before her naked and utterly unselfconscious. His outer layer stripped away, revealing the perfect male specimen underneath.
And he was majestic. Like every glorious statue she’d ever seen of the male form in dusty Greek museums or Parisian art galleries.
His erection was thick and heavy, and Skye’s lower body clenched in anticipation.
He came to her, and with a precision she didn’t want to think about divested her of her panties and pull-ups, throwing them aside. Now she was naked, on the biggest bed in the most opulent bedroom she’d ever been in. Cherubs and angels danced among clouds on the ceiling.
But she couldn’t have cared less about the celebrated sixteenth-century artist who had created such stunning work.
Lazaro naked, moving over her with a look of hungry intent in his eyes, was far more impressive.
His gaze stopped on her breasts, and then between her legs. Skye had never felt so needy. He rested over her on his hands and dipped his head, his mouth finding hers with unerring accuracy. She reached for him, needing contact. Needing to feel him on her. In her.
His hands were everywhere, moulding the shape of her body as if learning it by touch. Caressing her breasts, cupping one soft full mound and moving his mouth off hers and down so he could surround the taut straining peak with heat and warmth, nipping gently with his teeth.
He knelt between her legs and pulled them apart. He smoothed his hands up her thighs and then around and underneath her buttocks, kneading her flesh. And then he bent down, pressing kisses first along her inner thighs and then higher, to the epicentre where every nerve was quivering, waiting, aching...
Her back arched off the bed when he touched her there with his mouth and tongue. Exploring deep inside where she was laid bare in her desire for him. She did
n’t care. She was undone... And she came in an intense rush of pleasure, her body spasming for long seconds in the aftermath.
Skye opened her eyes and saw Lazaro above her, reaching out to brush some hair off her face. She was panting...sated and yet hungry for more.
‘Okay?’
His question touched on a vulnerable point inside her. She nodded, unable to speak. He came between her legs and she felt the blunt head of his erection against her sensitised skin. He massaged her there for a moment, with his thumb, and she bit her lip at the sensation. He was arousing her again.
‘Ready?’
She nodded. Lazaro angled his body and with one smooth thrust seated himself deep inside her. She gasped at the sensation, which was almost too much, and then her body relaxed around his...adapting, yielding.
Lazaro started to move, an inexorable glide in and out, ratcheting up the tension, finding her hand and lacing his fingers with hers over her head. Every sinew in her body pulled taut as they climbed higher and higher, until their tension reached the point of no return and Skye’s body went still for an infinitesimal moment before falling down and down into a vortex of pleasure that eclipsed anything she’d felt before.
Lazaro’s body stilled. He was so deep inside Skye she felt as if he was touching her heart. A fanciful notion she batted away as soon as it appeared. And then powerful shudders racked his frame as he found his own release. Her body pulsated around him, milking his essence.
Skye wasn’t aware of Lazaro extricating himself from her embrace... She had fallen into oblivion.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHEN SKYE WOKE she could hear the sounds of water nearby—a rhythmic lapping against stone. The sound of a horn from a boat roused her completely. She looked around the room at the fantastical ceiling. The gold inlaid décor. The massive, very rumpled bed.
Heat flooded her body. She turned her head and saw the indentation on the pillow where Lazaro had slept. It was dusk outside, the sky an inky lavender colour.
Had she dreamt it or had Lazaro tucked her into his body after making love to her and spread a hand across her belly?
She heard a noise and looked up. Lazaro stepped into the room, hair damp and curling after a shower, wearing black trousers and a snowy white shirt.
He held up his hands. ‘I need help with the cufflinks.’
The event.
