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He slowly thrust one finger in and out, while torturing her breasts with his mouth and tongue. She was throbbing all over, slick and ready. The previous emotional whirlwind was blissfully forgotten in this moment of heated insanity.
‘Please, Cruz...’
He looked up, his face stark with need. He undid his jeans and pushed them down and his erection sprang fee. Trinity took it in her hand, the moisture at the tip wetting her palm.
Cruz settled himself between her legs, the head of his erection sliding against her sex, and it was too much. She was ready to beg when he tipped her back and notched himself into her heat. They both groaned, and he rested his forehead on hers for a moment.
Then he said, ‘Wrap your legs around my waist.’
She did, barely aware that her sandals had fallen off. Cruz pulled her panties to one side and with one earth-shattering movement thrust into her, deep enough to steal her breath and her soul for ever.
He put an arm around her and hauled her even closer as he slowly thrust in and out, each glide of his body inside hers driving them higher and higher to the peak. She wrapped one arm around his neck, the other around his waist, struggling to stay rooted.
‘Look at me,’ he commanded roughly.
She opened her eyes and tipped back her head. The look on his face made a spasm of pure lust rush through her. It was feral. Desperate. Hungry. Raw.
Their movements became rougher...something else fell to the floor.
Cruz pushed her back onto the table, lying her flat, and took her hands in one of his, holding them above her head as he kept up the relentless rhythm of their bodies. She dug her heels into his buttocks, biting her lip to stop from screaming as the coil of tension wound so tight she thought she couldn’t bear it any longer. But just at that moment he drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking fiercely, and the tension shattered to pieces and Trinity soared free of the bond that had been holding her so tight.
Cruz’s body tensed over hers and she felt the hot burst of his release inside her.
* * *
Cruz took her to his room in his arms, because her legs were too wobbly to hold her up. She’d buried her face in his shoulder, eyes closed, weakly trying to block out the storm that had just passed but had left her reeling and trembling.
Her head hurt after too many confessions and an overload of pleasure. And too many questions that she didn’t want to answer now. Or ever, maybe.
His room was dark and austere. There was a four-poster bed with elaborate drapes. This was very evidently the old part of the castillo.
He put her down on the side of his bed and she felt shell-shocked when he disappeared into what she presumed to be the bathroom. She heard the sound of running water and a few minutes later he appeared again and took her into the en-suite.
The bath smelled amazing. Like Cruz. Musky and exotic. He helped her out of her dishevelled clothes and into the hot water. She sank down and looked at him warily. He wore nothing but his jeans, slung low on his hips. She wished she had the nerve to ask him to join her, but she also wanted time to herself, to try and take in everything without him scrambling her brain to pieces.
As if reading her mind, he said, ‘I’ll be waiting outside,’ and walked out, leaving her alone with thoughts she suddenly didn’t want to think about.
Coward. She wanted to sink down under the water and block everything out, but she couldn’t.
She let out a long, shuddering breath. It really was as if a storm had taken place down in Cruz’s study, whipping everything up and then incinerating it in the fire that had blown up between them, white-hot and devastating. But a very fragile sense of peace stole over her as she lay there, even as she had to acknowledge that she wasn’t sure where she stood now. And wasn’t sure if she wanted to find out.
Aware that the water was cooling rapidly, and Cruz was waiting, she washed perfunctorily, stiffening as a jolt of sensation went through her when she touched the tenderness between her legs.
When she finally emerged, in a voluminous towelling robe with the sleeves rolled up her arms, Cruz was standing at the window. He turned around and she could see that he’d changed into dark trousers and a long-sleeved top and his hair was damp. So he’d gone to another room to shower. Because he’d wanted to give her space, or because he couldn’t bear to spend more time with her?
Trinity gritted her jaw against the sudden onset of paranoia.
He came forward. ‘How are you?’
She nodded. ‘I’m okay.’
He was looking at her with a strange expression on his face, as if he’d never seen her before. In spite of the explosive intimacies they’d just shared Trinity felt as if a chasm yawned between them now.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said impulsively, thinking of the look on his face when she’d revealed the depth of Rio’s hatred.
A muscle ticked in Cruz’s jaw. ‘You’re sorry? For what? It’s me who should be apologising to you for all but forcing you into this marriage, and for what my brother put you through to get back at me.’
His belief in her innocence didn’t make her feel peaceful now—it made her feel sick. If he really believed that she had just been a pawn in Rio’s game what future was there for them? Her heart lurched. None. Because he had to be regretting this marriage, which had been born out of an erroneous belief that he couldn’t trust her and that he needed to protect his nephews.
