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He studied the color that stained his wife’s throat and chest where her silk robe gaped open. She always got red there when she was aroused. He was aroused knowing what lay beneath the silk. Her full, engorged breasts added a whole new sexy dimension to her body he couldn’t stop thinking about. He wanted to see her. Devour her until she screamed as she had last night.
The pulse at the base of her neck throbbed. Her gaze met his as he lifted it to hers. “You are insatiable,” she breathed. “I’m trying to help.”
“You want to help?” He ran a finger from her throat down to the upper curve of her breast. “Take off the robe.”
Her gaze tangled with his. “If you promise you’ll keep talking to me.”
He slipped his thumb under the silk and found the soft, raised peak of one of her beautiful breasts. “I promise. Now take it off.”
Excitement flared in her beautiful eyes. She reached for the tie of her robe and pulled it open. His breath hissed from his lungs. She was perfection, her long slim limbs enhanced by the lush curves his child was giving to her. It did something indescribable to him.
He sank his hands into her waist and lifted her onto the counter, ignoring the voices in his head that told him to walk away. To avoid the temptation in front of him. Because every time he gave in to it, it consumed him more. Made him need her more. And he didn’t want to need her.
The need in him won.
He bent and took one of her nipples into his mouth while his fingers plumped her luscious flesh. She tasted of lemons and sweetness and he was lost before he’d even started.
She moaned and buried her fingers in his hair as he sucked hard on her. When her nipple was taut beneath his lips, he transferred his attention to the other peak, satisfying every bit of his craving. She arched beneath him, leaning back against the counter with a low moan.
When her other nipple was a hard pebble beneath his teeth, he straightened and studied his handiwork. The distended, engorged tips of her beautiful breasts made him so hard he had trouble focusing. But he knew his wife needed warming up before he took her, and somewhere he found a shaky sense of self-control.
He kept his eyes on hers as he worked her thighs apart and sought out the delicate button at the heart of her. Her ebony eyes went a molten chocolate brown as he rubbed her between his fingers.
“God, Coburn...”
He pressed his thumb against her in tiny, circular movements that had her eyes drooping shut as pleasure consumed her. “Look at me,” he commanded, stilling his movement. She opened them, hot color claiming her cheeks. Slowly, sensuously, he worked her, watching her orgasm build in her eyes.
Satisfaction lanced through him. “That’s the way I want you, sweetheart, wide-open, so I can see every part of you.”
She was too far gone to respond. He moved his thumb against her harder, faster, until she threw back her head, a shudder raking through her.
He shoved his shorts off and pulled her to the edge of the counter. Her thighs were trembling as he wrapped them around him and entered her with an insistent surge that took him all the way to her core. Her moan was pure satisfaction.
The sensation of being encased in velvety, hot muscle overwhelmed his control. In less than a dozen hard strokes, he found his release, his hips jerking hard against her as he spilled himself inside her.
Her name as he uttered it on a low, urgent groan sounded like the desperate plea of a man who wanted everything he couldn’t have.
CHAPTER TWELVE
GOD, SHE LOVED New York in the fall.
Diana smiled at the little terrier kicking up the red-and-orange-hued leaves on the sidewalk of their Chelsea neighborhood, sidestepped the frantic little pup and made her way toward the butcher shop. An extravaganza of color bursting with promise—that was what New York was like at this time of the year. She couldn’t get enough of it.
If it was the last place she’d expected to be, and she’d given up her dream of Africa, she now knew everything happened for a reason. She and Coburn clashing that night on his balcony, conceiving their baby, had been meant to make them face their feelings. To pull them back from the brink before it was too late for them.
She pulled open the door of the butcher shop, musical chimes announcing her arrival to the handful of customers in the store. She and Coburn had been home for three weeks now, during which time she’d transplanted her life back to Manhattan, focused on supporting her husband through what might be the biggest challenge of his career with this recall and bought a new home in Chelsea.
