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She didn’t get any further. Even before she had freed herself from the billowing silk Luke had swept Rosalind backwards onto the bed with a hoarse sound of inarticulate need. Blindfolded in midnight-blue, she found herself pulled beneath him, his mouth and hands eagerly roaming over her desperately squirming body.
He bit into her tender flesh, his groans and whisper of raw pleasure inflaming her smothered senses as he hungrily sought her swollen breasts and suckled fiercely on the engorged nipples while she struggled to free herself from the fabric surrounding her head and arms, succeeding only in entangling herself further. Her frantic writhing and gasps of helpless delight excited Luke to a frenzy and the full weight of his tightly compact body surged on top of her, his hands tugging at her thighs, prising them roughly apart, a
groan tearing its way out of his chest as he settled himself heavily into the enticing wedge, his congested loins straining against her fiery heart, probing for its moist centre.
Rosalind finally managed to wrench the maddening dress over her head and toss it aside, but Luke was already rising above her on his arms, his chest rigid, his muscles bunching convulsively as he arched his back and threw his head back, blindly driving himself between her thighs with a guttural shout of gratification.
Rosalind echoed his cry, clutching his slippery, straining back as he sheathed himself to the hilt in her wet warmth. She barely had time to adjust to the agonising pleasure of being invaded and stretched to the brink of bursting before Luke was drawing back with a harsh moan and heaving convulsively forward again in a second, massively powerful thrust, his face contorting in a mask of pure ecstasy as he stiffened and then began to shudder in a violent spasm of completion that left him slumped heavily on top of her. She lay blinking over his lax shoulder at the panelled ceiling, stunned by the speed and intensity of his climax. She could feel him still pulsing hotly inside her tense body.
He shuddered again—a deep, sobbing breath. ‘I’m sorry... Oh, God, Roz, I’m sorry...’
He withdrew before she could stop him and rolled onto his back, his chest heaving, his arm thrown across his eyes as he continued the choked litany of apologies. ‘Couldn’t help it...like some crass adolescent...’
‘Luke... Luke!’ She stroked his up-raised arm. ‘It’s all right—’
He jerked away from her touch. “There’s no need to pretend, damn it! I told you you might be disappointed.’
He sounded like a sulky boy. She wanted to peek under his arm but the grim line of his mouth warned her not to try. She raised herself on one elbow, her aching frustration turning to indulgent amusement mixed with heady anticipation. ‘Are you kidding? For goodness’ sake, Luke, I’m flattered that you exploded all over me like a firecracker.’
His chest stilled and the arm over his eyes tensed. ‘A crazed sex maniac, more like.’
Her heart gave a little flip. ‘I prefer to think of you more as a satyr...the combination of that Greek-god body and those eyebrows—well... you’re bound to be governed by your earthy passions when you finally catch the nymph of your dreams!’
She could see the glitter of his eyes as his arm shifted slightly. She stretched her supple body and, when she was quite sure he was watching, casually turned her back and slid off the bed, bending to pick up her silk dress and slithering it over her head.
His arm whipped down as he pushed himself up against the disordered pillows. ‘What are you doing? Are you leaving?’
She smiled at his mixture of outrage and anxiety as she strolled provocatively back to the bed and crawled onto it on her hands and knees. ‘Certainly not. Now it’s my turn.’
‘Your turn?’ he asked warily, watching her prowl across the rumpled sheets towards him.
‘To explode all over you...’ She daintily lifted a slender leg across his body and settled herself firmly astride his hips, modestly smoothing her silk dress down over his tight flanks, intrigued to note the visible ripple that undulated the length of his body. She squirmed herself slowly into a more comfortable position and lifted a haughty eyebrow at him as she felt the subtle male shift between her thighs.
A shadow of a smile quivered at the corner of his sexily narrow mouth. She wanted to kiss it but instead she leaned forward, folding her forearms provocatively across his collar-bone, making sure the unfastened neckline of her dress gaped to show him her softly swaying breasts, the erect tips almost touching his chest.
‘The first time was for you...this is for me...’ She looked at him through veiled lashes. ‘Then it’ll be your turn again,’ she said, and laughed at the molten look he gave her. ‘That’s how it works, you see...it’s called give and take...a very fertile ground for improvisation...’
His hunger congealed into shock. ‘My God, I didn’t even use a condom!. Are you using anything?’
‘No, but it’s OK—’
He twisted his torso to fumble for the soft leather shaving case on the table beside the bed. ‘No, it’s not OK! I promised to protect you and I let us both down. It’s never OK to leave these things to chance.’
He was so savagely upset by his lapse that it seemed natural to tell him, ‘It is for me—always—that is, if it’s pregnancy you’re worried about,’ she said quietly. ‘My attack of pelvic disease left me permanently sterile. As for the other kind of protection...we both have that safety zone of celibacy, don’t we...?’
‘Oh, Roz...’ He collapsed back on the pillows, his hands moving to cradle the classic oval of her face, his dark eyes filled with shocked regret. ‘Oh, Roz...’
She shook her head, his unspoken sympathy sinking like music on her heart. ‘I’ve got a big extended family, lots of money and an extremely challenging, fulfilling career. I can’t expect to have all that and heaven too! Shakespeare had it right—“what’s past help/Should be past grief”.’ She nipped at his fingers and gave him her famous jaunty, gamine grin. ‘And it does mean that I get to enjoy my sexy satyr in his raw, natural state.’
She wiggled her bottom and felt a fillip of joy when he instantly attuned himself to her mood and gave a mock growl, making wicked play with the eyebrows that so obviously enchanted her.
The second time they made love was far more shattering than the first. This time Luke kept careful pace with her, exercising a fierce self-control as she rode his iron-hard body to the pinnacle of bliss, withholding his own bucking release until he could use it to drive her over the edge into a wild, free-falling rapture of the senses.
He proved unquenchable in both curiosity and desire, his stamina equalled by his eager inventiveness, and by the time Rosalind fell asleep, curled against his gloriously sated body, she knew that she had found a precious gift.
When the telephone first rang she moaned, and tried to burrow deeper into warm, musky skin, but eventually the irritating intrusion into her cosy world became too much and she reached out to rake the receiver under the sheet, grunting sleepily into the mouthpiece.
‘Luke? It’s Jordan,’ a terse, static-ridden voice rapped out. ‘I just wanted to tell you that you don’t have to keep an eye on Roz any more.’
