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But that summer, she hadn’t wanted to think about such things. Because she’d known she would have to return to Ile d’Montagne. She’d known that whatever this was, whatever he’d tapped in her, she would have to shut it off again.
If she could.
You are worrying about what other people might think instead of what you think, he had told her, his chin on the top of her head, holding her there like they were puzzle pieces made to snap together just so.I suggest you stop. There are no other people in this room,cariño. Here there is only you and me and how we feel. Nothing else matters.
Over time, she’d told herself he’d only been saying that because it allowed him that power over her. But she knew better now. He didn’t demand that power over her.
She craved it.
And so here, now, while the surf thundered outside and soaked the windows, Amalia indulged herself.
She didn’t question the urges that raced through her, making her blood feel too hot in her veins. Today she was a new woman. Today she was whoever she wanted to be, so she leaned into these things she wanted. Having left her wrap on the floor in the lobby, she thought no more of it as she stood there before him and stripped off the armor she’d worn to leave the palace.
The perfect dress that showed her femininity without highlighting too many of her assets she kicked aside. The strand of quiet pearls she unwound from her neck and let fall. Then she stood before Joaquin wearing nothing but the lacy panties that hugged her hips and the bralette she wore because though her curves were not that exciting, it had been ingrained in her that a lady of stature did not wander about with her breasts uncontained like some common harlot.
But it turned out she might very well be a common harlot, as she was, by virtue of the notably non-blue blood in her veins, common to the core.
She took her time pulling the bralette over her head. Then tugged the lacy shorts over her hips so she could shimmy then down her legs. Only when she was naked at last did she stand, find the green of his eyes again, and then unclip the hair he had messed up, but not undone, so that it tumbled down past her shoulders.
Joaquin’s gaze ignited.
She felt as if the world was roaring out the pleasure of this, the tug of this unquenchable need, and only realized when he swept her up into his arms that Joaquin was the one making that sound. But then she realized that she was echoing it, there in the back of her throat. He carried her over to his bed and lay her out on the mattress, stripping off his own clothes in the kind of haste that indicated he was as swept up in this as she was.
That only made her glow brighter. Hotter.
And watching Joaquin undress himself was a pageant.
She made herself stay where he put her, so she could enjoy the show.
But it seemed as if she only got little glimpses of that flat abdomen, the ridges that climbed from it, and the magnificence of his chest. Because almost at once he was coming down to find her on the bed. To take her in his arms and roll them both around and around, until she was dizzy and giddy and lost, and his mouth was busy on her neck, her breasts.
She wrapped her legs around him and could feel the hardest part of him there against her inner thigh, a thick, long insistence she had already tasted so well.
Her mouth watered all over again.
Amalia thought then that she might die if he wasn’t inside her. As quickly as possible.
It was possible she said that out loud.
He paused, reaching out to one of the tables beside the bed and quickly sheathing himself. Then he stretched her out beneath him, gathering her wrists in one hand and holding them up high over her head. She arched up against him, crossing her legs behind him once more, and despite five years of telling herself she would never repeat the shameful things she’d done in this bed, she was pleading with him again.
Begging him.
Again.
“Now, Joaquin. Please, now.”
And she could feel the dark curve of his mouth as if he smiled like that inside her, even as she watched it change the shape of his mouth.
He teased her, because he could. He dragged the blunt head of himself through her heat, and laughed at the noises she made.
He made them both shudder.
And only when he was ready, only when he chose, did he lean down, gather her close, and then slam himself home.
Amalia broke into a thousand pieces immediately, digging her heels into the small of his back and holding on as she bucked and shook.
He waited, every part of him taut and tight. He held himself over her as if it took every bit of willpower he possessed to let her dissolve in his arms without joining in. He looked as if it was torture.
