AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“A marriage like this is nothing but a game.” Brittany made herself pout at him when he only continued to stare down at her, as if he really was trying to see inside of her. He shifted, dragging his chest against hers so that tendrils of flame curled through her and made it hard not to squirm where she stood. And harder still to remember she was supposed to be acting. “Why not take it into bed as well?”
“You told me there was to be no sex in this marriage.” His gaze was on her mouth. Her heart pounded hard, like a sledgehammer.
“You told me that wasn’t your style,” she countered.
She didn’t know when she noticed that he’d angled his torso into her. That he was holding her there against the wall that easily, and Brittany knew she should have hated it. She should have felt caught. Captured.Compromised.
She didn’t.
His eyes glowed that dark amber that made her chest feel tight, and she couldn’t seem to pull in a full breath to save her life. His palm was surprisingly hard and warm against her cheek. She could feel it in her toes. His chest pressed against hers and made her breasts ache, the peaks pinching into hard points. And that beautiful mouth of his was set in a stern, resolute line that made something giddy and wild race through her, then coil tight low in her belly.
“I already told you I want to be inside you, Brittany,” he told her, and it had the ring of a vow. Of something stitched together, need and command as one, and a red hot punch straight to that place that already melted for him. “That hasn’t changed.”
She rotated her hips, pulling him closer to her, and then she slid both of her hands around his neck. Her pulse was a riot, hammering through her veins and striking rapid blows in her temples, her throat, her wrists. And deep between her legs, where she ached and melted and ached some more.
And Brittany forgot that she was playing a role. She forgot everything but the fact she wanted him, as extraordinary as that was.She wanted him.And the whole world already thought he’d had her a million times, so who was she saving herself for if not this curious man who got beneath her skin as no one else ever had?
“Then why aren’t you?” she asked. Cairo seemed to freeze there before her, save the hand that had gripped her jaw. He dropped it then, but his eyes stayed locked to hers. “Why aren’t you inside me, when you are renowned the world over for your inability to keep it in your own trousers? Why have we spent our entire relationship so chastely and demurely?” She laughed at that, because she didn’t know the answer herself when the only thing inside her was this edgy, delirious need. “Or is this terrible reputation of yours no more than the fevered imaginings of an overworked publicist somewhere?”
His gaze took on a light she’d never seen before, but she felt it. God help her, but she felt it, deep inside of her, where she was nothing but slippery longing and very bad ideas.
“Why don’t we find out?” he murmured, his voice like silk.
Silk and danger and too much heat besides.
He shifted again, then. He reached down between them and began pulling up her heavy white skirt, never moving that demanding gaze of his from hers.
Brittany couldn’t have said a word if she’d tried.
She didn’t try.
And this time, when he traced patterns over the top of one thigh and then dipped into the valley between her legs, he didn’t stop there. He found the silken panties she wore and smoothed his way beneath them, and then it was happening. It was really happening.
He was touching her where no one else had ever touched her.
Him.
Cairo.
He made a low, approving noise that rolled over her like another caress, as if finding her heat made him feel as raw as she did, and she surrendered herself all over again.
She had the distant thought that she always would.
Cairo stroked her tender flesh with his fingers, his eyes glittering darkly as her lips parted. Brittany did nothing—could do nothing—but lean back against the wall. And die from the pleasure of his touch, over and over and over. And let her hips rise to meet him with every slippery, decadent stroke, as if she was learning how to dance for the very first time.
As if he was teaching her the steps to the most perfect dance of all.
“It almost feels as if I know what I’m doing,” he murmured, his voice a low, throbbing thing that mixed in with the slick, delicious movement of his hand, there against an old castle wall. “I can almost imagine no publicist has been involved in the creation of my reputation. What do you think?”
But everything else was lost in that fire he built in her and she couldn’t respond. She wasn’t sure she would have responded if she could. Not when she could disappear into the sweet glory of his touch instead.
And that was when he found the center of her need. He pressed against it once, then again, making her moan out loud. She told herself an experienced woman wouldn’t react the way she did—but she couldn’t seem to help herself, not when he ground his hand against her.
“Let’s consider this an object lesson,” Cairo murmured, dropping his head beside hers, his breath against her neck. “You have a habit of saying things no other person alive would dare say to me. Perhaps I have finally found the appropriate way to respond.”
He twisted his wrist, plunging a finger deep inside her molten heat while the rest of his hand rocked hard against the place where she ached the most.
It was an invasion.It was perfect.
