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“I don’t have any bathers,” she demurred with disappointment.
He laughed, then drew her into his arms, so her cheeks flamed at her silly, immature modesty.
“Bathing suits are very, very optional.”
“Oh,” she bit down on her lip.
“Underwear is fine, if you’d prefer.”
“I would.” She didn’t meet his eyes. She was embarrassed but Charlotte couldn’t imagine being naked in the spa, not when there was a housekeeper and other staff inside, any of whom could appear at any point.
“Suit yourself.” He began to undress himself, and she could only stare as bit by bit he removed his clothing until he was buck naked and utterly brilliant. She still hadn’t moved. “Shall I help you?” He asked, reaching for the buttons of her coat, unhooking them one by one, eyes watching her until she nodded a little unsteadily.
Each layer of clothing he removed exposed her to the ice-cold night, so she was a strange mix of boiling hot blood and freezing cold skin, but even her skin was warming under his intense, hungry gaze.
“Do you have any idea how hard it has been to be so close to you all day, and not be able to touch?”
“You’ve touched,” she said on a jagged breath.
“Not as I have wanted to.”
“Oh.” In her underwear, she stood there, vulnerable and excited in equal measure. Alessio took her hand, and stepped into the spa, so she stepped with him, the warm water bliss against her feet first, then her ankles, calves, thighs, and abdomen, until she submerged herself to the neck and groaned at the perfection of the contrast: cold and hot. The snow was still falling, just little drifts of flakes, and she reached for it, watching as tiny particles landed on her fingertips.
“You are so beautiful,” he said with a shake of his head. “I have been imagining you like this.”
She jolted her face back to him.
“Have you?” It was so hard to imagine someone like Alessio imagining her anywhere, but here?
“Since the first night we made love, I wanted to bring you here.”
Her pulse was running dangerously quick.
“Come here,” he crooked his finger, inviting her to where he sat. She was powerless to resist. Her body went to his as if drawn by magnetic force and she surrendered to him with a sigh that spoke of contentment and completion, straddling him in the water and kissing him as she’d been wanting to all day, a kiss that was too incendiary to be shared in public, with witnesses, as it was a kiss that would ignite their entire bloodstreams, and they both knew it.
Seconds later, they exploded, so within the warmth of the spa, they became a frantic tangle of limbs, moving to touch and feel and be closer, closer than they’d ever been. She wore silk underpants, but they were an almost insufficient barrier to his erection, she felt it hard against her sex and ached to pull the fabric aside and welcome him deep into her core, to feel his enormous size fill her and make her whole once more. But they were in a spa, with no condom in sight, and despite the heady rush of this moment, neither was foolish enough to risk those consequences.
But God, how she wanted him.
His hand came between her legs, brushing over her sex until she was panting and writhing on his lap and then he pushed the cups of her bra down, freeing her breasts so they spilled like pale orbs into the spa, lit by the moonlight alone, dusted by sand. He lifted her higher on his lap, high enough that he could take one of her breasts into his mouth, the nipple rolled by his tongue, and she tilted her head back so her hair was wet in the water, and she was at the edge of her mind, the pleasure like lava inside her veins.
She swore softly, and ground down on his hand, because it wasn’t enough. It was perfect and it was beautiful, but sheneededhim with a visceral, soul-deep ache.
“Please,” she groaned, and then, madness surely overtook her, because she reached between her legs and pushed at the fabric, unable to care for anything in that moment but her desperate need for him. She sunk down, taking him deep inside and he swore, and froze, and when she looked at him, she saw the battle being raged in his eyes, the sheer look of desire at war with common sense.
“No,” he grunted, lifting her and holding her off him, as a muscle jerked overtime in his jaw and she was left reeling, trying to get to grips with a fierce sense of rejection. He stood abruptly, his erection huge, his body terse, and moved to the pile of discarded clothes.
Relief flooded her.
This wasn’t a rejection. It was a pause.
He was taking the precautions she hadn’t been able to.
Sure enough, he returned within moments, unfurling a condom over his length as he went, his eyes fierce and loaded with a warning that made her blood boil.
“I want you,” he said, as if she could be in any doubt. He moved back to where he had been before, eyes challenging her. “Come back.”
She did as he said, her pulse racing at the heated demand in his voice, at the desperation she heard that fully matched her own sense of being unable to resist this. Strange that she’d ever worried about how she could possibly take his length inside, as when she did so now, it felt beyond perfect, like the clicking together of two pieces that were completely made for one another.
