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All those love scenes, taunted the only rational part of her brain still functioning. All that simulated ecstasy. And now that you’re faced with reality instead of play-acting you haven’t got a bloody clue…
And yet this is what you’ve longed for in all those long, empty years since you were eighteen—for Diaz Penvarnon to take you in his arms again and make love to you. To bring you to fulfilment as a woman.
No guilt. No shadows from the past. Just two people on a bed, together, just for a while.
And even if it is happening for all the wrong reasons, it’s probably all you’ll ever have of him—your one chance of happiness—so give him the only gift you have to offer and be thankful.
As if he’d picked up some unspoken cue, she heard him say, on a soft breath of amusement, ‘This is usually a duet, sweetheart, not a solo. Aren’t you going to touch me too? Let yourself remember how you once enjoyed being in my arms?’
She reached up to his shoulders, stroking the taut skin, feeling the strength of bone and the play of muscle under her shyly exploring fingers.
With a murmur of satisfaction Diaz drew her closer into his arms, kissing her mouth again, while his own hands slowly traced the length of her long, supple spine, moulding the rounded curves of her buttocks.
She moved against him deliberately, the breath catching in her throat as she felt the answering pressure of his aroused hardness against her belly. She reached down, her fingers shyly seeking a more intimate acquaintance with all that iron male strength, but Diaz forestalled her, his hand on her wrist.
‘Easy, my love,’ he whispered, dropping light kisses on her eyelids, his lips tugging softly at her long lashes. ‘I’ve waited far too long for this to be in any hurry, but God knows I’m only human, and I’m not sure how much of that particular delight I can bear right now. So let’s—take our time.’
He began to caress her body, his fingertips brushing the creamy satin of her skin, and Rhianna lay, sighing through parted lips, her entire being subsumed in this glory of sensual pleasure he was creating for her.
And where his hands lingered his mouth followed, tasting the hollows at the base of her throat, the inside curve of her arms, the indentation of her navel, the faint swell of her hips and the slender length of her thighs.
She was moving restlessly beneath his touch, her flesh burning, eager for more. When his mouth took hers again she clung to him, her passionate response lacking all inhibition.
His lips returned to her breasts, suckling on their hard, aroused peaks, making her moan aloud, while his hand slid down to the shadowed cleft between her thighs and paused there.
He lifted his head and looked down at her, at the fever-bright eyes, the storm of excited colour along the high cheekbones, and the swollen, reddened mouth.
He said harshly, ‘Do you still want me to stop? To let you go?’
‘No.’ Her voice was a shadow of itself. ‘Oh, God—please—no…’
He began to touch her there, in the hot, secret centre of her, and she offered herself unequivocally to the intimacy of this new exploration, the mastery of his subtle fingers irresistibly enticing.
She’d never believed it could be possible to feel with such intensity, she thought as her breathing splintered, her mind and body focussed almost painfully on the sensuous stroke of his hand as he sought her tiny sheltered nub of sensitive flesh and brought it to aching delicious life.
Don’t stop. The words were a silent scream in her head. Never stop…
Her body awash with fluid, scalding excitement, she heard him say hoarsely, ‘Darling now.’
As he moved over her, above her, Rhianna obeyed instantly, clasping the rigid silken shaft of his virility with shaking fingers and guiding him into her with a little sob of anticipation.
Then, between one heartbeat and the next, everything changed. Because the last thing she’d expected was that it would hurt. That his physical possession of her would cause actual pain. The kind that made her flinch and tense into resistance, crying out before she could stop yourself.
Because that notion of virginity as a barrier to be breached was surely a myth belonging to past generations?
Yet here she was, with beads of perspiration on her forehead, sinking her teeth into her lower lip.
Diaz was suddenly very still. He said urgently, his breathing harsh and ragged, ‘What is it? What’s wrong? Darling, tell me…’
Then as he looked down at her, looked into her shocked, scared eyes, she saw realisation dawn—and a kind of horror.
He whispered, ‘Oh, my God,’ and lifted himself out of her—away from her—in one swift movement of utter finality, flinging himself on his side, his back to her, his breathing hoarse and ragged.
