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If I wanted him to keep restraining himself, it’s the wrong thing to say. But I don’t want any restraint. I am sick of restraint. Restraint is all we’ve had between us since the beginning. The softness of our first kiss has been obliterated by the need—the electric charge—in this one.
Our lips crash together and with the speed of an athlete accustomed to charging horses and split-second decisions, he lifts me up. I wrap both legs around his waist and he settles me so our neediest parts are fitted together. I really do moan this time as memories of my lap dance flit through my head—the pulse of him thundering through me. I want to be that close to him. No, closer.
I have been starving, feeding myself fantasies and daydreams for too long. Too hungry to stop for air, we breathe each other’s breaths, and still we are too far apart. I loosen my grip on his shirt and beneath my hands his shoulders tense. Goosebumps rise beneath my fingers as my palms slide up the soft skin at the back of his neck and into his slightly-too-long, just-perfect hair.
Still holding me, his hands supporting my ass, my thighs gripping him, he walks.
“It’s too far!” Even as I say it, I clutch at him. “You should put me down.”
“No. Nunca.Never.”
A SECRET SHARED
Mariano Arias. The Gazebo at Dottie Hainbright’s Dower House. The Cotswolds, England.
Ido not put Lolly down. Not even to go up the steps leading into the gazebo. I have waited too long to hold her—truly hold her as a man free to enjoy her gifts—to put her back on her feet, to put that distance between us again.
She laughs when I spin her around, her legs clinging to me, her head thrown back—Lolly of the Laughter again, all of the fury and hurt that was in her eyes at Gustavo’s wedding before she let me explain replaced now with joy. And hunger. The hunger that was always there for me, I understand now. I seeher.Never has she been more beautiful to me—her wild, red hair, her moon-pale skin, the spray of freckles dotting her like stars.
Before she lifts her head, I take the offering she has given me and I taste her neck, drawing my tongue from near her collarbone all the way to her ear. She is salt and sugar and smooth. Her laugh turns to a squeal as I trace along the edge of her lobe.
“Lolly, I…” I can’t voice the words that burn so brightly. They are trapped inside my heart, glowing, incandescent. She said she wanted everything, but— what is in my heart is too much, too big. For that it is too soon.
“The bench… Put me… On… The bench.” Her words come between breaths. She is more winded than I am after carrying her across the expanse of grass and up the hill to the gazebo. The sun has dropped behind the trees in the distance. Soon it will be dark enough no one will be able to see us, and there is no one in sight, my spin has confirmed it. We are alone.
I do as she says. I will do anything she asks, forever. Except, at the last second, I whirl her round again so that I am the one who sits upon the cold, damp bench, and she is in my lap, straddling me,ridingme.
“God, yes.” Her fingers find the buttons at my collar, and when she discovers they are already undone, she pulls at my shirt, freeing it from my waistband. She gasps when she slips inside, her cool hands smoothing over my belly and up my chest, taking of my warmth. Her slightest touch makes my muscles tense and quiver until her hand comes to a rest. “Your heart…”
“It beats for you.” It is the truth, but her cheeks flush to hear it—the blush of the rose Miss Hainbright described. I want to make those cheeks color even more, I want to watch her bloom and fall, then bloom again.
When her hands go to my belt buckle, I stop her, bringing her knuckles to my lips and kissing them. “Lolly—” I pause. She bites her lip and shifts her hips, her eyes smoldering as she presses against my erection. Every other time I have said the wrong words, pushed her away when I meant to draw her close. I must choose more carefully this time.
“Yes.” She says it before I have even asked, as if she is answering every question, any question I might have for her. To hear her speak that word is to be summoned. I want to do everything she is agreeing to. I want to give her whatever she is entrusting me to give.
“I have never wanted anyone so much as I want you. I mean it. You teach me the meaning of passion. Even in myself.”
“Good. Yes. Good.” She plants a kiss on my cheek. “Yes.” She brushes her lips against mine, there and then gone too soon, leaving me wanting. “Yes.” Her teeth scrape against my neck as she says it again and again and again, making a trail of nips that leads to my open collar, her fingers finding my nipples and pinching.
I suck in a steadying breath and release it slowly. I cannot let her distract me entirely. Not until—
“What we do, it is not a thing I do lightly…”
“You told me already.” She pinches me again and I want for nothing more than to rip her shirt from her body and yank off the sports bra she is wearing and lay her bare that I might explore every bit of her. I did not know she was here in England. I did not think she would have me. I thought I would have to wait to win her back, until I returned to Florida. I am unprepared for anything like what I want to do.
“And we must take care…”
She is the one who pulls off her top, and then mine. I am the one to peel her sports bra from her, my eyes dropping to her perfect breasts, my hands cupping their heavy fullness even while her arms are still upraised. Her nipples are already puckered from the cold air, but they tighten even more as my thumbs brush ever so lightly across and around, making her gasp.
I can’t help the small laugh that escapes my throat. It’s so much better than anything I have imagined. She moans and leans closer, her silken hair falling around her shoulders, skimming mine, her breasts kissing my skin. The thrust of my hips upward to meet her is not something I intend—it is some instinct, some reflex, the call of her body to mine.
“Mariano.” My name in her mouth, on her tongue, is a new incantation. Then she presses against me, her hands at my back, the heat between us melting her velvet-soft skin into mine everywhere we touch.
“Ah.” The words do not come, only sounds of relief and wanting. So much wanting—there are no words for it at all, not in any tongue I know. When her hands go back to my belt buckle, I stop her again. “Not yet…” It pains me to say it. “I have no protection.”
“Fuck! But—” Her hands brush against the fly of my pants, run the length of it. My cock jerks in response to her touch—another instinct, another answer to the spell she casts. If she continues my heart will not be the only thing to explode tonight.
I let out a growl. “We can’t—”
