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And she’d been about to say that Cameron had never—could never—except she felt the flick of this man’s tongue against her tender flesh and sensation unplugged her brain. It was either that, or the crack of her head hitting the tiled shower wall as he drove her wild.
There was no pain. Only pleasure. Because nothing could detract from the mounting pleasure of his tongue working magic, of his lips tugging and teeth nipping so gently but, oh, so purposefully. As his fingers played at her entrance and his lips tugged on her most sensitive flesh and his fingers slid inside and there was no holding it back and the storm was upon her.
He pulled her face down to his and she came, clenching around his fingers, kissing lips that tasted of him and tasted of her, as she rode out the storm front.
She clung to him as the shudders subsided, feeling suddenly guilty and gauche and so unpractised. ‘I’m sorry,’ she panted. ‘Apparently I couldn’t wait.’
The sound of his low laugh rumbled against her, rumbled through her. ‘Don’t be sorry,’ he said as he pulled himself away and and coaxed her to her feet.
She stumbled against him. ‘I don’t think I can stand.’
‘You don’t have to,’ he told her as he turned her and had her kneel with her back to him on the wide marble ledge.
She went willing and breathless, her body still humming. Whatever happened now, she reasoned, was all for him and she would do her best to make it as good for him as it had been for her.
Although it had been so good...
One of his hands slid up the length of her back to her shoulder, the other sent seeking fingers to her core.
There was nothing for her spine to do in response but to arch and curve into his touch. He groaned then, as if she were the one torturing him, and then she felt the press of him there—right there—where his fingers had been and exactly where she had wanted him from the moment he’d offered this one night of pleasure.
A connection she’d sensed from the very first moment their eyes had connected across the Spice Market.
His hands anchored her hips, and she felt her tension mirrored in his as he hovered and kept her there, waiting on the brink.
He gave a strangled curse and pulled away but before she’d turned he was back, the foil packet ripped asunder, the rubber already rolling on, and he was back. Mercifully back, his hands holding her hips steady as he slowly and purposefully pushed into her.
Her head lolled back as he filled her.
Filled her and lingered, his body against hers, inside hers, the connection complete. She tried to cling to him while he withdrew, and hold him there, for he was almost gone, when he thrust into her again, deeper this time if it were possible. And then again. And then his hands left her hips and stroked her breasts and teased her nipples and she whimpered with need while her hands lay flat on the tiled walls. All she could feel was desire.
And want.
And need.
How did that work? Surely it was impossible for a woman who’d just been blown apart by the touch of a wicked tongue and clever mouth to feel that coiling, building spiral of sensation again so soon?
But no. Not impossible. Not now. Not with this man.
He pumped faster. Harder. His ragged breathing bouncing off the tiled walls. His mouth was at her throat, his hands squeezed her breasts and his hips slapped against hers and somehow the impossible happened, because for the second time in one day she felt her need building and spiralling and focusing until all there was was this man feeding her need and the only thing she wanted was more and the only place she wanted to go was higher.
He touched a fingertip to that sensitive nub of nerve endings and gave her more.
He took her higher with each deep thrust.
Until she could take no more and there was no place left for her to go but to shatter like a wave crashing on rock. She heard a cry of release and recognised her own voice. Kadar went rigid behind her and she heard another cry, coarse and triumphant and his, as he found his own release.
He slumped over her, his mouth at that sweet spot where her shoulder joined her neck, his choppy breathing fanning her skin. With a final parting kiss to her skin, he pulled free and snapped on the shower. Within a few moments the shower stall was filled with steam and he helped her from the ledge and held her as the water cascaded down over them both.
He didn’t talk and she didn’t expect him to. She was happy with silence. Because while her legs were weak, her knees were sore, and her body felt spent, never before had she felt so alive in the knowledge of what her body was capable of.
And she made a vow to herself right there and then, as she lifted her face up to the stream of water, that never again would she settle. Not now that she knew what was possible.
