Madeline turned to face him, and he caught his breath. The early-evening sunlight framed her where she stood in front of the windows. It haloed her hair, turning it into a waterfall of cascading fire. He didn’t speak; he couldn’t. She made the most breathtaking picture he could imagine, and his throat was full.
“Looks like you’re in the middle of quite a project,” she stated. Scaffolding was pushed against one wall. In a corner were piles of tarps and paint cans. The air smelled faintly of paint and varnish. Even her untutored eye could tell that the walls had fresh Sheetrock, and the woodwork had been stripped and stained. The floor was bare and dull, as if it had been sanded.
At his continued silence, she said, “You must have quite a crew working for you.”
He finally moved, and when he answered, his voice was a pitch lower than normal. “A crew of one most of the time.” When she frowned uncomprehendingly, he tapped himself on the chest. “Me.”
“You?” she repeated in surprise. Why didn’t he have trained craftsmen come in and take care of all this construction for him? She suspected he could afford it. Few people would have the patience or the inclination to take on a project of this magnitude by themselves.
Talking about what he’d done so far to the place was usually one of Cruz’s favorite topics. But right now it was the last thing on his mind. He was still reeling from the curious sense of rightness he got at seeing Madeline in his home for the first time. He had the oddest sense of déjà vu, as if he’d seen her standing in front of those same windows many times before. Which perhaps he had. He’d pictured her several times in his home.
In his bed.
He mentally shook himself. That was not the avenue he wanted his thoughts to travel right now, so he forced himself to focus on the topic at hand. “Of course, I had more help in the beginning. After I’d gutted the place, a crew did come in and frame it up for me. Naturally I had plumbers and electricians. I wanted to live in it right away, so they went ahead and did the remodeling necessary for the kitchen and the loft.”
Madeline’s eyes traveled in the direction he indicated. A spiral staircase rose from the room and rose upward to what, she knew without being told, was his bedroom. A shiver raced down her spine at the thought of walking up those stairs. She pulled her gaze away and trained them back on him.
“C’mon.” He pushed himself away from the wall. “I’ll give you a guided tour.” It would be a way to keep his mind busy, which persisted in other, more erotic meanderings. He ushered her down a hallway and opened each of the doors. “These will be two bedrooms and a bath. I haven’t done anything back here except put up the Sheetrock.” Madeline walked into the rooms curiously. The woodwork lay neatly in a pile along one wall in each room, waiting to be stripped and stained before it would be reapplied. “I won’t finish those rooms until last,” he said as they walked toward the kitchen.
“This is going to be quite a place. Pretty big for one person.”
He propped himself against the counter and watched her soberly. “I don’t intend to live in it by myself.”
Her breath stopped in her throat. Of course. Why hadn’t she considered that? A man who looked like Cruz was bound to know throngs of women, most of whom would give their eyeteeth to live with him. She couldn’t prevent a reaction to his words, and he easily read her amazement.
“I mean, not forever. I’d like to have a family someday. This is a decent neighborhood. It would be a safe place to raise kids.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Do you have a mother for these children picked out, or do you plan to adopt?” She hid her real interest in his answer by prowling around his large, well-equipped kitchen.
“I plan to have kids the old-fashioned way. But, no, I don’t have anyone in mind for the task.”
She didn’t put a name to the wash of relief that swept through her at his words. It didn’t matter a whit to her if he planned to marry tomorrow. Cruz Martinez was only of interest to her while she gathered evidence to turn over to Brewer. And once she was finished, it was possible that the man might not be starting a family for a very long time.
But something besides his words told her how much he wanted that family. Everything about this home he was making spoke of a person determined to fill it up. The kitchen was large, with a huge center island curving through it. Stools sat neatly beside it, as if waiting for the children he spoke of.
“Over here-” his voice interrupted her explorations “-will be a small office. I’ll start on that after I finish the great room.” She followed him to the area he indicated, then they wandered back into the living room.
“What are your…” Her voice came out husky, and she cleared her throat. “What else are you planning to do with it?”
“I’m almost finished in here. I’ve stripped and sanded the floor, and I’ve the calluses on my knees to prove it.”
She recalled then a conversation they’d had in which he’d invited her to guess what he’d been doing on his knees all weekend. Even if she’d allowed him to bait her into joining in his game, she never would have guessed that he’d been stripping floors. She cast him a reproving look, and could see from the irrepressible grin on his face that he was remembering the same moment.
“I’m sure all minutes that you’re on your knees are well spent.”
His smile disappeared. “You can bet on that.”
A long moment fraught with unspoken tension stretched between them. Cruz broke the silence first. “After I stain and varnish, I’ll have to buy some rugs. I don’t want to carpet over these hardwood floors. Part of this room will be a dining area, but most will be a living area. I like lots of space.”
That was obvious. But how had he afforded all this space? That was the question still plaguing Madeline. “Why are you doing so much of the work yourself? You could… I mean, couldn’t you have someone fix it up for you? It wouldn’t take so long then.”
He shrugged. “I’m in no hurry. And there’s a feeling of satisfaction I get from doing the work myself.” When she still looked unconvinced, he added, “Believe it or not, I’m very good with my hands.”
She was certain he spoke the truth. But her mind didn’t dwell on the more mundane meaning of his words. Cruz was a toucher; she’d realized that soon after she’d met him. She’d seen how physically affectionate he was with his family. Right now he was absently rubbing two fingers along the satiny finish of the windowsill he was propped against. Her eyes trailed over his muscled thighs outlined faithfully by the worn denim. She wondered waspishly if the reason he leaned against everything in sight was that he knew the pose showed his long, hard body off to such advantage. He probably wore jeans constantly for the same reason. They clung lovingly to his thighs and gloved his sex. She pulled her gaze away with effort, and the fact that it had taken effort annoyed her.
“Why don’t you ever stand up straight?” she snapped, turning away from the indolent picture he made.
He noted her sign of temper and wondered at it. “Why stand when you can lean?” he asked logically. “Why sit when you can slouch?”
“Your chiropractor must love you.”
“Never been to one. I’m the picture of health.”
He was certainly that. And more. The picture of a drop-dead gorgeous man in his prime, a healthy male animal who managed to exude good-humored charm and sexiness at the same time. That should be outlawed. He should be outlawed. Suddenly the room seemed much too small. She reminded herself that the man she was admiring visually might be less than admirable in other ways. And the fact that she needed such a reminder yet again was proof that she’d stayed too long in his presence.
He hadn’t made an offer to show her upstairs, and he didn’t intend to. Cruz wasn’t sure how much longer he could trust himself not to make a move toward her, and in the intimate surroundings of his bedroom the temptation would be even greater. As perfect as she seemed standing here, he was certain she would seem even more so in his room, where he’d imagined her too many times for comfort.
“Well, if you’re ready, I’m sure you want to get back to your parents’ after you take me home,” Madeline said, her uneasiness growing. She was tiring of the incessant warnings her mind issued her every time she noticed with appreciation the way he moved, talked or looked. The constant tug-of-war taking place inside her was exhausting. This feeling of teetering on the edge was wearing on her nerves, and on her control.
“There’s no rush,” Cruz said dismissively without remarking on her sudden anxiousness to leave. “I’m hungry again. Do you want a sandwich?”
Her heart sank at the thought of spending one more minute in his apartment. The atmosphere seemed too intimate somehow, and though she was obviously the only one to feel it, she wanted out of here before it acted to lower her defenses even further. “You can’t possibly want to eat again,” she argued with him desperately, following him out to the kitchen.
“But I do. I didn’t have much at Mom’s. I was too worried about keeping your plate full.”
An unladylike snort was her answer and Cruz smiled to himself. He’d had plenty to eat earlier, and it was another kind of hunger that was gnawing at him right now. But he was willing to seize any excuse to keep her here a few more minutes, and for some reason that seemed important to him. Especially since she was exhibiting a sudden desire to escape.
“Martinez, I do not want anything to… eat,” she finished as a plate with a sandwich was placed before her.
“Look, Ma, no green things,” he joked. Her sandwich was missing the lettuce and fixings he’d piled on his own.
Her voice was tinged with frustration. “I’m not hungry.”
“Heard it before. Clean your plate, or I won’t take you home.”
She regarded him with a narrowed look. That was nothing short of bribery, and he’d been manipulating events all day. But if eating the darn sandwich was all it would take to get her safely home and alone once again, she’d let him get away with it one last time
She picked up the sandwich and determinedly chewed. But swallowing proved to be a bit more of a problem while sitting across from Cruz, with his liquid dark eyes trained on her face. She reached an unsteady hand for the glass of milk he’d placed beside her plate. Cruz Martinez had found the chink in the armor that usually guarded her emotions, and she wasn’t being allowed the time she needed to carefully replace her defenses. Why couldn’t it be easier to divine what a person was truly like? This was the same man who’d made an impassioned speech earlier about the need for more youth programs in the city. The love he shared with his family had been very evident today. How could she reconcile the man who held his small nieces and nephews with a look of softness on his face, with the criminal responsible for putting guns into the hands of kids?
It made no sense, and even less after meeting his family today. Tomas and Kathleen Martinez were two people secure in their pride for their children. It was hard to imagine him taking a risk that would destroy his parents’ pride and loyalty if it was ever exposed?
Other people were capable of just that, she knew. She’d been a cop long enough to see plenty of criminals, some of whom had been considered pillars of the community. Her ex-fiancé had been a prime example of someone with a perfect exterior that masked a black soul. But her belief in Dennis, she now realized, had more to do with her inability to admit she could have been so wrong about him. Later she’d been able to recall instances in their relationship when his careful mask had slipped a bit. If she’d been willing to see him for what he was, the opportunity had been there.
“Are you done mangling that sandwich yet?” Cruz indicated the bread that was twisted in her hands, only a few bites gone from it. Madeline looked down and for the first time noticed the damage she’d done to the food.
“Sorry. I really wasn’t hungry.”
He nodded. “Let me grab something and we can be on our way.”
He went to one of the drawers in the kitchen and withdrew his checkbook, pushing it into his back pocket. Madeline cleared their plates off the counter, rinsed them and placed them in the dishwasher. She turned to see him watching her, an odd light in his eye at the sight of her performing the mundane task.
She hurried past him to grab the purse she’d set on the floor of the living room, but he didn’t immediately follow. “C’mon, Martinez,” she said, not altogether jokingly, “are you driving or am I going to have to walk?”
He moved then, but not, as she’d hoped, in the direction of the door. Instead his booted feet walked deliberately over and stopped in front of her. Inches from her, in fact.
“What’d you call me?”
His nearness was the last thing she wanted to deal with. She was already edgy from her warring emotions, and she definitely didn’t need him this close. She inched backward a little, until she found the wall behind her. “I called you…” To her chagrin, her voice sounded a little breathless. “What I always call you. Martinez.” Her voice trailed to a whisper at the intent on his face.
His arms came up to rest upon the wall on either side of her shoulders. “Cruz,” he said, the gentleness in his tone contrasting with the dark intensity in his eyes. “Call me by my name, Maddy.”
She didn’t even comprehend the hated nickname on his lips. She was too attuned to what he wasn’t saying. To what his body language was saying for him.
“Move aside, Martinez,” she ordered softly. Not in a million years would she admit to him that she used his last name to keep a buffer between them. Martinez was her partner, a fellow cop. Cruz… Cruz was someone else entirely.
“Not until you call me by my first name,” he replied, his voice just as soft.
“Don’t make me hurt you.”
His eyebrow cocked in amusement at her threat but there was no smile on his face. His eyes were on her lips and his mouth seemed to draw closer to her own.
Madeline let her body relax more and he came even nearer. Then one foot came out swiftly behind his, and a moment later he was stretched out on the hard floor with her on top of him, one knee pressed to his throat.
She was good, he admitted to himself ruefully. Her reflexes were lightning fast. “Uh, Maddy…” The increased pressure at his throat had him amending, “Madeline… could you…” He gestured with one hand toward her knee and she obediently eased back a little. Too late she realized her mistake. In less than an instant he’d reversed their positions, rolling her off and under him so fast her breath was lost in the process.
A wicked glint was in his dark eyes, and Madeline knew intuitively just how much trouble she was in. He held his weight off her slightly, taking care not to hurt her, but she was trapped against the ungiving floor and the equally hard but so much more tempting form above her. She needed to say something light, something that would defuse the moment and remove the intent from his face. But words deserted her. She was reminded of the other time she had felt Cruz stretched out over her, and the memory of his muscled body against hers couldn’t come close to the pleasure flooding her right now at the feel of it.
She moistened her lips nervously, and Cruz almost groaned out loud. That soft, wide mouth looked vulnerable now, lips slightly parted and trembling just a bit. He couldn’t begin to count the number of times he’d imagined it just this way. And he wasn’t capable of resisting it. His lips lowered toward her and her eyelids grew heavy. He trailed feather-light kisses along her jawline, and her neck arched involuntarily at the exquisite sensation. “Maddy, Maddy.” His voice was raw, and he seized one earlobe in his teeth to worry it gently. “Say my name,” he ordered raspily, dropping his attention to the delicate cord of her throat.
A shiver rushed through her at the first brush of his mouth. She tried to deny his request, as if by doing so she could also deny the tidal wave of desire that threatened to engulf them. Her head shook helplessly, but her defenses, already strained, were at the breaking point. His fingers threaded through her hair, and his lips were a fraction away from her mouth. Her eyes fluttered open. The sight of him above her, his handsome face stamped with passion, was more than she could bear. “Say my name, Maddy,” he ordered again. His lips moved against hers as he formed the words, and everything inside her longed to feel them against hers more firmly.
At her silence he brushed her mouth with his once, and then again. When her head raised slightly to force a stronger pressure, he pulled away. Her hands came up to tangle in his hair. “Cruz,” she said on a sigh, a whisper. And she was promptly rewarded.
“Yes.” His breath hissed out in satisfaction before he fiercely sealed her mouth with his own. One hand cupped the back of her head, and he took possession of her mouth with an intensity that shook her. Still she welcomed it, beckoning him closer. Her mouth twisted under his, matching his hunger, challenging it. She could feel the last vestiges of control slip away as Cruz’s demand elicited her own.
His kisses were full of promise, rife with heat. They destroyed the carefully cultivated barriers she kept to protect herself, and shredded the proper image she’d worn so long that she had begun to believe in it. She’d spent a lifetime trying to tame her own nature, hiding her wildness. But his raw hunger unleashed hers, and she responded with an answering rage of need. The taste of him was pure wicked sinfulness, and she was coaxed closer to taste more.
Cruz pressed her lips apart and their tongues tangled. He became belatedly aware of the unyielding floor beneath her, but his only concession to it was to roll over, never releasing her mouth, bringing her body to lie fully atop his. One hand slipped to her bottom, pressing her firmly in contact with his aching groin.
Madeline could feel her body soften instinctively against his turgid arousal. She moved slightly against him and a groan sounded in his throat. But still he kept her lips sealed with his. With one hand he cradled the back of her head, to keep her from turning away from him if she had been so inclined, which she wasn’t. The other hand went on an intimate exploration. It swept down her thighs, and then leisurely traced its path upward again, this time delving beneath her long sweater and settling on her bare back.
Heat radiated from each of his fingers. Her skin prickled with awareness, unbearably attuned to his touch. His teeth nibbled at her lower lip, distracting her, drawing her into a carnal duel with his tongue. She responded deeply, without reservation, to his mind- drugging kisses. The back hook of her bra gave way to his questing fingers but it wasn’t until he rolled them to their sides and slid his hand to her breast that she reacted.
Electric pleasure shimmered through her at the feel of his fingers teasing her nipple. Both of them moaned at the sensation, their breaths intermingling. She opened eyelids that seemed weighted to see Cruz gazing at her through slitted eyes, watching the pleasure chase across her features. She should have been alarmed at the fierce male desire stamped on his face, but instead she reveled in it. If she’d been stripped of the vestiges of the cool image she normally exuded, well, so had he. Gone was the amiable teasing demeanor that usually marked his handsome face. Right now it reflected a primitive intensity, that of a man caught between satisfaction and frustration.
He palmed her breast and swallowed her whimper at the action. Her nipple stabbed at his palm and he wanted suddenly, savagely, to put an end to this teasing. He wanted her naked, stretched out beneath him, and he wanted her hands on him, all over him, showing the same restless curiosity about his body that he felt for hers. They had ignited too fast for him to maintain control much longer, and the floor wasn’t where he wanted to take her. He wanted her in his bed, where he had imagined her the first time he’d laid eyes on her.
His thumb batted at her nipple, and he pressed a kiss to the pulse on her neck. “Ah, Maddy. This isn’t the right place for us this first time. I don’t want that delectable backside of yours covered with bruises.”
She nipped at his chin consideringly. “If you were a gentleman, I wouldn’t be the one with bruises.” She could feel the smile on his lips when he kissed her then, but amusement was swiftly swept away.
“I want you in my bed. Beneath me.” When he raised his head again, his voice was lower, more guttural. “I want to be inside you, to feel for myself the fire you hide from the world.” He pressed kiss after kiss to her throat, her jaw and cheekbones. “Come upstairs with me, Maddy. Come with me now.”
His raspy tone and earthy words rocked the tempest inside her. She didn’t question how easily he’d found the inner flame she usually kept locked firmly away. Just as she didn’t question the answering fire she’d found in him. Her neck arched under his ardent mouth and reason fled. Reason hadn’t played a part in this situation from the beginning. It didn’t explain why she longed to unbutton his shirt and touch him as intimately as he was touching her. Reason wouldn’t allow her to yield to the temptation he presented, or to ignore the defenses she’d erected to keep him at a distance.
She’d lived her life by logic for the past several years, allowing it to dictate every move she made. It hadn’t been an easy task; there was a spark deep inside her that needed careful tending, lest it flare up and mar the mapped course she’d set for herself. He was asking for too much, way too much. He was tempting her to deny the careful caution she used to keep emotions at bay. And she was afraid that he wouldn’t be satisfied until she gave to hint more than she had to any other man.
Fear spiked suddenly in her then, as much fear as it was possible to feel while white-hot tendrils of heat still curled beneath his lips on her neck. She used the fear, drew its cloak closer around herself, to help combat the incessant temptation of the man above her. Fiercely she summoned the memories of her last surrender, and how badly her emotions had failed her with Dennis Belding. She called on her fading logic for all the reminders of why Cruz Martinez was the last man on earth right now she should trust. Being wrong about Dennis had almost destroyed her. She’d almost destroyed herself for making such a colossal mistake. How could she live with herself if she made another one here, with this man?
She wedged her hands between them, sliding them to his shoulders, meaning to push him away. But her fingers clenched suddenly as his teeth took a tiny nip at her throat, and her neck arched in unconscious pleasure as his tongue swept the same area in lavish apology.
For once, rational thought seemed to vanish, swirling away in the mist of sensual desire. Instead of caution she felt emotion, strong and pure, and so intense that she gasped from it. It had been such a long time since she’d let herself feel, so long since anything or anyone had been allowed to reach this part of herself, which she guarded so zealously.
“Now, Maddy,” that dark voice whispered to her. “Come with me now.”
She was beckoned closer to the savage fire burning inside him. She was forced to deal with consequences of spending years with her own wild nature locked away. She hadn’t reckoned on meeting someone who could set it free without her conscious permission. Now it was liberated, a conflagration of emotion that spread like wildfire within her, and she reveled in the torrential outpouring.
“Yes,” she whispered, the word barely leaving her lips before they were covered with his. Then he pulled away, his breathing ragged. Slowly he rose to his feet, reaching down to take both her hands and pulling her up against him. And holding her hand, he led her silently up the stairway to his room.
Madeline was dizzy when she reached the loft, the kisses they’d shared on the way more at fault than their spiral journey. Her gaze flickered over the room nervously as she felt uncertainty intrude. The area was meticulously neat. The charcoal gray carpeting looked freshly vacuumed. The bed was made, a comforter of black, gray and maroon spread tidily over it. A huge domed window was set in the wall above the bed. Rays from the fading sun beamed through it, painting the bed with fingers of light.
Cruz’s eyes followed the path of her gaze. He wondered what she thought of the room he’d designed, but even more urgently, he wondered how she would look stretched out across his bed as he’d long imagined her, her body dappled with sunlight. He wanted fiercely to see that, to experience the electric pleasure promised by her long lithe legs and high breasts. He wanted her writhing under him, as she struggled to take all of him, and then he wanted to watch her face transform with ecstasy when the limits of their control were shattered.
Her gaze met his, and she reacted with an involuntary shiver. For although he didn’t come any nearer, she felt heat simply from his look. She could read his erotic thoughts as surely as if he’d spoken, and suddenly realized that hers were probably just as visible to him. The silence in the room tautened, and Madeline could feel her pulse throbbing. She watched him go over to the bed and sit on the edge, tug his boots and socks off, and leave them on the floor in what she was sure was uncustomary disorder.
“Maddy.” His voice was low. “Come here to me.”
Her feet moved to obey without conscious decision. When she was standing in front of him, he spread his knees and brought her closer, between them. His face was level with her breasts and he used her position to nuzzle them, first one then the other. Next he rose, and his body rubbed hers in the ascent. He drew her hands to his shirt and whispered huskily, “Undress me.” And again she obeyed.
Her eyes watched the progress of her fingers in fascination. First one button was undone. Then two. She caught her breath at her first glimpse of his bare chest, fingers faltering in their task as she took in the sheer male beauty of him. Cruz obligingly finished for her, stripping off the shirt and dropping it to the floor.
His torso looked as if it had been sculpted by an artistic hand, its bronze hue gleaming invitingly. Her hands rose to touch him, as if she couldn’t help herself. He was firmly muscled, defined pectoral muscles neatly bisecting his chest. The hard muscles were repeated along his rib cage and stomach. He had no chest hair, as if nature hadn’t bothered to further adorn perfection. There was only an enticing silky black ribbon of hair arrowing from his navel and disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.
Cruz’s breath hissed out of his teeth at the first tentative touch of her hands on him. The long-awaited contact ignited his hunger again, at a time when be most needed all his control. After only seconds of her caresses his own hands moved swiftly, grasping the hem of her sweater and bringing it upward, over her head. He let it drop to the floor and she shrugged out of the unhooked bra.
His hands cupped her breasts, which were beaded with arousal. He toyed with the nipples, rolling them gently in his fingers until an involuntary sound came from her throat. Then, with the calm masculine assurance that was so much a part of him, he bent to take one nipple into his mouth.
The ground fell away from Madeline’s feet at the hot, wet suction on her breast, which seemed unbearably sensitive. She gasped as she felt his teeth lightly scrape her nipple, before he soothed it with his tongue. His thumb made lazy circles around its twin, causing it to draw even tighter before he switched his attention to it. Her knees threatened to buckle and she leaned heavily into him. Cruz took that opportunity to lower her to the bed, stripping the black leggings, shoes and socks off her in the same movement.
She swallowed hard. Lying in the middle of his bed wearing nothing but a scrap of panties made her feel intensely feminine and utterly vulnerable. The emotions were heightened by the sight of him, still partially dressed, studying her, his eyes at half-mast. She remembered suddenly the first time she’d seen him. He’d reminded her of a pirate then, and he brought the same vivid image to her mind at this moment. His earring seemed so much a part of him that she rarely noticed it anymore, but she did now. It was a diamond chip and, coupled with his broad bare chest, it gave him a half-civilized, untamed look. She watched, enrapt, as his hands went slowly to his jeans, unfastening them and pushing them down his firm flanks Clad only in black low-riding briefs, he seemed quintessentially male, very much the conquering warrior.
Cruz stood still, allowing himself precious moments to absorb the gut-wrenching pleasure of seeing her lying in his bed. The frothy piece of lace she still wore matched the bra she’d just discarded, and he wondered at the contrast she made. She hid her penchant for silky bits of lingerie beneath primly tailored suits and jackets, just as she hid her real self behind a mask of cool professionalism. He’d wanted to strip that outer layer away, to find out if the woman beneath could possibly match the one he’d imagined, and now he’d found that she did that, and more.
With his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs, he disposed of them as casually as he had the jeans and Madeline felt her breath quite literally stop. His nakedness was almost overwhelming, the strength of his sexuality no longer hidden. His nudity was tempting, though. Her hands itched to race over that hard body even as she quaked a little in the face of its strength.
Cruz thought he read nervousness creeping into her eyes, and he joined her on the bed. “Ah, Maddy,” he whispered in her ear as his arms reached for her. “You don’t know how many times I’ve pictured you here. Just like this.”
“You have?” she murmured, a pleased little smile teasing her lips.
“Many times,” he affirmed, his hands skating along her spine. She turned to face him and his soothing touch became more sure. His hands went over her with a shattering purpose, no longer seeking to calm her uncertainty, but to intensify her arousal. “I’ve dreamed of you lying next to me like this. Of spreading your legs, like this.” One hard knee parted hers and pressed gently against her femininity. She gasped helplessly. His voice dropped even lower, until it was almost a rumble. “But nothing I could imagine prepared me for the pleasure of seeing you like this. Touching you like this.”
One hand imitated his words by dropping to her panties and pushing them carelessly down her legs. It came back up to cup the fleecy red delta between her thighs. She quivered in response, but he sealed her mouth with his, kissing her with lazy purpose. When he did nothing more for a time, she relaxed enough to open her mouth to him, relishing his taste when his tongue swept in. Her hands clasped his wide shoulders but refused to linger there. They engaged in an exploration of their own, smoothing over the bronzed skin, touching his nipples, making him shudder.
She learned his body. She found that he loved having his chest stroked, that his nipples were as sensitive as her own. When her hands wandered downward she skirted his heavy arousal shyly, but he pushed forward urgently, and she understood the demand. Her fingers closed around him and his breath hissed out between clenched teeth. He was a total sensualist, completely without modesty or shyness. He allowed her none, either. If she’d been able to think, she would have been shocked at the way their bodies moved together on the bed, flickering in the fading sunlight. She would have been surprised at the way she was acting, at her need to touch him, all of him. Nothing in her adult life had prepared her for a man who demanded that she hold nothing back, who seemed to want only that she let her inhibitions loose and give rise to a sensual side of her nature that she’d kept firmly tucked away.
Nothing could be hidden from him; he didn’t allow pretense. His hands were teasing, insistent and arousing by turn. His mouth delighted in tasting her, pressing kisses to velvet skin, nipping sharply, then soothing the area with his tongue. He lay half over her once, smoothing his hand over her soft skin, and watched the movement with savage pleasure, enjoying the sight of his darker skin against hers, so much lighter. She was the color of rich cream all over, and devoid of the delicate sprinkling of freckles that patterned most redheads.
His touch became more urgent, his mouth increasingly demanding. Her own exploration was thwarted by her reaction to him. His lips went to her neck and below. He cupped both breasts in his hands, teasing the nipples with his thumbs before lowering his head to suckle first one, then the other. Her hands clenched on his back, her hips rolling sinuously. Then one of his hands snaked down to claim her femininity, parting the dewy folds and teasing the slick bud he found there.
Her thighs relaxed unconsciously, allowing him access, an opportunity he immediately took advantage of. He penetrated her with one long finger, and her hips bucked. A gasp broke from her throat as he kept up the sensual assault, driving her mad with his mouth on her nipples, his devilish fingers trailing magic in their wake.
“Cruz,” she murmured brokenly, her hands moving restlessly over his shoulders and then to his hair. Her fingers threaded through the dark, thick strands, ungentle in her restless quest for satisfaction. “Please.”
He closed his eyes tightly at her breathless voice. He didn’t want this to end. He wanted to race his hands over her, to slowly savor her. He wanted to taste her everywhere, slowly, lingeringly. He wanted to take her with a sudden burst of lust that would put an end to their torment. But she was nearing the fever pitch of arousal; he could feel it in her writhing movements beneath him, in the moist tight silkiness he was exploring. His own body was taking the choice from him. He could feel himself grow tight and heavy, signaling how close he was to exploding.
He rolled away for a second to reach for the nightstand. He resented bitterly the need for anything to come between them, even as he protected her. Moving above her, he parted her legs for his large body, and the tip of his staff nudged her softness. Her legs came up eagerly, encircling his waist, and he pushed fully into her tight sheath with along, sure movement that drove the breath from both of them.
Pausing above her, he strove to garner his flagging control. Her eyes opened dazedly, and the sight of him over her, eyes tightly shut, teeth clenched, made her breath sob in her throat. The skin was drawn tautly over his cheekbones, and a light sheen of perspiration shone on his brow. She wasn’t able to give him the time he needed to regroup. She flexed, drawing him deeper inside her, and still it wasn’t enough. He was so hot, so hard, and he filled her completely… She gasped a little as he rolled his hips.
“That’s right,” he growled gutturally as her body struggled to accept all of him, “let yourself relax. Take more. More! Yes, like that. Just like that.” She accepted all of him, his hot, turgid length stretching her. His hands went to her bottom, lifting her for his thrusts. He began slowly at first, but quickly lost control and drove into her wildly. Breathless whimpers broke from her lips as she met each of his frantic movements, and demanded more.
“Maddy,” he gritted, surging into her. “Mine. Maddy…” He rode her hard until she screamed softly, her cry muffled by his hard shoulder. Her inner spasms clenched him, milking his own response. With a wild roll of his hips the pleasure slammed into him. It went on and on, and he jerked convulsively as he spun out of control.