Delicious and Deadly (5 page)

He smelled amazing, too, of sunshine, sea-salt and man.

She licked her lips.

And he tasted... again her gaze lingered on his sinful mouth... wonderful.

Then her eyes lifted to his, saw the hunger, the need, saw the desire, and she realised he was looking at her as she belonged to him.

As if he’d never, ever let her go.

“Christ, I’ve missed you, Emma. How you taste. How you smell. How you sound when I kiss you.” He shut his eyes and shuddered.

Then he opened those eyes to stare for a breathless moment right into hers.

He blinked, shaking his head as if to clear his mind.

She saw it, the sudden shame and guilt in his eyes, along with anxieties that made her brow crease.

His emotional withdrawal from her hurt Emma so bad it was like having a limb severed.

He released her, took a careful step back, and the hazy bubble that had contained them both in their own little world burst.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever kissed a married woman.” His voice was deep, gravelly. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I grabbed you like that."

He was sorry he'd kissed her?

Emma blinked.

Her legs were like jelly.

Her brain simply would not compute.

Fingertips pressed hard into her skull, trying desperately to get her spinning thoughts, her emotions, straight.

Her eyes never left his.

"I’m not married. I'm divorced.” She held up her left hand, wiggled her empty ring finger. “See?"

Unable to look away from the expressions that entered those darkly liquid eyes, she recognised possession, desire, and most of all... hope.

He moved fast, lifted her in his strong arms and for Emma the world simply fell away.

For once she was free.

Free from the adult affliction of common sense.

Free to stop thinking.

Free to just feel.

She didn’t care where he was taking her and she certainly didn’t care what he was going to do to her when they got there.

In his arms Oscar held close the woman he’d dreamed of every night for three long years.

She was
divorced?

A tortuous tangle of twisty emotions roared through him but the one that shook his world was need. Need spread through him, a wildfire that could not be contained as it destroyed every logical thought in its path. A strident voice in his head was asking him what the hell he thought he was doing? While another told him not to waste a single moment of the magical opportunity to love her. Oscar listened to the second voice because God knew Emma wasn’t putting up a fight. On the contrary, slim arms wound around his neck. Her mouth was pressed against his shoulder, her tongue tasting skin salty from the ocean. And he could do nothing about his body’s heated response. His erection was as hard as a baseball bat between his legs making walking incredibly uncomfortable. The muscles in his thighs, his belly, his loins tightened brutally. The sting at the base of his spine made him wince.

As he carried her up the three wooden steps to his cottage, he stalked through the spacious open plan living space. And Oscar told himself to take it easy, to slow down. But when he tossed her onto his big unmade bed, her little yip of shock had him peeling tiny shorts down those slim legs, tossing them over his shoulder before he hauled her up, tugged her tank over her head.

She was flushed, naked, her breath panting through swollen lips as he stood over her, his chest heaving in and out with each suck of breath.

Her green eyes went black with arousal.

“I really missed your face,” she said.

“I really missed your body.”

“How come I’m naked and you’re not?” Her voice was like cream poured over molasses. And that voice, the tiny tremble of nerves in it, along with the purr of invitation nearly killed him.

He stripped, watched the way her eyes grew wide as they slid down his body, stilled on his erection.

She licked her lips and his shaft bounced once, twice.

“Maybe I should shower, I’ve been in the ocean,” he suggested.

Her eyes slid back up to meet his.

“Maybe you should shut up and make love to me. I love the salty taste of your skin.”

He knelt on the bed, crawled up to grab her ankles and spread her legs. Christ, she was so beautiful, so pink, so wet, for him. Right on cue a hot wave of embarrassment flushed her chest, her cheeks. Ah, some things never changed. Emma still wasn’t quite comfortable in her own skin. Bless her. He didn’t stop to ask himself why he was glad of it. Now wasn’t the time to ask hard questions of himself or of her. As he studied her face he recognised desire but he also recognised a wariness that hadn’t been there in the past, along with a fragility, a vulnerability, that hadn’t been there before either. But before he could wrap his head around the subtle changes in her, her hand reached out to stroke his erection, to lightly squeeze as her thumb smoothed the evidence of his arousal over the head of his shaft and every logical thought simply leaked out of his mind.

The low groan that escaped from his throat was heartfelt.

Now he moved over her to touch, to taste.

He adored the feel of her under his hands. The lean, long and supple core of firm muscle. It appeared Emma had been working out. Her body was flexible, agile and strong. It opened to his. As slim arms wrapped around his hips, she pulled him close until his shaft nudged the slick gate of heaven. She withheld nothing.

His hand reached out to skim down the soft skin of her calf, her thigh, over that narrow hip and up to capture a breast that fitted so perfectly in his hand. Watching her, he squeezed the delicate flesh gently. His thumb flicking back and forth over a tight nipple that beaded, changing colour to the deep raspberry of arousal. An arousal mirrored in those deep green eyes. The heavy rhythm in his blood, the ache in his loins, quickened to a savage and raw hunger to possess, to take. If he took her right now he wouldn’t last. But now her hand released him, slid up his back to grip the back of his head and she pulled his mouth down to hers.

Her sweet breath, agitated, feathered over his lips.

She pressed against him, slick heat to slick heat.

“Now, Oscar,” she breathed the words into his mouth. He heard the ache of need in her voice. “I want you now.”

This time her teeth nipped his bottom lip, pulled gently.

What was a man to do?

"Hurry," she urged, her voice a high-pitched croak of desperation.

Emma had never felt heat like it.

It blazed low in her belly, a need that almost consumed her.

He was so big, so powerful, so strong. And the epicentre of that strength was even now teasing the slippery and swollen flesh between her legs. He was hers to take, here and now. And the utter thrill of that ignited deep inside her while she took him into her. Her skin flushed too hot. Her neck and her back arched. Oh God, how could she have forgotten how he stretched her too far, how he filled her.

"Jesus, you're so tight. Am I hurting you?"

Emma didn't care if he hurt her.

She shook her head.

"No," she panted.

She didn't want to think. All she wanted was oblivion. She didn't want to feel. And then adrenaline whipped through her system and she welcomed the rush of pure lust. A lust that had her muscles release him and relax to take him deeper. All of him.

Under her hands, the strong muscles of his shoulders, his hips, flexed and released, flexed and released.

Emma gasped his name out loud.

Then she cried out as strong hands lifted her hips and he plunged again and again, utterly destroying her. Now hands that had been so gentle before proceeded to ruthlessly use her, to whip her up and over the edge so fast her breath hitched, before shuddering through her body in stormy waves, drowning her in an ocean of erotic pleasure again and again.

And something deep down inside her, something that had been chained in darkness for too long, snapped, releasing a tsunami of pent-up emotions.

She wept, hot tears pouring into her hairline, into the pillow, as his harsh growls drowned out the sound of the slap of their slick bodies coming together as he went deeper again and again. Now she was going under for the last time, trapped, in a whirlpool of pleasure, her body controlled utterly by this man. Emma was poised, precariously close to the edge. All thought obliterated now, her mind adrift in a stormy sea of sensation as his brutal rhythm drove her up, up, up, never quite tipping her over. The pleasure was now a pain. Why couldn't she fall?

"Oh God, I can't... I can't" she sobbed.

"You
can
."

Then he changed the angle of his thrusts, releasing one hand to seek her clitoris. Finding the swollen button, he pounded into her as his thumb pressed hard sending her wailing over the edge. The orgasm was devastating in its intensity, wave after wave tossing her up again and again as something deep within her soared.

At last she was finally free, like a bird. Free to love. Free to feel. Free to be.

And as Oscar raced to peak his eyes found hers, and he saw that glittering emerald go hazy as yet another orgasm gathered and her body gripped his like a vice squeezing him so hard and so tight his eyes rolled back in his head.

Christ, Jesus, she was killing him.

Only now did he let himself fall into her.

What had just happened to him, to them?

Oscar sucked in oxygen like a man going under for the last time, conscious of Emma's body still pulsating around his length and the unsteady sound of their breathing. The heady scent of slick sweat and sex and the floral fragrance of her hair made him light-headed as his erection finally diminished. He rolled to the side and took her with him, still connected, as his hand stroked her bare bottom, as he held her tight.

She muttered into his chest, "That was insane."

"Hush, baby." He rubbed the flat of his hand over her bottom in what he hoped to hell was a soothing motion.
Insane
was right. Too right.

He'd been too rough with her. A fucking animal. And he'd never had an orgasm like that in his whole life. Jesus, had he hurt her? He rubbed his cheek in her fabulous hair, just loving the smell and the spicy scent of her sex. She was trembling so he held her tighter.

"Are you okay?" he asked, hoping to hell he didn't sound as scared as he felt.

Her head bobbed twice against his chest in a move that he took to mean
yes
.

His legs were tangled with hers and he was still inside her.

And he could have stayed like that for the rest of his natural life.

Then the enormity of what he, they'd, done hit him too hard.

Fuck
.

He hadn't used protection.

And that was a first for him.

"We didn't use a condom. I'm clean," he admitted.

He eased back to look down into her face.

A beautiful and flushed face, her emerald eyes unfocussed with the misty aftermath of hot sex.

"I'm protected and clean, too. It's been a long time for me."

His gaze dropped to her lips.

Her mouth looked swollen, the full bottom lip appeared bruised.

He blinked.

And was that a love bite on her neck?

Seriously?

What the hell was he, sixteen?

A wave of shame washed over him as his Emma simply stared up into his face, those green eyes all dreamy. She was so adorable that his heart kicked in his chest. Oscar knew he was a big man. He took great care to ensure he treated women with care, with respect, when he made love. He always took it nice and easy and slow. But the sex they'd just had hadn't been easy. It hadn't been slow. Anything but. It had been primitive, primal even and just about as basic as it could get. The need to dominate her simply could not be denied. He couldn't understand it. When had he ever needed to master a woman? Especially a woman like Emma? What the hell had he been thinking?

Now Oscar admitted that he'd wanted to have her come apart in his arms, to drive her as crazy as she'd driven him for three long years. So what was this? A revenge fuck? What did that make him? It made him a twisted bastard.

Emma thrust the slippery tumble of chestnut hair over her shoulder, giving him a bird's eye view of her gorgeous breasts. His eyes went wide. Christ, he'd given her a love bite on her tits, too? For fuck's sake, what was the matter with him? Something hot and hard burned too bright in his gut and to his utter amazement his spent shaft jerked involuntarily inside her.

For the first time in his adult life, Oscar Zamani blushed to the roots of his hair.

"My goodness," she purred as her lips curved. The sight as much of a turn-on as those tight nipples playing peek-a-boo at him through her hair. "Can I just say that I am very impressed at your stamina, Mr. Zamani. Very impressed."

He couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped from his throat, the surge of relief that he hadn't hurt her relieving some of the stress in his neck, but none of the fire burning too bright in his belly. How could he have forgotten how spirited and smart she was? But he also saw something dark lurking deep in those emerald eyes. Something desperately sad, something fragile, that hadn't been there before. But he let it go. Now was not the time for sharing secrets. Now was the time to explore what they'd found again. Together.

"Come here." He pulled her closer, loving the way her arms wound around him, the way a long leg hooked over his hip. He stroked the smooth skin of her shoulders, her bare bottom, grinning as her eyelids dipped. "Why don't we share a shower and then hit the bed again for round two?"

She rolled her shoulders under his hand and let out a purr like a contented kitten. A purr that had him twitch inside her again.

"Why don't we?" He rolled onto his back and took her with him until she was spread-eagled on top of him. Then she rose above him, hands lifting the shiny curtain of her hair back as she began to move. "Later," she said, and took him on the ride of his life.

Six hours later, Emma lay sprawled on her belly, and peeled open her eyes.

At some point she’d lost her hair tie and now hair curtained her face.

She shoved the heavy weight back and surveyed a scene of utter devastation.

Pillows and sheets were strewn over the floor.

Her limbs were so heavy it felt as if she was sinking into the mattress.

She turned to lie on her back and took stock of her surroundings.

Memories crowded into her mind. Her hand rose to her mouth, to press fingertips into puffy lips. She was in a strange bed in a strange room. A huge ceiling fan made of mahogany idly stirred the air. The sun was high in the sky. A light snore to her right had her head spin round.

Her eyes went wide.

Oscar lay sound asleep on his front, his arm stretched out towards her, as if reaching to touch her even in slumber. She couldn’t stop looking at his face, at the changes. There were faint laughter lines around his eyes, his mouth. Obscenely thick black eyelashes fanned above carved cheekbones. He had the nose, straight and true, of a warrior. His jaw was strong, well-defined and that full mouth was made for sin. And it had done plenty of sinning on her. The memory of how he’d tasted her... there... had that well-used ache tingle deliciously between her legs. His back was tanned, the skin clear, pulled taut over strong muscles. His waist was narrow and dipped low before the rise of the smooth curve of his butt. His incredibly tight butt. Her eyes went wide. A butt that had the imprint of her fingernails dug deep.

Shocked at her own wanton behaviour, Emma took stock of her own aches. The soft flesh of her inner thighs had been rubbed red by his beard as he’d... Heat scorched her cheeks. Her nipples tingled. And when she spotted a love bite on her breast her face went nuclear.

Omigod.

They’d gone at each other like rabid animals.

What on earth had she been thinking?

What on earth had she done?

Emma knew the frantic need to escape was wrong, childish even, but all she wanted at that moment was to be alone. To gather herself together. To think. To work out what to do next.

Like a thief in the night, she slid out of his bed, grabbed her clothes, and tip-toed out of the bedroom. The sitting room was immaculate and she remembered that Oscar liked order in his life, in his environment. She dressed quickly. Thought about leaving a note, then thought again.

Without looking back, Emma raced down the beach and up the path to the castle as if the devil himself was at her heels.