Rebel with a Cause (6 page)

‘Now?'
He laughed freely. ‘A late afternoon lay? Just before you leave?'

‘It has a certain appeal.' Her eyelids were heavy, her cheeks flushed. She'd wanted him for days, of course she wanted him now.

‘Aren't you getting ahead of yourself?' His voice dropped to a carnal whisper, but his eyes were like polished stones. ‘We've barely kissed. We might not be that good.'

Barely kissed? Oh, he was full of it. Her lips curved into a lush, lazy smile. ‘You don't believe that. Besides…' she skated the tips of her fingers over his jaw, shivering with the pleasure of being able to touch ‘…you do everything to a brilliant standard.'

‘So do you.'

Not quite true, but she was happy to skip it. ‘Then we'll
be brilliant together, won't we?' She was wholly leaning against him now, feeling the heat of him through her linen shirt. ‘Let's try it out.'

‘Oh, Sophy,' he muttered, his face even more angular. ‘You'd better know what you're doing.'

In answer she lifted her face, inviting it all.

In a fast movement he caught her mouth with his. It wasn't anything like the gentle kiss of the day before. This was brazenly sexual—branding her with its heat. She gasped, held back for a scrap of a second beneath the bruising, blazing invasion. Then threw herself headlong into the eye of the storm, locking her hands behind his neck, letting her breasts press against him. His hands pushed her tighter against his hardness. And he was hard all over.

His heated skin melted her. His tongue swept between her lips, she parted to let him in as deep as he wanted. Twirled her tongue around his and felt his grip tighten even harder on her.

Yes.

Her neck muscles strained as she pushed up into his kiss, not wanting the searing assault to ease even a smidge. She rocked her hips. Rising onto tiptoe to feel that bulging ridge nearer to where she really wanted it, rubbed closer again, desperate to relieve the agony that now flared deep within. She felt rather than heard his grunt. His hand cupped her butt, fingers firm on her flesh, holding her as he rocked back against her—his thrusting slow, devastating, while his mouth was still sealed to hers. His tongue teased into her the way she really wanted that other part of him to. Her moan reverberated between them then. Oh, yes. That was what she wanted. All the strength of him ripping into her.

His kiss altered, breaking but quickly returning. Nipping at her mouth he pushed her harder against his straining erection. She shifted her feet to part her legs that fraction more,
rotating the half centimetre she could against him, torturing them both. She cursed the clothes that were scrunching between them. He bent her back to force her body closer still, until all she could do was cling to his shoulders and accept his demands. She didn't want to stand any more anyway. She wanted to lie down. She wanted him to pin her with his weight and pound into her. Fast, hard, now.

All her desire unleashed with just the one kiss.

He took the weight of one breast in his hand and her body buckled with the sensation. ‘Yes.' Her high cry, half whispered.

So there was such a thing as pure, carnal lust. An at traction to a body, where nothing else mattered but touching it, feeling it and making its beauty come alive. There could be a free, physical joy. She'd been missing out for years—had always taken everything too seriously, been too cautious. She swept her hand hard across his shoulder, up his neck and into his hair, clutching to his deliciously dangerous heat. It was time to play catch-up.

 

Lorenzo fought hard with his raging lust, and hers, easing them out of the kiss, forcing his hands to slow and then to stop their exploration of her skin. It hurt.

He lifted his mouth a millimetre away from hers. Saw that passion had made her blue eyes glow more vividly than ever before. He couldn't resist another brushing kiss, nor could he resist the way her nipple was pressing into his palm. His fingers mirrored the action of his mouth—brushing the sensitive nub just as his lips did hers.

Very, very lightly.

Her shudder nearly had him on his knees. He'd wanted to test her—to see if she really meant it. So he'd kissed her hard. No gentle beginning, no tenderness, just the brunt of his raw, blistering passion.

And she'd met him, matched him. Almost
beaten
him.

Now he wanted to strip her, to kiss her, to make the whole of her wet with want. He wanted her drenched with desire—and him too—for their bodies to slide together, fighting for that furious, physical release. He hadn't wanted sex so badly in ages.

Instead he pushed away, made himself take a whole step. Forced his feet to move another. ‘I'm not going to take you now,' he said breathlessly. Telling himself as much as her. ‘Not like this.'

‘Why not?' She didn't seem to realise the extent to which she was giving herself away.

His body tightened, the animal part of him so keen to take up her unguarded offer. To topple her here and now and be done with it. But he couldn't. She needed some breathing space to be sure. He needed her to be sure. The lust was hot enough to make them both brain less. Do something she yet might regret. Lorenzo couldn't bear those regrets—not his, not hers either.

Stupid. Since when did he care? Since when did he let any kind of second thoughts stop him from having a good time?

Because she'd told him—she didn't usually do this. He'd known that already but having her actually say it made it worse. She needed to be certain. He didn't want any uncomfortable ramifications. ‘Are you sure you can handle it?'

She turned away. He saw the chill descend, the stiffening in her shoulders. ‘Don't treat me like an idiot. Of course I can. We're only talking one night, Lorenzo.'

He ruffled his hair, needing to get his conflicting emotions under control. Hell, it was one p.m. and he was this close to having her in a quickie session at the back of the
warehouse. He wanted more than a quickie. He wanted a bed. He wanted the whole night.

One
night—her suggestion.

His body chafed—eager to take the offer up now. But no way was he taking her upstairs to his apartment. Inviting her in there might lead to mixed messages. He'd have to take her out. Damn, a date meant more too—or might to her. He shook his head, could she really keep it uncomplicated? But he wanted it too much to say no. The burning need forced him to take the risk. ‘I'll take you out tonight.'

‘That's not necessary.'

Oh, she was cool, wasn't she? His edgy feeling sharpened. Had he under estimated her entirely? ‘You don't want to go out?'

She looked evasive. ‘You could come over to my place.'

It was probably a good idea. He didn't like that it had come from her, but she was right. Better not for them to go out together—looking like lovers, feeling like lovers. But ironically nor did he want some sordid assignation. Just for him to knock on the door and her let him in—literally. The warring feelings frustrated him. ‘For dinner?'

‘If you like,' she answered carelessly, giving him an address, a time.

He stared at her as she spoke, tried to figure out what the hell she was thinking. Failed. But she'd come to him. She was asking him. If she wanted to go through with it, who was he to say no? He'd never been one to turn down an opportunity. ‘Okay.'

She smiled, and walked back inside.

He glanced up to the window and waited. Soon saw her swinging into her role as the perfect administrator again. It should please him, not annoy him—given she was on the
payroll and all. But for some reason he found it incredibly irritating. She could go back and concentrate on boring work just like that?

Man, he wanted to see her out of control. He wanted the perfect clothes crushed and the never-out-of-place hair messy. He wanted her eyes wide and wild and her mouth parted as she panted. He wanted her both laughing and crying with pleasure so intense that she was no longer in charge of anything. He wanted her to writhe for him.

And he wanted it now.

L
ORENZO
had been fantasising about this for too long. That was why he was so edgy. Had Sophy known the XXX rating of his dreams, she'd never have offered him this kind of access. The things he wanted to do…

He took a deep breath. Her home was as he'd expected. A cute little villa in the heart of poshville. Just the place for a young Auckland socialite. He walked up the path with the fatalistic feeling growing inside him. He hadn't brought flowers, not even a bottle of wine. Just himself. His body was what she wanted—and it was all she was getting. He shook off the clanging bell of doom—stupid. This was just going to be some hot sex—nothing more.

She answered the door swiftly. Delicate colour sat high in her cheeks. She'd changed her clothes. Wearing a different blouse, a casual skirt that flared out, emphasising her little waist. Sandals on her feet. Pink polish gleaming on her toenails. Her hair was styled in that nineteen-fifties Hollywood-starlet style.

‘I didn't cook. Sorry. Been busy.'

Getting ready for him? He liked that idea a little too much.

She turned and led him down the polished wooden hallway.

‘It's okay.' He wasn't that hungry anyway. Not for food.

‘I cheated and picked up some stuff from the deli.' She led him to the dining area. ‘Thought we could snack.'

‘Sure.' He looked at the table. She'd unloaded the deli pots into pretty little dishes. Floral. Heaven help him. Fragile fine bone china. That was her all over.

She was watching him, a knowing look in her eyes that unsettled him more. ‘You're not having regrets already?'

‘I don't do regrets. Why, do you?'

She shook her head. ‘New Year's resolution not to.'

Yeah, right. ‘You've never done anything to regret, have you?' He couldn't hold back the bitter note of accusation.

‘You think?' She stepped up to him. ‘I'm no angel, Lorenzo.' She leaned forward and whispered, ‘And I'm no virgin. You're not going to hurt me.'

He swallowed. For someone who'd said she'd never done this before, she was holding her own. So the snacking could wait a while. There was something far more pressing to be done. He lifted a hand and stroked her hair, gathered a lock and ran his finger and thumb along the length of it. He tugged gently, straightening the curl at the bottom. When he let it go it bounced right back. ‘So you're sure.'

A look of irritation crossed her face. ‘You know I am. You're here, I'm here. End of conversation.'

He laughed inwardly. It seemed he wasn't the only one to have been dreaming of this for too long. He watched her, waited and soon saw the slight nervousness steal into her eyes, despite her words. She'd taken a smidge of her lower lip between her teeth, he could see her biting hard on it. And she was staying very, very still—waiting.

He leaned forward and so slowly, so gently caught that lower lip between his own teeth. She gasped, freeing it so it was his. He sucked on it, let his tongue run over the swell of soft flesh. She opened for him completely—and they hurtled straight back into the red-hot kiss of earlier.
Her hands lifted to his shoulders; he liked the feel of them, he liked the feel of her hips digging into him too. It was as if every where they touched the power surged, pulsing between them.

He broke free, determined to slow it down. ‘You don't want to eat first?'

‘Can't you just shut up and get on with it?' She thrust against him again. ‘Anyone would think you're stalling.'

He looked at the gleam in her eyes. The nerves had gone. She was enjoying being provocative now. And she wanted it fast. Too bad. She'd told him the truth earlier. She wasn't a one-night-only girl. Not before now.

‘What's wrong?' he asked bluntly. ‘Why do you want it to be over so quick?' Did she want it done and then him leave inside the hour? Like some naughty fantasy that she could tell herself wasn't really real?

Not happening. If she wanted it, then she was getting it—one
whole
night. And one night didn't mean once only. And it certainly didn't mean quick.

She didn't answer, had fallen silent, breathless as she leaned her lower belly against him. He under stood—even just that simple closeness turned him on too. He traced her collarbones with the tips of his fingers. Watched for the reaction. Yeah, there it was. The widening of her pupils and the increase in her breathing. Her response so quick, so gorgeous. Impulsively he leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

She turned her head but he didn't take the mouth she offered. Instead he kissed her ear, let his tongue lightly trace the whorls, let his teeth gently bite on the soft lobe.

Then he kissed the skin just below—she shivered. Yes, she was sensitive there, vulnerable.

He liked to touch her where she was vulnerable.

The constraint fell from him. Too late to pull back
now. Inside he knew it had always been too late—from the moment he'd seen her looking so crossly at him at the back of the warehouse he'd wanted her. And he was going to get what he wanted—now.

She moved restlessly. He saw the flicker in her eyes but he refused to kiss her again. Not yet—he needed to regain his control so he could play with her the way he wanted. He undid each button on her blouse, so slowly, until it fell open. He pushed it back on her shoulders, took in the pretty bra. White, floral lace. Very pretty—but the soft globes it encased were even prettier. He could see her lush nipples pressing against the lace and nearly groaned aloud.

He had to kiss her again, not her mouth—not yet—but the soft creamy column of her throat. He brushed his lips against it, felt her pulse beating beneath him, breathed in the subtle scent that he found so sexy. Her head fell back, giving him greater access to that sensitive area. He traversed down, seeking to anoint more of the sweet skin with his tongue, his lips, eventually crossing over her collar bones and to the rising slope of her breasts.

Her hands lifted to his waist, pulling on the belt loops of his jeans, trying to draw him closer. He refused to move. So she did. Rising to tiptoe, bumping against him. He smiled as he hit the lace edging of her bra.

‘Lorenzo.' The need made her voice sound raw.

He slid his hands up her thighs, soothing the ache he knew she was feeling with the promise of that intimate caress. Soon. Very soon. He was so glad she was wearing a skirt.

‘Lorenzo, please.' She swirled harder against him.

He felt her hands on his back, on his skin as she went beneath his tee shirt. He tensed. He couldn't handle her touch just yet. He lifted his fingers higher against her, swept them across the front of her panties.

She jumped. Stepped back from him.

He froze.

She wasn't looking at him. ‘Like the good little girl scout I am, I'm prepared,' she gabbled, fumbling with her skirt. He watched narrow-eyed. Finally she pulled a condom out of her pocket with shaking fingers. But she dropped it as soon as she had it. She groaned with frustration.

He spared a quick glance down to where it had fallen and then stepped forward and slid his hand round the back of her neck, pulling her to him. ‘We don't need it.' He bent and resumed his savouring of her skin.

‘We don't?' She sounded startled.

He bit back the laugh—barely succeeded. ‘Not yet.'

‘No?' She was panting now, her hips circling again, pushing into his in that way that was slowly driving him out of his mind.

He gripped her butt, stopped her. ‘No. Not yet.'

He was determined to have his slow discovery of her, but he'd give her a taste of what was to come. He kissed his way across her breast, moving up the gentle slope, finally taking the nub deep into his mouth, his tongue raking over the tip—pretty lace and all.

She cried out. He felt the satisfaction burning into him. Couldn't resist sucking harder, letting her feel the edge of his teeth. She jerked, and he clutched her closer, stopping her from slipping to the floor.

Her hands clasped his shoulders. He lifted away from her so he could see into her eyes and tease the hell out of her. ‘You're not that well prepared, are you?'

Looking dazed, confused, she said nothing.

‘Don't you think we might need more than one?' He straightened and set her right on her feet again, dug one hand into his back pocket and pulled out the stash he'd stuffed in there earlier. Holding his hand in front of her, he
uncurled his fingers and half a dozen condoms scattered on the floor between them.

He caught her round the waist as he felt her soften. ‘Now stop trying to control me.' He pushed her into the dining chair, and went down in front of her. Placed his palms on the inside of her knees and pushed them apart.

‘What are you doing?'

‘Maximising pleasure,' he muttered, hands sliding up her thighs. ‘It's like making wine, Sophy—producing the best takes time. Patience. A gentle touch.'

‘But I like to get things done.'

‘I know you do. And this is one thing we're going to do very thoroughly.' He slid his hands back down to her knees, skimmed them down to her ankles.

This wasn't going to be quick. He'd wanted too long. He was going to touch every sweet part of her—and make her mindless.

Sophy looked down as he knelt between her legs. His eyes jet black, his face concentrated as he watched his fingers trace over her soft skin. He bent and she closed her eyes. Yes. There it was. That sensual mouth, those full lips brushing against her—setting every tiny spot he touched on fire. Someone had to help her—
he
did. She just couldn't take this kind of torture.

‘Lorenzo.' But there was no point—he wasn't in any hurry as he kissed across her thighs. She tilted her hips towards him in an ancient rhythm, mentally begging him to go higher, to where she needed him. Finally his hands glided to her hips, his fingers grasping the elastic. She pressed her heels into the floor, lifted her butt from the chair so he could slide her knickers down. In seconds his hands were back at her knees, pushing them wide again. She screwed her eyes shut tighter.

But the kiss she expected didn't come. It was her breasts
that he touched, nuzzling through the lace, his hands pushing her skirt up higher around her waist.

She could feel the heat of his torso so close, she wanted it closer. She honestly thought she was going to die, she wanted him so badly. ‘Please, Lorenzo. Please.'

‘No.' His half-laugh was unbearably wicked.

‘I can't wait any longer.' The touch of his lips to her nipples sent an SOS to her cervix—starting the contractions, the searing need of her sex to have his.

‘Yes, you can.'

‘But if I come now, I won't…' How could she make him under stand? She didn't want the edge taken off her hunger, she wanted all of him inside her when she had the release. She wanted it to be the best she'd ever had—she could almost taste it. ‘I want it
all
.' All at once. Immediately. She was reduced to basic instinct now—to demand his pos session.

He laughed. ‘You'll have me. Again and again. I promise. Why not just enjoy this moment?'

She was going to go insane, that was why. The volcano inside her threatened to erupt. He moved—but not how she'd wanted—not to pull her to the floor so he could thrust into her in the way she was so desperate for.

No. It was only a slight change in hold but it was enough to bring her firmly under his control. He spread one hand wide on the inside of her thigh, placed his other much higher, cupping her breast, his fingers caressing her painfully taut nipple. But she could no longer move, her body bound by his, utterly enthralled by the simplest of touches: he licked her.

She gasped as his tongue swirled, tasting, teasing her most intimate, most sensitive part.

And it killed her.

She pushed back against the hard chair, unashamedly
thrusting her pelvis into him. The waves of pleasure lapping at her, as he lapped her. Oh he knew what to do, how she wanted him to do it. The waves rose higher, starting to wash over her—every muscle tensed, tingled.

‘Don't stop, please don't stop,' she begged him, shaking as she felt it surging. She wanted it, but she wanted more. She didn't know what to do with her hands, with her heart, with the heat burning her inside out. In the end she reached out and drove them into his hair. Thick and vibrant beneath her fingertips, the texture rough and all male. Her head hit the back of the chair as she arched higher to meet his kiss—tension locking her body in an endless moment of stillness. His hand went from her thigh to support her beneath—holding her to his hungry mouth so he could go deeper, suck and stroke harder. And he didn't stop. The slow, rhythmic, divine touches intensified. Her fingers curled into claws as she shook, her cry high and harsh. And as she buckled he still didn't stop, not giving her any respite, forcing every last ripple of response from her—until neither her body nor mind could take any more and the world went black.

 

Sophy was no longer a sentient being. She couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't speak. Couldn't even open her eyes. His hands traced over her. Gentle kisses followed their path. It was as if he was worshipping her skin, her scent, her sex.

Her pulse slowed, steadied and then started to lei surely rise again as she heard him murmuring her name. She opened her eyes then. He lifted his head from her skin, met her gaze, his smile almost boyish with pleasure. He knew, he knew just how well he'd thrilled her and how ready she was for him to do it again. Like now.

‘You still want it all?'

‘More than ever,' she answered honestly.

His smile faded as his hand cupped her jaw. ‘You humble me.'

He twisted away, grabbed a few of the condoms. Once on his feet he lifted her into his arms and walked, instinctively stopping at the door to the master bedroom.

‘Not that one.' She was in the smaller of the two rooms.