Page 124 of Avalon Tower
I wonder what he’d do if I reached back, slid my hand into his trousers, and stroked him over his underwear—just lightly up and down over that glorious length. And now I can think of absolutely nothing else.
I swear I’m not doing it on purpose, but my hips shift back again. His muscles tense. His hand slides around my waist in a protective embrace. His fingers tighten on me, right above my hip bone. “Nia.” His voice sounds deep and husky.
“Yes, Raphael?”
“This is a terrible idea.” His breath warms my throat. “Especially since you screamed that I’ve never been good enough for you, and I never would be.”
My cheeks flush. “Did I scream that?”
“Yes, and it sounded like you meant it.”
“Ten years ago, you kissed me, then entirely stopped speaking to me. It seemed very much like it was happening again.”
He leans closer, murmuring, “You don’t know why I stopped speaking to you back then, do you?”
“Because you thought I was a spoiled American.”
“No, I started to fall for you the moment I saw you. I thought you were perfect. I still do. But your mother explained to me that you were mistaken. She said you thought I was rich, and she knew I wasn’t. She told me that you were looking for someone wealthy. She said the moment you realized I was a grape picker, you’d be gone. She was very persuasive at the time. I believed her then, but I don’t anymore.”
My jaw drops. “Oh, gods. She really said that to you?” I wish I could say that sort of thing wasn’t in her character. “You know what, I’m not as shocked by this as I should be.”
My body presses into his.
You’re what I’ve been missing all these years. His thoughts echo in my mind.
Was this the first time I was hearing his thoughts? My mind flashes back to the vineyards all those years ago, when our fingers touched, and I heard the words beautiful, beautiful, beautiful…
“I hear your thoughts,” I whisper.
A quiet chuckle. “Stop listening. They’re about to become wildly inappropriate.” I want to hear you moan my name.
His hand slides into one corner of my underwear. Now his thumb is brushing slowly up and down over my hip bone. With his free hand, he pulls the hair back from my neck. “This is a terrible idea,” he repeats.
Because if I can’t strip you naked and fuck you hard, I will lose my mind.
I turn to face him, and his mouth is so close to mine. “Why is it such a terrible idea?” I whisper. The moonlight washes over him. I find myself tracing the sinuous curves of the tattoos that coil over his shoulder and chest. “We’re just cold. They can’t blame us for being cold. Do they want us to freeze to death?”
I’m desperate for you. Desperate the way a starving man craves fruit. I’ve dreamt of this for years, and I want to taste every inch of your skin.
“Right,” he says. “Of course, we’re just getting warm. For the mission.”
“For England.”
He pulls me in even closer against his hot, steely body.
I sigh, closing my eyes. I’m thinking of him ripping off my underwear, parting my thighs, and filling me with his enormous cock. I’m also glad that he can’t hear my thoughts because his sounded significantly more romantic than mine. Really, I’m mostly thinking about his dick.
His fingers stroke slowly up and down the hollow of my hips, and heat flows through me. My nipples push against my silky camisole. I’m trying to play it cool, but the sexual ache has my thighs clenching, and all I can think about is how desperately I want him to fuck me.
His hand is too high, and yet, with each slow stroke of his fingers over my skin, my core tightens. His fingertips glide over the top of my underwear, warmth over silk, a light touch. My breath hitches.
Take my time with you…
I imagine his mouth between my thighs, kissing me. I turn back to him and tangle my fingers in his hair. My hip presses against his erection.
I need your mouth wrapped around my cock.
My heartbeat races, and desire flushes my chest.