Sandra Marton - Mistresses - Bound with Gold / Bought with Emeralds

He grunted, his knuckles digging into her soft flesh as he flexed the hand trapped between her clenched thighs, forcing it gradually higher until his thumb brushed against the soft nest of hair protecting her femininity.

He broke the kiss and her head fell back against his shoulder. He bit at her exposed throat and then suckled at the glowing red marks. ‘You’re so incredibly hot for me,’ he rasped as her sultry need irradiated the torrid, enclosed space between her thighs, misting the tip of his thumb. ‘So ready for me…’

Had there been an odd note of surprise in his gloating words? ‘Isn’t that what you wanted?’ she managed threadily.

‘What I want from a woman and what I get are not always the same thing,’ he murmured, moving his thumb the infinitesimal distance to final contact and watching her violet eyes bloom with colour so vibrant and intense that it was beyond the palette of any artist. ‘But you may be unique in that respect. You’re not going to have to fake a thing with me, are you, Eve?’ This time his purring voice was purely triumphant.

‘You’re hot for me, too,’ she countered, flattening her hand over his steamy chest.

He bent and licked her mouth. ‘Hot and hard,’ he conceded in an inflammatory whisper, moving his hips so that she felt the explicit truth of his words rubbing against her bottom.

He continued to kiss her with the same, slow, teasing rhythm with which he controlled the delicate movements of his thumb. Only when he felt her quivering thighs relax and her hips begin to lift towards his tantalising touch did he withdraw his hand to cup her breast, his fingers finding and moulding the stiff nipple through the fine fabric, drawing it out to an exquisite peak of sensitivity.

‘Adam…’ Regan’s protest was a soft moan as she squeezed her thighs together, trying to ease the burning ache created by the loss of his vital touch at the core of her femininity.

‘Eve…’ He said something else that she didn’t hear over the thunderous roar of her blood, and when his arms braced, gently yet inexorably easing her away from his body, a brief battle ensued that left him smouldering with sensual amusement.

‘I said…I think it’s time we adjourned to the bedroom while we can both still walk,’ Adam said, his hands firm on her narrow waist as he rose with her struggling figure and set her squarely on her feet. ‘I’d prefer to finish this in the luxury and comfort of a well-sprung bed…wouldn’t you?’

His smile was mildly taunting, as if he sensed how close she had been to ravishing him right there in his chair.

Finish this? What if she didn’t want to finish it? What if she never wanted to relinquish this glorious feeling of voluptuous well-being?

‘Shall we…?’ He turned her gently in the direction of the bedroom and invited her company with a spurring little pat on the bottom that ended in a lingering caress.

In spite of her turmoil Regan remembered to snatch up her beaded bag as they passed the couch, hugging it to her fast-beating heart as she walked down the wide hall and into the big bedroom which she had found so intimidating. Someone had already been in to turn on the recessed lights and fold back the corner of the dark bedcover to display an inviting expanse of lustrous black silk. Pierre, setting up the final scene for seduction, thought Regan as she noticed how some of the lights were angled to pool on the bed, making it appear to float above the pale carpet.

Adam was emptying his trouser pockets, placing the contents on the top of a tall dresser. He flicked open the remaining buttons of his shirt and reached for a nearby switch on the wall, illuminating an adjoining bathroom that Regan had failed to notice earlier, so intent had she been on the bed.

‘You won’t mind if I take a shower first, to rinse off the grime of the day?’ He stripped his shirt down his arms and tossed it onto a chair by the wall, her lacy panties still decorating the pocket.

He stretched unselfconsciously, enjoying the freedom of his own skin, and Regan lost any chance of making a polite reply.

His nipples were dark brown against the lightness of his skin, mounted on slabs of muscle which were covered by a thicket of dark silky hair flecked here and there with rare strands of silver. The scars that marked his throat ended in a shiny swirl just below his collarbone, the rest of him—as far as she could see—was well nigh perfect. His belly was flat, with hints of corrugated muscle that flexed and rippled along his front and sides when he lifted his arms. The hair on his chest formed an inverted triangle, narrowing abruptly to a thin, downy line that ended well above his indented navel. In the huge mirror on the far wall Regan could see the reflection of his long, lean, unblemished back. He had already started to unbuckle his plain black leather belt and her eyes dipped helplessly to the obvious thrust of his arousal against the expensive black fabric of his trousers.

He saw her looking and prowled over to cup her jaw. ‘I’d ask you to join me, but one stroke of your soapy hands and I’m afraid I’d go off like a rocket,’ he admitted frankly, ‘and I have a rather more extended form of foreplay in mind. Besides—’ he lowered his head to graze his mouth and nose along her cheek ‘—you already smell delicious…that perfume you’re wearing is the perfect aphrodisiac.’ He nipped at her tender earlobe, making her shiver. ‘If you like to play games in the water, how about we have a Jacuzzi together later…?’ He padded towards the open bathroom door, pausing to tease her with an uplifted eyebrow. ‘Wait for me?’

As if there could be any doubt that she would! thought Regan shakily, listening to the sound of a shower being turned on and the low buzz of a razor soon superseded by the intermittent splash of water hitting a solid object. A very solid, masculine column of flesh.

Regan hovered in the centre of the floor, wondering what to do. Should she undress…or would he want to do that? Did he expect her to be lying naked in bed when he returned, or did his notion of ‘extended foreplay’ require her to be perched on the covers in a provocative pose? She blinked dizzily at the thought and looked hastily around for a distraction, hesitating as she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Was that really her?

Her black dress looked somehow tighter, the neck lower and the hem higher, than it had at home. Her black satin hair was in tousled disorder, her mouth reddened and her eyes as dark as bruises in her flushed face. She put a hand to her throat and ran it down the front of the dress, over her taut breasts and down to the bottom of her skirt. She inched it up until the top of her stocking showed, and then a strip of bare thigh. She bent her knee and looked sideways at herself. No sign of a victim now—she was all vamp. She had never looked nor felt so brazenly sexy in her life.

She let her hem fall and wandered over to the dresser, trying not to strain her ears for noises from the bathroom. Along with the heap of items from Adam’s pocket—a scatter of small change, a set of keys, a slim crocodile-skin wallet—there was a silver-backed male brush and comb set lying next to a small black leather case, the open zip of which displayed a manicure kit. The only other item of a possibly personal nature was a long, narrow navy blue jeweller’s box.

Her reward …?

The shower was still splashing erratically.

Regan put down her bag and picked up the velvet box. The lid was stiff and her fingers sweaty with nervous guilt as she forced it back on its hinges.

She sucked in a sharp breath. The thin tennis bracelet was lying on a bed of blue velvet, the tiny diamond chips a blaze of white ice under the overhead light. God knows how much such a thing had cost!