Carol Marinelli - Seduced By The Heart Surgeon

Concentrate, Freya.

She couldn’t.

There was just this prickling awareness all over her as she recalled his scent and the feel of his hand on her arm.

Oh, God. She gazed up at him and hoped her eyes weren’t frantic, but that was how she suddenly felt—frantic for him.

‘Ten!’ everybody shouted. ‘Nine!’

They could not stop staring and, as the countdown drew to its conclusion, as everyone started cheering and kissing, Beth’s carefully organised photos were ruined by a tall guy bursting through and dashing down the stairs.

‘Auld Lang Syne’ was being sung out around them as his hands took her by the upper arms. Briefly she wondered why, instead of kissing her as she badly needed him to do, he was moving her away. But then Freya found out exactly why.

This wasn’t a kiss suitable for public exposure.

They were in a small booth to the side of the hotel’s reception when his mouth first met hers. They came together so hard that their teeth met and his tongue was strong and thick and very indecent. Her hips were held by him, and animal passion, which had never taken up residence in Freya before, rapidly made itself right at home.

Her hands were pressing into his chest, not to push him away, just to feel him, to rub those solid muscles beneath greedy palms. Then they went up to his head and her fingers dug into his hair. She kissed him back on tiptoe, so that her heels lifted up out of her shoes in an attempt to scale him.

He pulled back and gave her an intense look and there was no mention of going up for a drink.

‘I have to get back...’ It was a feeble protest she made. ‘I just need ten more minutes to sort the wedding party out.’

‘We can’t wait.’

His erection was in her groin and Freya herself was pressing hard into him.

‘I have to make sure that they get off okay...’

He peered out.

‘They’re waving and the bride is about to throw the bouquet. Do you want to go and try to catch it?’

The question was a loaded one.

What was she looking for—an amazing night with no names, or to dash off and catch the bouquet and the dream that it might one day be her?

‘God, no,’ Freya said. She was more than happy with being a third-time bridesmaid and so she took his head in her hands and got back to that mouth for one more deep kiss before they hit the elevators.

Freya pressed the button for the twenty-eighth floor.

‘You remembered,’ he said.

‘Oh, yes!’

CHAPTER THREE

SADLY FOR THEM the elevator was full.

The wedding guests were dispersing and either heading to their rooms or to the bars. There were many, many opportunities for Freya to change her mind on the long and frustrating ride to the twenty-eighth floor and say that this was a terrible idea and so not like her.

It never entered Freya’s head to do so.

Her rigid, controlled life was in desperate need of fun and adventure, and he offered that and more.

He was beautiful.

Even with her back to him she could feel the energy between them, it was utter attraction and arousal at its most basic and Freya could not wait to indulge.

‘What floor are you on?’ he asked, running a finger over her bare shoulder as they crawled towards her floor. His touch was electric and, yes, it was terribly tempting to get off at the tenth floor, but there might be a problem as she hadn’t packed her toiletry bag with a wild night in mind.

She gave a small shake of her head and then turned and looked him right in the eye as the elevator came to her floor and a couple got out.

‘I haven’t got...’ she mouthed.

‘I have,’ he mouthed back. Of course he did, Freya thought. This guy had nearly had her at five p.m. after all—no doubt he came prepared for women dropping their knickers on sight—but they were already past her floor and so they waited—oh, how they waited—for them to hit his floor.

As the crowd thinned out there was a bit more space but they didn’t utilise it. She could feel his eyes on her shoulder, on her spine, and then she got the bliss of his mouth on the part of her she hated the most.

She leant back into him even as the doors opened.

‘Thank God,’ Zack said, and he took her hand and they just about ran the length of the corridor.

He opened up the door and they fell into the room. Their mouths locked and they didn’t bother with the lights. Just hot, hard kisses as Freya kissed him with abandon up against the wall.

He more than partook because he tore that dress off and the sound of it ripping was as delicious as the feel of his hands on her bare skin.

‘Oh, God,’ he said as he played with her breasts and tweaked her nipples as if he’d been waiting for them all night.

He had been.

Freya had never been more grateful for ignoring the bride’s plea because, unable to resist a taste, he lowered his head and took one nipple into his hungry mouth.

‘She wanted me to wear sticking plasters over them.’

‘We don’t like the bride,’ he said as he withdrew his mouth, and it made her laugh. It was just such a relief after a very long and difficult day to laugh and vent to someone who got her. He took the other breast in his mouth and sucked hard. Freya pushed him off, only because it was her turn to taste his salty chest. Oh, he tasted amazing, like he’d been swimming in the ocean and had then showered in ice. Salty, refreshing and so firm.

Freya dealt with his heavy leather belt as best she could with her mouth on his chest, licking him, tasting him and then moaning her frustration.

‘Why button-ups...?’ Freya whimpered.

‘So I can picture your fingers undoing them and getting it out.’ She was doing just that and Freya herself wasn’t gentle. He was so thick and long and already there was a silver drizzle that trickled onto her fingers as she explored him.

‘Get naked,’ he told her, and he went into his pocket. He wished he’d kicked off his boots so he could do the same but there really wasn’t time. As she shed her knickers he dressed his erection and Freya toppled a little as she took off her shoes.

‘Come here,’ he said, and she just stepped to him and he lifted her to where she’d wanted to be all along.

‘Oh...’ He didn’t guide her on, he held her hips as her hands went behind his neck.

‘Lean back,’ he told her, and as he held her by the hips he rubbed her wet sex over his stomach and scented himself with her.

‘I’m going to come...’ Freya was, the feel of the hairs on his stomach, the rough guide of his hands, the way he was holding her, and she couldn’t hold on.

‘That’s the intention,’ Sexy Bastard said.

She had kind of got this wasn’t going to be like anything she’d experienced before but she found out for certain then. As her body arched, as she let out a building moan, he took her coming. He just drove into her tight and twitching and moaned at the pleasure.

‘Oh, yeah,’ he said.

Oh, yes, Freya thought.

He just parted her orgasm, it was like being a virgin all over again, or not, Freya thought because that had been such an underwhelming encounter.

This wasn’t.

She went limp for a moment and he took full advantage, grinding her down to meet his thrusts. Her hands took in his muscled shoulders and she dug her nails in, and then she just had to taste that shoulder, sucking it as her hands explored his broad upper back.

Her nails dug in again, deeper, and he took her a bit slower but with measured tension. It was an odd consent but she read it—he wanted more of the same so she scratched him hard.

‘Careful,’ he warned as her mouth sucked skin, but he wasn’t telling her to stop, she knew that. ‘You’ll pay for each bruise.’

Oh, she would gladly pay.