Spaniard's Baby Of Revenge

He whispered words in Spanish and then he eased her to the ground, just for a moment, so he could retrieve his wallet from his trousers. He pulled out a condom. No, condoms, she corrected with pink cheeks, and she opened her mouth, knowing she needed to say something, to tell him that she was a virgin, because she was sure he wouldn’t enjoy discovering that fact for himself. But then his hands came to her jeans and he was unfastening them, pushing them down her legs, and he crouched in front of her and brought his mouth to her inner thigh and she was lost again. She tangled her fingers in his hair, throwing her head back as he kissed her legs.

And then he dragged her simple cotton briefs down her body and she was complicit, stepping out of them. In the back of her mind, in the small part of her brain that was still capable of rational thought, she was surprised by how unselfconscious she was. She was almost naked in front of him and she didn’t care.

He brought his mouth to the apex of her thighs and flicked his tongue against her womanhood and now Amelia cried out louder, harder, as pleasure licked through her like wild flames. She said his name over and over again, and her fingers ran faster through his hair before dropping to his shoulders and holding on tight. Pleasure was a rollercoaster and she was buckled in, riding it harder and faster, unable to stop the rush of momentum—not wanting to either.

His mouth drove her over the edge and she cried out as an explosion of delight, unlike anything she’d ever imagined, much less known, blew away the last vestiges of any idea that she might not be a sexual being. If this was sex, she could easily become an addict.

But there was no time to recover. He was straightening, lifting himself up, and in one movement he snaked a hand behind her back and unclasped her bra, and she pushed out of it at the same time. His head came crashing down to her breasts, his lips moving from one nipple to the next, circling her sensitive flesh, and desire was rampant in her bloodstream, running like a pack of leopards through her system.

She heard the opening of the condom and felt his hands move against her stomach and something, some thought, was pushing at her brain, but she couldn’t catch it. Pleasure was her all—nothing mattered beyond the feelings he was invoking. She was a wildling, abandoned completely to this, and only this.

His hands on her hips were strong and commanding; he lifted her easily and, in her tiny kitchen, he pressed her against the wall and she cried his name, ‘Please, please, please,’ begging him for a release she couldn’t articulate beyond knowing that it was a necessity.

His eyes, glowing in the soft light, burned into hers for several beats. ‘You want this.’ It was a statement but it dragged her out of the drugging haze of desire, if only for a second. He needed an answer.

An answer beyond her constant begging?

‘Yes,’ she groaned. ‘Oh, God, yes, please, Antonio. I need this.’

And his dark eyes sparked with something new, something like relief and determination, and he moved his body forward and brought her down on his length in one swift, possessive movement.

She froze as the invisible barrier of her innocence was taken by him, and stiffened as an unwelcome and sharp pain pushed all pleasure aside.

He swore in Spanish, sensing what had happened, and she winced, and then his eyes held hers and he whispered softer words, Spanish words, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her from the wall, holding her tight, keeping himself inside her and holding her close to him as the pain subsided.

Pleasure returned and it was different and more demanding than before, because he was inside her and muscles she hadn’t known she possessed were being stretched and taunted and desire was being stirred that demanded an answer.

‘Please,’ she said again and he lifted a hand to her cheek, curving it in his palm.

‘You are sure, querida?’

‘Yes.’ She nodded.

And, with a look she couldn’t interpret, he began to move again, softly this time, gently, and he pressed her against the wall, and he kissed her as his body stirred her back to fever pitch, and he watched her as she blew apart for a second time, this time in his arms and with his erection deep inside her.

And then he eased her back to the ground, her feet on the floor, but only for a second. He scooped down and lifted her, cradling her to his chest as he carried her upstairs, along the hallway. The lighting here was dimmer than downstairs; she had only a few strings of lights on the landing. He looked in one room first—her study—and the next was her bedroom, and apparently there was sufficient light for him to make out at least the shape of the bed. He strode in, laying her down on the mattress gently, then standing. She could just make out the silhouette of his body in the darkness of the house.

Her breath was rushed and she was grateful there was no lighting, glad he wouldn’t be able to see the tangle of emotions swirling in her eyes.

‘You should have told me,’ he said simply, but there was no recrimination in the words, only regret. And then he brought his body over hers and his lips caught hers, and he kissed her as his arousal found its way to her core once more. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he pushed inside her and she groaned as pleasure already began to build anew.

‘Your first time should not be with a man you hardly know,’ he said, but she barely heard. The words were hoarse and she was way beyond logical, rational thought. When he kissed her his tongue duelled with hers in time with his body’s possession of hers and this time, when she found release, he came with her, holding her tight, kissing her, passion saturating them both.

He stayed where he was, inside her, straddling her, but sat straighter; it was impossible to discern anything in his features owing to the blackness of her room.

But his hands found hers and his fingers weaved through hers, holding her, reassuring her.

‘I had no idea,’ he said.

‘I know that.’ Now that the bright burst of passion had receded, she had room to feel self-conscious. Not regret, not remorse, only a desire that she’d been better able to meet him on a level of experience closer to his. ‘I probably should have told you.’

She was glad it was dark and that he couldn’t see her blush and that she couldn’t see his face—and the irritation she was sure would be there.

‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. ‘If only so I could have made it perfect for you.’

She lifted her hands to his chest, running her fingers over his muscles thoughtfully. ‘That was perfect,’ she promised. ‘I had no idea...’

His laugh was soft and, inside her, he jerked with the movement and she let out a soft moan as embers of pleasure began to stir anew.

‘I mean it,’ she repeated huskily. ‘I never really got the whole sex thing.’

At that he sobered and when he spoke his voice was husky. ‘I’m surprised to hear it.’

He might have meant it as a general throwaway comment, but that was unlikely. He came to her that night knowing who she was, knowing her name, because their grandfathers had been friends. He knew more about her than she did him, and that certainly included knowledge of her mother and her behaviour. ‘I think lots of people expect me to be just like her,’ she said with a small shrug. ‘And I’m not.’

‘You didn’t want to be,’ he clarified gently, and he pulled away from her and rolled them at the same time, so she made a squawking sound of surprise. He held her close to his body, tucked in one arm, and she relaxed against him. His fingers stroked down her back and she sighed softly. New pleasures were vibrating inside her.

‘No,’ Amelia agreed, hating that it still felt like a betrayal to admit that.

‘You haven’t dated?’

‘Of course I have,’ she was compelled to declare, hating what a novice she was! His fingers paused in their stroking for a moment before resuming their leisurely trail along her back. ‘But never seriously, never for long.’ She shrugged against his side. ‘Whereas you, I imagine, have a long list of ex-girlfriends.’

‘Not really,’ he said, surprising her. ‘I don’t really date.’

Of course. How gauche of her. ‘Lovers, then.’

He laughed. ‘Enough,’ he agreed after a moment.

She bit down on her lip. ‘But I bet it’s been a long time since you were with a virgin.’

‘I’ve never been with a virgin,’ he said simply. ‘Not even my first time.’

She blinked at that confession. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah.’

So she was his first? She couldn’t explain it, but she liked that. It was as though they’d both shared a new experience together, and it meant more to her than it should.

‘How do you feel?’ The gravelled question sent her pulse firing anew.

‘Relaxed and satisfied,’ she purred and he laughed, a throaty sound of wry amusement.

‘I’m pleased to hear it. Stay here.’ And he pulled away from her, standing and moving out of her room.

‘What are you doing?’ she called after him, but the words were soft, consumed by a yawn. And, instead of asking again, she collapsed back against the bed, closed her eyes and remembered. Remembered the madness in the kitchen that had brought his lips to hers, or was it the other way around? Remembered the way they’d exploded at that first touch and everything had seemed predestined in some way.

A moment later she had her answer, anyway. The sound of the bath running, then the bathroom cabinets being open and shut. She lay there, a smile on her face, listening, and a little while later he returned.