Postcards From Buenos Aires: The Playboy of Argentina / Kept at the Argentine's Command / One Night, Twin Consequences

She didn’t lie back—not Frankie. She grabbed his head, tried to kiss him.

It was the sheer force of the habit of climbing those stairs that got him to the top without missing a step. She was insatiable. He could hardly contain her as she slid her legs round his waist, held on to his head and licked and tongued her way across his face.

He had to stop—couldn’t take another step with this erotic creature writhing all over him. He had to take her now. Here in the hall.

In a heartbeat he’d scooped his arm up her spine, bent her backwards and laid her straight down on the floor. Her eyes flew open with the speed of his move, but the wicked flash of joy told him she was even more fired up.

‘You don’t want to take this slowly, do you, querida? You haven’t got the patience.’

‘You can go slow with your blondes.’

She blew in his ear, her hot breath sending him into a fury of desire for her.

‘But I haven’t got all day, so get a move on.’

He braced himself just to look at her. No one spoke to him like this—no one. He would never tolerate any mention of previous partners, never entertain censorious comments. But she did it. And he was loving it.

‘You think …?’

She lay still. Just for a moment. Her hair was a spill of the darkest rum, her eyes diamond black in the hollows of her satin-skinned face. Mesmerising. Absorbing. So beautiful.

Something hovered between them in that second. Heavy, humid, portentous.

And then, like a tide taken at the flood, they grabbed for each other.

She pulled at his shirt—fingers grabbing, nails scratching. Vaguely aware of his wound throbbing, he filled his hands with her. Hauled her dress up and over her hips. She tried to scrabble towards him, to get at more of his clothes, but he had to see her and touch her. Had to.

He pinned her to the ground with his hand and stared at her slender bones, at the tiny triangle of her panties. She was so delicate, so feminine … Another jolt of lust made him even thicker. Even harder. He grabbed the fine fabric that covered her in his fist and tugged. She yelped and breathed out hard. But she still clambered to clutch at him as he balled the shredded silk and tossed it aside.

‘I liked those,’ she said.

‘You put them on knowing I’d take them off. Didn’t you?’

‘You’re so hot for yourself—aren’t you, Hurricane?’

He grinned at her again—couldn’t help it. She fired him up to be a little more rough, a little more bold.

‘I’m hot for you.’

He pulled her dress right up to her waist, exposed her nakedness to his hungry eyes.

‘You’re perfect.’

She was. Exquisite. The neat V of dark hair drew his gaze, and as the words left his lips he parted her flesh and slid his fingers home.

Like a wild beast calmed, she stilled, threw back her head, closed her eyes and moaned. She was swollen and soaked. Just as he’d known she would be. As he’d always remembered. Her clitoris was engorged, begging for his touch, and he circled and slid his finger over it just once. Her cry echoed off the walls and went straight to his heart.

‘I’ve got to taste you, hermosa.’

Hands to her hips, he slid her swiftly up the silk rug. She hauled at her dress, dragged it over her head and unhooked her bra. She lay back in the moonlight, clothes cast around under the domed ceiling. She was some bewitching fairy or nymph, clouding his head. Entrancing him. Robbing him of sense.

He lifted her hips, held her open under his gaze, drinking in the moonlit sight of her that he’d never had a chance to see properly in those few stolen minutes years ago. Then he bent his head until his lips and tongue lay between her splayed legs. And then he lapped her, tasted her and relished her.

She had orgasmed in seconds that first time. Caught him completely by surprise. And herself. He doubted she had even known what had happened. He’d catapulted himself out of bed in shock.

But this time as her legs tensed, her arms gripped his and she burst apart, pulsed and jerked in his mouth. As her cries echoed in the hallway he held her in place and licked at her until she thrashed her arms and legs and begged him to stop.

‘Rocco—Rocco, please!’

The words rang out, almost dragging him out of his frenzy. And then he was lifting her, hugging her up, plastered against his body, striding along the hallway, taking them both to his suite. She hung her head on his shoulder, lay limply in his arms.

‘Is that what it takes to calm you, Frankie? I must remember that …’

She felt so soft in his arms, lying back quietly as he paced past closed doors. Light was beginning to flood in through the huge stained glass window that marked the end of the hallway and the door to his suite.

‘I’m only taking a moment …’ She smiled, then tipped up her face, softened by dawn’s golden light.

God, she was even more beautiful like this. He didn’t think he could wait another second to have her.

He kicked open the door. Three paces and he laid her down on his bed. She leaned up on her elbows, completely naked. He zoned in on her tiny curved breasts, pink nipples erect and inviting. His hands fumbled like a teenager with his belt, his fly, his shirt buttons.

Her chest heaved up and down with hard, shallow breaths, then she kneeled up and grabbed at his shirt, hauled at it. Kissed him.

‘Back in the game—Hurricane.’

Sweat beaded between them—he didn’t know from whom. They made noises … breathed and gasped and murmured each other’s names. She was licking at his nipples, her fine little fingers running over his flesh, tracing the fresh scar that had begun to bleed.

‘Oh, my God—did I do that? I’m sorry.’

He kicked off the last of his clothes, pulled a handful of condoms from the drawer and scattered them on the bed.

‘Doesn’t matter. Come here. Lie down.’

He grabbed her by the wrists and held her as he kneed her legs apart and then tipped her down.

She strained, held herself taut as he positioned her. Her eyes were on him. His erection. He was so swollen it stood proud, huge, and just the sight of her staring made him nearly lose his grip.

‘Rocco, my God … my God.’

She leaned up, licked her wet lips and raised her eyes to his. He felt like a god. She did that to him.

His fingers peeled a condom packet apart and she reached to take the condom out. Then she cupped his straining sac and began to roll it delicately. Too delicately.

He’d had enough. His control was shot. He couldn’t wait any more.

He shook his head. ‘Lie back. Let me do this, Frankie. Come on, hermosa. Come on.’

She did as she was told. But her eyes drank him in. Every part of him.