Secret Affairs: The End of Faking It / Her Secret Fling / The Ultimate Risk

She smiled because he felt so good. So damn good. And she could make him feel even better. She circled, clenching her muscles at the same time, and watched his reaction—the glistening sheen of sweat, the dilation of his eyes. Yes, now she was back in control.

Sort of.

She moved, increasingly faster, increasingly desperate. She searched for that look—the harsh mask of rigid control that tightened a man’s expression just before he lost it completely. But Carter stayed relaxed, gazing up at her, his hands trailing up and down the sides of her body, letting her set the pace while still teasing her so lightly.

But the thing was, she was tiring, every time she slid up and down his shaft she felt more sensitised—every stroke hammered at her control. Just looking at him made her senses swim, so feeling him like this had her dizzy. Her breathing fractured. She was unable to keep the swamping sensations at bay, and her head tipped back, her eyes closing. Every inch of her skin felt raw, and at that vulnerable moment Carter slid his hand to her breast.

She gasped, bending forward in an involuntary movement. He caught the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her further forward to meet him. He kissed her again, deep and erotic, while with his other hand his fingers and thumb still circled her screamingly sensitive nipple.

She groaned into his mouth, mostly wanting him to stop—and yet not. And he didn’t. Instead he lifted up closer so his body was in a crunch position, his abs pure steel. He wouldn’t free her from his kiss, from his caresses, from the powerful thrusts up into her. Slow, regular, his fingers mirrored the rhythm as they moved to scrape right across the tip of her breast. And she wanted to run, she wanted a break—to slow for a second so she could recover some sense.

But the relentless friction of him against her, inside her and the kisses all combined to bring her to a level of sensation she couldn’t escape. Devastating. She groaned again, desperate—alarms were ringing but nerves were singing at the same time.

He nibbled on her lips, upping the pressure from every angle, the hand at her breast sliding down hard against her belly to below—to that point just above where their bodies were joined.

She couldn’t think any more now. She couldn’t move. Too overwhelmed to be able to do anything but be guided by him and that was too much, too scary. But his hands clutched and controlled. He filled her body and all of her senses—all around her, inside her—holding her more tightly than she’d ever been held. And suddenly she realised—she couldn’t fall because he’d caught her so close and sure. She was all safe—and free. In the prison of his embrace, she could be free.

And now the heat was delicious. Delirious with it, she danced in the flames—and had no desire to escape any more. For the escape was right here in this moment as she moved with him. Groaning, she sank deeper into the kiss, her body yielding, letting him in that last bit more—she could do nothing except absorb all of him as he relentlessly drove into her.

She was so hot, so incredibly hot and wild and free. It was as if a river had burst inside—a lava flow of sensation and heated bliss. On and on he pushed her along it—intensifying the heat and ride to a point where the waves of fire rushed upon her. Her eyes opened for a second and she broke the seal of the kiss as her breath, heart and mind stopped. There was no scream, no cry, just a catch of breath as her muscles clamped and then violently convulsed.

She shuddered, releasing hard on him with an incoherent moan, her hands clawing, so out of control. She was intensely vulnerable and yet utterly safe in the cocoon he made for her.

She went lax, totally his to mould. And he did, hauling her closer still, his grip even firmer, both hands across her back, pulling her so from top to toe she was flush against his hot damp skin. He frantically ground up for a few more beats and in her mouth their moans sounded like magic.

Reality was on some other planet and she was protected from the harshness of it because she was floating in a pool of paradise set at the perfect temperature.

She’d never been out of her mind before but all her reason had been totally submerged. Now she kept her eyes closed as she glided on that warm tide of completion. Every muscle in her body had gone on strike anyway. She couldn’t talk, couldn’t open her eyes, would never move again.

He lay a few inches away alongside her, having eased her onto the sheets a while ago. She didn’t know how long—time was something she couldn’t hope to figure out.

His fingers loosely clasped her wrist and that small connection was just enough. Anything more would be too much, but it seemed he understood that. It seemed he understood a lot.

But he wasn’t gloating, wasn’t lying on his back and beating his chest like a victorious he-man. And he had every right to do that if he wanted. She wouldn’t even mind if he did, she couldn’t, because she was so completely relaxed. Actually, she was absolutely exhausted.

But that was okay, because she didn’t want to think, to talk, to see. In this moment, she just wanted to be.

Carter really wanted to pull her close, but he suspected she might be feeling super-sensitive right now and he didn’t want to overload her system—or freak her out emotionally. Taking it easy was the only way to go. So he fought the instinct to cradle; instead he watched her quietly, waiting for some sign of life. For her conscious reaction.

He already knew her unconscious one. He had his fingers loose on her wrist. He could feel her pulse tripping every bit as fast as his own.

She couldn’t fake that.

Sparks of satisfaction fired in his chest and her sudden smile blew them to full-on flames. Because that smile was full of warmth.

‘Wow.’ Her voice hardly sounded, but he read her lips.

‘Yeah.’ He couldn’t resist—reached out with his spare hand to stroke her hair.

His arms ached even more to hold her. Usually he hated post-coital cuddles—because usually he was too hot and sweaty. And he was damn hot and sweaty now. But he wanted to hold her, to keep the connection open between them. Having her collapse in his arms like that had filled him with the most pure pleasure of his life. He didn’t care about his own orgasm after that—only in that instant it had hit and wiped him out.

But now he watched her eyes as the thoughts trickled back into her brain and she was too tired to hide the vulnerability as they darkened.

‘I should go.’

He rolled onto his side, towards her, his muscles complaining at the movement. ‘I’m only in town for another week. Don’t think you’re spending a minute of it alone.’

‘You didn’t say that earlier.’ Her dark eyes darkened even more. ‘I don’t sleep well in a strange bed.’

‘You slept okay with me by the pool last night.’

She had nothing to say to that. So he pressed home a point designed to lighten the scene.

‘It’ll make it easier to be near you at work knowing I’ll have you with me all night.’

‘Oh, you’re back to that argument, are you?’ She gave him the smile he’d been seeking.

‘Yeah.’ He chuckled. ‘You’ll just have to lie back and think of the company.’

‘But I really should—’

‘Have you honestly got the energy to get up, get dressed and get out of here right now?’ he asked.

Silence for a second, then a very soft answer. ‘No.’

‘Then shut up and go to sleep.’

Her smile was drowsy and compliant and he switched off the light while he had the advantage. In the darkness he listened as her breathing regulated. He was shattered himself, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the experience he’d just barely survived. Yeah, the most challenging moment of his life. He’d been holding back from firing from the moment he’d seen her naked, let alone finally been buried inside her.

She’d been out to claim him—she’d been all tease, all sensual siren, twisting him hard to force his release, not hers. Now he knew why she liked the light on. She watched him as they moved—noting his reactions and adjusting her movements accordingly. Thinking too much—and all about him. On the one hand she was working out what he liked, and that was great. But not to the extent that she wasn’t getting lost in the moment. She was too focused to be feeling it. Like her work, she was determined to be perfect at it. The best. Most guys would lie back and let her, loving it.

And, oh, he had loved it. She’d driven him insane with want for her. But he’d wanted more than that. He’d wanted her to surrender to the exceptional. He’d wanted her to realise and accept this was exceptional. And holding back long enough for her to become overwhelmed by their magic had almost broken him. Now he wanted an hour or so to pass quickly so he could recover even a bit of his energy. Because, although he was utterly drained, he couldn’t wait to do it all again.

Asleep by the pool last night, she’d curled into his embrace so easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if it were home. And honestly, he’d enjoyed it. He’d thought that was because they’d both been cold. But he wasn’t cold now and he wanted to sleep like that with her in this big, comfortable bed. So he flicked another switch—the air conditioner—cooling the room enough for them to need a light sheet for cover. And for her to want a warm body to curve into.

CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_5e5d3a7e-4696-5d02-9b1c-56554c118dcd)

YAWNING, Penny opened the fridge, her eyes widening when she clocked the contents. ‘I wouldn’t have picked you to be so into yoghurt.’

‘I’m not.’ He reached past her for the milk. ‘But you said you like it, only I didn’t know which sort so I got one of everything.’

He wasn’t kidding. There was an entire shelf crammed full of yoghurt cartons.

‘I’ve got cinnamon and there’s a ton of fruit in the bowl,’ he added. ‘Although I got tinned as well, just in case.’

When had he gotten all that exactly? She’d only told him her breakfast choices yesterday by the pool—he must have gotten them in before getting back to work after they’d finally escaped the place. That was efficient. And it deserved a reward.

She leaned closer to where he stood at the bench. ‘What do you like for breakfast?’