Page 147 of South Beach Bodyguards

It had been a long day and she might have her own reasons but she wanted this just as much as I did.

“Should I take you to a bed? Is that what you want? You want it pretty and sweet and full of rose petals?” My voice was soft, a smile fixed on my face.

She stilled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

I almost spoke again, ruining it further. But I stopped myself. I was making too much out of it. The countertop was cold and hard, what the fuck did I expect? It was only hours from the first time we’d had sex. The shift in our relationship was intimate but startling. The last thing she needed was me being a dick.

Instead of saying anything I just leaned in and kissed her, hard, my fingers finding their way between her thighs into her damp pussy.

Miranda gave a cry of pleasure.

Feeling impatient and on edge, I went straight for two fingers, enjoying the way her body arched toward my touch, her little gasp of shock and delight ringing in my ears. I was in dangerous territory and I knew it. I had wanted this woman for a decade and now I had her and I felt possessive, eager, almost angry. I wanted to imprint on her, make it so she could never forget this. I wanted to be tender and loving and demanding and greedy all at once.

“You like that?” I asked, drinking in the sight of her spread out for me, skin still damp in places from the pool, her hair starting to dry in frizzy little ringlets. It was wild and wanton and I loved everything about what I saw. She was the ultimate Venus goddess to me, the epitome of feminine sexuality and beauty.

“Yes.” She didn’t embellish any further, though her eyes drifted shut.

I concentrated on massaging her in to a deep, boneless pleasure, listening to her body, to her reaction to each stroke of my fingers, each tease and slide. The moisture from her pussy soaked me as I sank inside her over and over, wanting to draw it out, and drive her insane.

She looked so beautiful, so delicious, that I couldn’t resist. I bent over and stroked my tongue over her sweetness. “Baby, you taste so good.”

“Oh, I can’t, you need to stop.” She was arching her back and yanking on my hair. “I’m going to come.”

“So come.” I didn’t break my rhythm at all.

But Miranda shoved me away. “Take me to the couch, the bed, somewhere.”

I really wanted to put her on her feet, turn her around and take her from behind, but even more than that I wanted to stare into her eyes as I took her over the edge. I didn’t want to waste one second of my time with Miranda. “You got it, baby.”

Scooping her off the countertop into my arms I took her across the patio and through the open glass doors. The house was hushed, cool compared to poolside. The music was still faintly audible, but it was more that I could feel the pulse of the R&B music than actual notes or lyrics. The air conditioning was set to a cooler temperature than I would have preferred so after I laid Miranda down on the sofa, I pulled a soft fuzzy blanket off the arm and draped it over her skin. “You look cold,” I explained.

There were goose bumps on her arms still.

“I forgot to towel off after swimming.”

After sucking my cock. The memory made me hard all over again. She was amazing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have put you on that cold countertop.”

“You can get under here with me and warm me up.” Miranda reached out for me.

It still felt unreal that she would be reaching for me. I needed to get over the feeling that it was a fucking dream that would disappear if I closed my eyes for more than a split second. “I’ve never wanted anything more than to warm you up.”

Sliding under the blanket, I took a minute to pull Miranda to me, to hold her. To feel the length of her curvaceous body pressed up against mine.

“Mm,” she said. “You’re warm.”

Snuggling in along side of me, she wrapped her hands around my waist. Her head fit into the crook of my arm. Damn, this felt good. The tenderness almost overtook my desire. Almost. Having her skin against mine caused my erection to grow harder against her thigh. But I wanted a minute to just hold her, enjoy the closeness. The intimacy.

This way I could almost imagine that we had fast-forwarded into the future and this was real. Miranda as my wife.

Then I shoved the thought away. That was stupid, allowing myself a fantasy. It didn’t matter what happened tomorrow, six months from now, a year down the line. What mattered was right here, right now. So I shifted so that I rose overtop of her and I kissed her soft lips. I allowed my eyes to drift closed and I committed this to memory. The feel of her lithe fingers on my back, her breasts brushing my chest. Her feet sliding along the backs of my calves. The smell of her skin, like chlorine and flowers, the musk of her arousal. The view of her raspberry lips, her amber eyes shining with desire, and something else. A tenderness. She cared about me. That was never in question.

I felt as in the moment as it was possible and as I kissed her, I drank in all those sensations and appreciated each and every second of her. Her tongue tangled with mine hotly and she grew restless, shifting her legs, arching her hips so that she repeatedly bumped against my cock. Still I did nothing more. I just kissed and kissed, like we were sixteen and there was no other end game besides making out. My body started to burn and I tossed the blanket on the floor, our passion heating up between us.

When I pushed inside her, I never wanted to leave.

She was going to have to kick me out.

When I came staring up at Alejandro, moving over me slowly and with amazing skill and strength, I felt something inside me shatter. He had taken me rough, fast, hard, and now tenderly. I couldn’t protect myself from any of it. I couldn’t protect myself from him.

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