Page 33 of Consequence of One Reckless Night

She trembled uncontrollably as his shaft jumped against her damp folds and lust robbed her of what little self-control she possessed. On its own accord, her body began to move, rubbing her nub against his hard length. He was a wizard—bewitching her with his sensual words and stoking a sexual fire she couldn’t control. Strong hands clamped on her hips as he urged her to ride him, his lips tugging incessantly on the turgid tip of her breast.

“You can have it all,” he muttered hoarsely against her breast. “You can have all of me. Just say you will marry me.”

His urgent, desperate plea for her acquiescence wasn’t a declaration of love but Raquel wasn’t capable of cognitive thought. Lust swirled in her body as her mind filled with vivid images of decadent days and nights filled with hedonistic pleasure.

“Say you will marry me!”

Raquel couldn’t form a reply—she couldn’t think straight.

When he suddenly lifted her off his lap, she cried out. The tip of his shaft notched at her core, waiting to thrust in and she scratched his back in protest when he didn’t slide into her.

“Say you will marry me!”

This time it was a command, and she frowned at his imperious demand. Then he thrust into her, and all thoughts scattered. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” she cried out as she surrendered to his sexual mastery.

Chapter Thirteen

For the second timethat week, Raquel found herself in a hairstylist’s chair. Only this time, she wasn’t here for make-up and an elegant hairdo.

After agreeing to marry Alexandre the previous night, he had taken her on a journey of such carnal pleasure that she had passed out after the third climax. When she awoke this morning, it was to a light breakfast, which she had eaten alone in the cabin before taking a shower. When she got out of the shower, a pair of khaki shorts and a white t-shirt was waiting for her in the bedroom, along with her new fiancé.

It wasn’t lost on her that she’d had two fiancés in the span of two days. What did it say about her?

The clothes were on loan from a staff member, Alexandre informed her, and Raquel was grateful to have freshly laundered clothes to wear. The absence of underwear, however, bothered her, but it was quickly remedied.

The yacht docked back at the marina in the early hours of the morning, and Alexandre took her, on his motorbike, to a close friend, who turned out to be an in-demand fashion stylist.

First, Tara helped her with the essentials—some much-needed underwear and a sundress paired with comfortable footwear which she could wear to her spa appointment.

“A spa appointment? Why?” She had turned to Alexandre.

“Because you need to look the part of Alexandre Monteiro’s wife,” he’d quipped and with a wink, had walked out of the shop, leaving her in Tara’s capable hands.

She had then looked quizzically at Tara. “How should Alexandre Monteiro’s wife look?”

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