Page 7 of Thiago
Thiago wasn’t exactly known for his patience, and he had torn her last piece of lingerie. Matter of fact, one of the first times they had made love, he had torn her panties off her hips. No man had ever behaved in such an animalistic way toward her, and his reaction had been both shocking and thrilling.
“I cannot promise that.” He smoothed his hands down her stretched arms to her back, then let them glide lower beneath the kimono to squeeze her butt cheeks.
A whimpery moan escaped her throat. His touch already had her helpless, moisture seeping between her thighs. Her cold, indifferent act easily crumbled beneath his caress.
A slow smile crossed Thiago’s lips. “I think you will agree that dinner can wait, yes?”
He lifted her from the floor, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
Her fingers climbed into his soft hair as she eagerly pressed her lips to his, hungry for the pleasure only he could give.
With his hands cradling her bottom, Thiago marched toward the bedroom. Once inside, he kicked the door closed.
Chapter Four
Thiago dabbed his mouth and placed the napkin on the table. “Delicious.”
“Thank you,” India said.
Months ago, when a protein snack wrapper had fallen out of his pocket at her apartment, she learned during the ensuing conversation that he had come straight from the office. That was why she had started providing dinner at her place.
She watched him take the dishes to the kitchen, now wearing only a shirt and slacks, looking more relaxed than when he had arrived in his suit. His minimal attire didn’t diminish his presence, however.
Two inches above six feet, he was the kind of man women fantasized about. He moved with the effortless confidence of someone accustomed to demanding attention, with his swarthy skin and appealing features. A neatly trimmed beard framed his strong jawline, the dark hairs lending a rugged edge to his facial structure—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and sinfully sculpted lips that had wreaked havoc on her skin earlier.
His dark-brown eyes were often unreadable, but when she and he were alone, they carried a simmering heat when he looked at her, making the rest of the world fall away.
And damn, his body. India bit the corner of her lip as she relived the heated moments they had spent in her bedroom.
It was a sculpted work of art from years of sports and martial arts. As a boy, he had excelled at soccer, boxing, and martial arts before settling on martial arts in his late teens. He was proficient in kickboxing, having earned a second-degree black belt in the sport, a third-degree black belt in taekwondo, and held a white belt in capoeira.
His body was a machine made up of tight muscle, with six-pack abs beneath the dark hair on his torso, powerful, muscular thighs, and a firm bottom she enjoyed gripping as he thrust into her.
While Thiago placed the dishes in the dishwasher, she went to sit on the maroon sofa. Minutes later, he joined her, carrying two fresh glasses of wine.
He sat down with a heavy sigh, stretching an arm across the back of the sofa. Turning in his direction, she took in his striking profile as she curled her bare feet under her bottom and sipped her wine.
Since the start of their... relationship? Situationship? Affair, maybe? Whatever it was, much had changed since the first night he came to her apartment.
In the beginning, he used to show up, they had sex, and then he left. Once she started feeding him, they ate dinner, had sex, then he left. In their current stage, they ate dinner, had sex—or the reverse, like tonight—and he stayed for a while and they talked, often about business where he confided in her, and they brainstormed ideas. Sometimes they discussed other topics, sharing bits of information with each other but not too much, as if they couldn’t risk getting too close. Conversation was fine. Intimacy was not.
India took another sip of the full-bodied wine. “Did you recognize that bottle?” she asked.
“Of course. I brought it for you a few weeks ago. I’m glad we’re finally getting a chance to enjoy it.”
“You have good taste. Stop frowning,” she said in a teasing voice, gently smoothing her fingers across his forehead to remove the frown lines.
He grunted and then graced her with a faint smile.
“I have a question for you. Why the hard push for next quarter results? You want to see improvements, which I understand, but we have time.”
Thiago didn’t answer right away. “The truth?”
“Always.”
“I have a specific goal in mind.”
“I figured. Which is?”
