Page 41 of Her Diamond Deal with the CEO

There was silence. Her pulse was hammering against the delicate skin of her throat.

‘You make me impulsive,’ he said softly. He watched her shift against the tiles, a pink bloom colouring her cheeks. And then, as if to prove his point, he leaned forward and fitted his mouth to hers.

He felt her lips stiffen, and his brain froze with panic that he had got it completely wrong, that the shimmering heat between them was a mirage of his own creation, but then she captured his face in her hands and she was kissing him back, her lips soft and eager, and the taste of her was sweeter than honey.

And he just wanted a taste. Except he didn’t. Now that she was in his arms, he wanted to touch her and press his body against hers and he knew that he should pull away. Kiss her forehead. Make an excuse about boundaries but he couldn’t make himself do that. Only why? Why did her kiss make him feel like this, so full of hunger, and heat and wanting her?

But then her hands slid over his chest and his mind was nothing but heat and, reaching down, he scooped her into his arms and carried her out of the pool.

Breaking the kiss, he lowered her onto the lounger. His whole body was pulsing with a need that was turning him inside out so that he could have taken her there and then, like before, but he hadn’t taken time to savour that miraculous body and he forced himself to slow.

He lowered his mouth to her breast. The nipple was already stiff against the wet fabric and he sucked it into his mouth, and immediately his decision to go slow was put to the test as she arched upwards, moaning softly. Breathing unsteadily, he abandoned her breast to kiss her on the mouth again, parting her lips, tasting her again and then he licked a path down to her other breast, pushing the triangles of fabric up so that he could suck the bare, ruched tip.

Her hand was in his hair, twitching against his scalp as he licked and sucked and she was pulling down his swim shorts, freeing him into the warm air.

‘Yes—’ He clenched his teeth, hips jerking forward as she wrapped her hand around the already stone-hard length of his erection. And then his hand caught her hair, gripping it reflexively as she took him into her mouth and he sucked in a breath, lost. The feel of her tongue, so and sweet and irresistible.

Gazing up at Jack’s face, Ondine felt her already hypersensitive nipples tighten painfully. She had really enjoyed this before but, with Jack, the desire to taste him was overwhelming, his pleasure gave her pleasure, she thought, her tongue flicking over the smooth, velvet-soft skin, feeling the blood pulsing beneath the tip—

He made a raw sound in his throat and now he shifted backwards, and she stared up at him, a pulse beating hard between her thighs. He had stood in front of her like this in her dreams. Naked. Unashamed. Beautiful. And aroused. But reality was even better than fantasy, she thought, gazing at the taut body and his hard, thick, pulsing erection. He was beautiful and aroused.

Very aroused.

She watched, mesmerised, as he slowly knelt at the end of the lounger, his dark glittering gaze trained on her face as he slid his hands under her bikini bottoms and drew them down her legs. He hesitated and then he reached up and touched her belly gently, reverentially, his fingers soft and light and magical, stroking her, stirring her, his touch melting her inside.

Now his hands moved across her thighs, sliding slowly between them, and then he lowered his mouth, trailing fire across the soft skin so she arched upwards, wanting more, wanting the ache between her thighs answered now.

Quivers of anticipation rippled across her skin and then he gently parted her legs and kissed where she was warm and slick and ready, his tongue seeking her clitoris. And the tip of his tongue... She whimpered. Oh, God, she hadn’t known anything could feel so good. She was hollowed out with need, shaking inside and out, her breasts aching so that it was almost too painful to bear, and then she pressed herself closer, her head falling back against the lounger as her body splintered apart, and she was crying out, crying out his name.

She felt him shift, reach for her, his mouth seeking hers, kissing her and she was reaching for him, pressing his erection against the quivering heat between her thighs.

‘Are you sure?’ he said hoarsely. His eyes flicked down to her stomach. ‘I can—’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I want to feel you—’

He moved forward, his golden eyes burning fiercely, and he kissed her for a long time and then he touched her between her thighs, stroking her, opening her and then he lifted her hips and he was there, hard against her, sliding in, inch by inch, stretching her—

Her pulse quickened as he shifted his weight, lifting her hips, moving inside her in a steady, intoxicating rhythm and all the time he was getting bigger and harder and she could feel herself tightening on the inside, muscles clenching, head spinning, trying to hold onto the heat of him.

His fingers tightened around her hips and then she felt him tense and she couldn’t hold back the moan of pleasure as he thrust deeper, and she was grasping his hands where they held her, her body shuddering into spasms as he surged inside her.

For a moment, he stood there, hips jerking and then, breathing out raggedly, he lowered her down and she felt him pull out. Seconds later, he lay down beside her, gathering her into his arms.

Ondine buried her face against his shoulder. She could feel his heartbeat slamming into her ribs. She couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes. She just wanted to stay there, breathing in the warm scent of his skin, the hard swell of his biceps keeping everything at bay. She felt his lips brush against her hair.

‘It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.’

Was it?

In one way, the most obvious, most literal way, it was not just okay, it was amazing. Sex with Jack was a thing of wonder and beauty. It was mind-melting, dizzyingly sublime. What was less okay was that what just happened was not some feverish hook-up that could be written off as a heat-of-the-moment impulse, it was a conscious choice, for both of them.

That was if something that had been coming since the day she’d thrown him out of her house could be described as a choice.

She lifted her face. Jack was staring at her, his pupils huge and dark.

‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’ he said hoarsely.

Her lips felt puffy, her mouth bruised from kissing him and, breathing out shakily, she found she couldn’t speak and she shook her head. It was the truth. He hadn’t hurt her. But he had changed her.

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