Playing With Fire

His hands disappeared, and there was a rustling behind her. After a moment, he set the condom wrapper on the counter next to her. Then he pulled away.

Marianna gripped the edge of the counter, willing herself not to turn around. Not to watch the look on his face in the intimate, erotic moment when he pulled himself out. Were his fingers trembling as he rolled the condom down his long, hard erection? Did he want her as badly as she wanted him? But she couldn’t make this any more personal.

All thought disappeared the moment he touched her again, coaxing her to bend over farther. They didn’t bother with undressing. He just lifted her skirt up and moved her panties to the side. He slid his erection along her core, back and forth, before he pushed in hard.

She gasped and cried out, and he growled behind her, thrusting again.

“Did you miss my hard cock?”

She gulped in a breath as bolts of white-hot pleasure shot through her body.

“Is this what you missed most?” His voice was heavy in her ear.

She couldn’t answer, but he knew this about her. He could fuck her speechless. Words became impossible when so much want and need spread through her. He was filling her, over and over again, hard and fast, building her up way too soon. She should have known he couldn’t just put aside their past. And neither could she.

Now they were right back where they were eleven years ago, and she didn’t have it in her to stop it. Not right now, when his hot breaths drifted over her neck and his voice rang in her ears. Each thrust took them deeper, closer. He slid his hands down her back, caressing, exploring. His fingers dug into her hips, and she answered him, pushing back against him, meeting each movement, seeking her own pleasure.

Oh, God.

Her knees began to shake, threatening to give out. Her own moans of pleasure were coming louder and faster as she spiraled out of control.

“Yes, Simon.”

Her body exploded in flashes of white heat as those words echoed inside. Yes, Simon. It was too much. She shook and crumbled onto the cool countertop as the waves of ecstasy rushed through her. Simon gave two last hard thrusts and roared out his own pleasure, sending another ripple of bliss through her. His big body shuddered behind her, and he breathed out a string of curse words in Spanish.

She smiled to herself. When she was younger, she got off on making him finish that way. Back then, she didn’t understand much of what he was saying—Spanish was the language her father had refused to teach her in his struggle to distance them both from his Cuban roots. She had fought to learn the language as an adult.

Marianna laid her cheek against the granite, trying to catch her breath. Simon bent over her, his hands on the counter next to hers, his skin hot through his shirt. His breaths brushed over her in heavy pants, and his lips pressed against her shoulder.

All too soon, he pulled out, and the warmth of his body disappeared. She caught a glimpse of him over her shoulder, his face twisted with emotion.

She didn’t want to know what came next. Not yet.

Pulling together her strength, Marianna straightened up and headed for the bathroom. She locked the door, leaned her elbows on the sink and buried her face in her hands. Just breathe. This was about closing the door on a part of her life, not opening it.

Goddamn him. And she still hadn’t figured out why he’d come in the first place. It had to be something about the past. She had never learned exactly what her father had said to him eleven years ago, but whatever it was had made him leave her behind. Her father had simply told her that he had made Simon a financial offer, and he didn’t choose Marianna. No discussion, not then, not ever. She had only seen Simon once after that, and he didn’t deny her father’s version.

That’s one way of saying it was all he had replied, his scowl darkening.

Not an admission, not a denial. But his actions spoke louder: he’d gotten the hell out of Miami.

And now, eleven years later, he just shows up?

Marianna took a deep breath and splashed water over her eyes. Then, slowly, she walked back to the kitchen.

The empty kitchen.

“Simon?”

The words echoed off the floors and the shiny countertops, mocking her.

“Simon?”

Nothing. She crossed the kitchen to a notepad on the counter. On the top of the first page, a handwritten note was left in that scrawl she’d never forgotten.

Call your lawyer and make a new plan. I’m taking care of security.

That was all.

“Damn you, Simon Rodriguez,” Marianna yelled out to no one.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.