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His dream happened without warning. A voice in it murmured, Prisa. Hurry. Tenemos tiempo tan poco. We have so little time.
In his dream, a pulse beat crazily on the side of his throat. He worked his tongue around his mouth, which was uncomfortably dry and sour, no doubt from the booze he’d drunk. Glancing around for a glass of water, Patrick realized he was in the hotel’s frontal rooms, his naked feet clammy against the highly polished floor.
No guests milled about, leaving the area strangely deserted. A haunting tune came from the piano, something ancient with a Spanish lilt, though no one sat on the bench and played.
He looked down. A whisper of air, akin to a lover’s sigh, ruffled the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck. He pushed his fingers over his skin then through his hair while he searched.
Sensing someone watching, he looked over. The music grew louder, frantic, resembling animal squeals. A sudden wind rustled the tropical plants, their swishing leaves seeming to hiss hurry.
He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Beneath the arched walkway, he saw her.
She stood in the light that poured from the crystal chandelier, not moving or speaking, her face unnaturally shadowed masking her features. Even so, he imagined her eyes widened in wonder and renewed hope. The kind a wife shows her husband when he returns home alive from an endless, vicious war.
Chestnut hair, thick and shiny, fell in gentle waves to her narrow waist. Every inch of her caramel-colored skin was exposed. Her areolas puckered beneath his hungry scrutiny, making the tips seem even longer and harder, intensifying the soft swell of her breasts. Her hips flared gently above her lush thighs. Dark curls covered her mound.
Dazed with desire, he knew without question that her hidden folds were thick and wet, ready for his cock.
She inhaled deeply, her rounded belly quivering in response. Three moles circled her navel. He recalled tonguing those precious spots, the salty taste of her skin, its velvety smoothness.
His inertia broke. He ran toward her only to stop as she drifted back, the shadows lifting from the bottom of her face. Her mouth formed a startled O. Arms outstretched, she clawed the air trying to reach him.
We have so little time, her voice whispered in his mind.
His heart twisted in panic. He bolted toward her, his naked toes gripping the slippery floor, his neck knotting as he strained to reach her hand.
“Prisa!” she cried in Castilian. An invisible force moved her away from him through the halls of the hotel and up the stairs.
On the third floor landing, he caught her wrist, shocked at its iciness. Her skin was so cold it stung, as though it belonged to a corpse.
Frantically, he wrapped his arms around her, warming her with his body, hands, mouth. She shivered in his embrace. He buried his fingers in her silken hair and tasted tears on her cheek. Brackish. Frightened. Defeated.
“Never leave me,” she cried, rubbing her cheek against his, her smooth skin a stark contrast to his stubble. Pressing her mouth to his ear, she hushed warm air, proving she was alive. She begged, “Promise me you’ll never go.”
He’d die first.
Capturing her mouth, he plunged his tongue inside. A groan caught in his throat at how wonderful she tasted, her fevered response. They fell on the bed in his room. The mattress shivered beneath them, its springs squealing at their weight. With his hands wrapped around her slender wrists, he dragged her arms above her head and straddled her plush body.
She purred. The shadows lifted with the sound, showing her smile.
He stared until the darkness hid her face again then parted unexpectedly to reveal her eyes. A pale green, glittering with longing and surrender. A surge of tenderness stole his breath. So did dread. He knew she loved him and sensed she shouldn’t.
She studied his expression. Alarm raced across her features before the shadow obscured them.
“Fill me,” she cried.
He wanted nothing more, yet something warned him not to. Past the window, clouds crowded the sun, hiding its golden glow. The room’s air grew dank, the silence oppressive.
Leaning up, she pressed her lips to his neck. Currents of sensation ran down his arms and across his chest, arrowing to his groin.
His head drooped between his shoulders. He fought for a full breath.
Her tongue lapped his skin. She’d freed her hands, how he didn’t know, but her fingers trailed down the sides of his torso to his naked ass. Without hesitation, she slipped her right forefinger between the seam of his buttocks, touching his anus.
Patrick lifted his head. His mouth hung opened on a satisfied groan.
“Fill me,” she coaxed, her plea breathy with desire.
He brought the tip of his cock to her opening, his crown caressed by her moist, puffy lips.
With an impatient thrust, he pierced her flesh and burrowed within her achingly hot sheath.
She wrapped her legs around his lean hips, keeping him close, preventing him from leaving.
Her breasts quivered with each of his forceful thrusts, their movements as graceful as the edge of the sea lapping the shore. He strained to catch a glimpse of her mouth, her nose, and eyes, but the shadow wouldn’t allow it, greedily hiding her face.
She cried, “More.”
Her plea blew the darkness from her mouth as though the shadow were no more substantial than smoke or fog. Its retreat didn’t last. Like persistent, rain-heavy clouds, the veil drifted back keeping her expression from him.
He pumped harder, faster, his frenzy to love and stay with her beyond control. She moaned her pleasure, her delight stoking his. He lay panting on top, his cum spurting into her, mingling with her slippery moisture.
Drained of strength, he rested his cheek on her chest, inhaling her fragrance, a curious mixture of musk, the scent of new plants, and freshly turned earth. For a breath, he pictured a mud hut, sun streaming through an opening in the thatched roof, a straw-covered floor.
Her legs tightened on his hips. She worked her inner muscles around his spent cock.
The image drifted away, refusing to return, leaving him with a puzzling sense of safety. He smiled at the music of her hammering heart and the rush of air in her lungs. And then he heard something else. A faint pounding sound, reminding him of the hut again and something else he’d forgotten.
His belly clenched. The sounds grew louder, telling him the riders would arrive shortly. Low murmurs followed. Men’s voices.
He wrapped his arms around her protectively.
Hot, sticky blood dirtied her body. Its coppery scent filled the room, making it impossible for him to breathe.
BROUGHT TO HIS KNEES – BOXED SET (AVAIL AUG 19)
DEEP WITHIN ME (4 STARS – ROMANTIC TIMES)
SENSUAL STRANGER (BOOK OF THE YEAR 2010)
DEEP, DARK, DELICIOUS (HOLT MEDALLION AWARD OF MERIT)