CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER FIVE
S HE DIDN’T GO home with him. She took him home with her .
She said, in between those soft gasps that came on the tail end of every breath while he was kissing her, that she had to be close to Hind in case anyone called her during the night. But she didn’t use that as an excuse to stop this madness, like a sensible, responsible woman would. No. She was as swept away as he.
She took him home, instead—or what served as home on this particular trip to London. Her own room at The Ritz was some distance from the presidential suite where Hind was staying with her father. Once she’d made sure that Hind was tucked safely in her bed and the security team was notified that she was in for the night, she returned to her room where Desmond was waiting.
He barely registered a small, impeccably clean hotel room much humbler than the suites he was accustomed to—if one could call any room at The Ritz humble—before his eyes fell on the large bed in the center of the room. She squeaked when his hands descended to the fullness of that magnificent bottom of hers and squeezed. Val distanced herself from his arms and reached over his shoulder for the light.
Desmond shook his head. “Leave it on,” he said, and the words came out hoarse with desire. He wanted to see every single inch of her, and wanted it vivid in his memory. He’d wanted many women in his past, and had won them, but never with this type of urgency. This impulsiveness . He leaned forward and kissed the melting sweetness of her mouth again; the texture of it was addictive.
He forced himself to keep it soft. Slow. He wanted her squirming for him to go faster, to demand it before he did. What was it she’d said? Kisses are bad for me .
He barely knew her, but he was determined that his would never be.
“You’re a very good kisser,” he rasped, and she smiled in a way that made him wonder if she were thinking of other things. She reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair.
“I’m being kissed at The Ritz by a billionaire,” she said, almost to herself.
Desmond laughed. “On your birthday.”
“On my—” Those lovely eyes widened. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“I’ll sing the song for you later.”
After he kissed her some more. And got her naked—or maybe he’d leave the stockings on? Whatever made her feel sexy.
“It’s been a while…” She sighed, but her face was taut with desire—desire that was overcoming reticence, prudence, common sense and professionalism. He’d had many beautiful women in his day but he’d never seen one with such naked passion vibrating through her body.
Her pupils were large, dilated. Her makeup was smudged in a way that spoke of smoky desire. Something both wild and sensual had taken her, and his own body throbbed in response.
“Please.”
It was the soft entreaty through those full, wet lips that did it. It drove him wild when women asked for it so nakedly and unashamedly. Lust clouded his brain as he pulled her toward him by the wrists and kissed her—hard, this time, and she grunted approval. This, at least he knew how to do, and do well. Tenderness, though, was new. And he wasn’t going to risk thinking about that right now.
Val’s mouth had the sweetness of honey and the softness of velvet all at once; it was decadent, like the world’s richest dessert. Her body yielded to him and she punctuated the kisses with soft little exhales of pleasure that sparked a familiar ache low between his thighs. He shifted, gripping her hips. He didn’t want to hide what she was doing to him, and from the way she was squirming she didn’t mind at all.
His fingers found the zipper on the back of her dress; it came down easily, and his hands tightened even more on her, holding her steady as she stepped out of it, kicking it away. Beneath the dress, the rounded swell of her breasts was invitingly full, and moving rapidly with every breath, and he noted how the lacy stockings hugged the butter-soft skin of her thighs. The scent of her was suddenly there too, a sweet feminine musk that was perfume and soap and hairspray and her . If he was hard before, it was nearly unbearable now.
“Desmond…” she whispered.
“Off,” he said, with a voice he was finding increasingly hard to control. For goodness’ sake, why was the woman wearing so many layers? He knew it was to hide the lushness of her body in the context of her work for the conservative sheikh, but he was very much enjoying having her gradually bared to his gaze now. His fingers raced down to the small of her back to reveal skin so soft and fragrant that the experience didn’t quite seem real.
He bit back a groan. Her breasts were absolutely beautiful—full and heavy and lush—and her rapid breaths made them move in a way that made him harder still. Her nipples were large and swollen, and he couldn’t resist cupping her breasts.
“I had no idea, Miss Montgomery.”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Under this tight little dress… All these layers… They’ve been rubbing against your nipples all evening, haven’t they?” He used the pads of his thumbs to circle the unbelievably soft skin, bending to kiss the hollow between her breasts. “You smell so unbelievably good.”
“Desmond,” she said, and the second set of syllables of his name broke. “ Please …”
“What?”
“Please…”
His mouth was watering, but he was going to draw this out as long as he could. He passed his thumb dangerously close to the pouting nub, and she buckled against him, then managed to draw herself up with that proud tilt of her head that he was growing to find so damned attractive. The movement exposed the gentle pulse in her throat and he shifted his mouth to that spot and spoke against it. “Tell me.”
Her tongue darted out and she licked her lips, making them glossy under the soft light of the room.
“They ache…”
“Do they?” Desmond began rubbing them gently with his thumbs, enjoying her gasps. And then he bent and drew one copper-hued, pouting nipple into his mouth.
She cried out then, and he felt his own body surge almost violently in response. She tasted as delicious as she looked, and her nipple swelled and pouted all the more, plump and tender in his mouth. Val moaned softly when he bit down gently, adding just enough pain to balance out the pleasure, rasping his tongue to soothe the skin, while the fingers of his other hand tugged and pinched, matching the rhythm of his mouth. Her thighs were parting; her fingers were an iron grip on his upper arms. She was thrusting her breasts up to meet his mouth, and he intensified the pressure, sucking harder. He was so hungry for her.
It suddenly seemed too hot in the small room, and she was trembling more with every second, almost as if—
Desmond was plenty vain, but he wasn’t vain enough to assume he could make a woman climax just by touching her breasts. But here they were, Val quaking with pleasure, her body stiffening, lids fluttering shut, back arching, head tipping backward. For that one intense moment, it seemed as if he were the only thing holding her up.
Then, she cried out.
* * *
Val didn’t know what she’d die of first, mortification or pleasure.
The latter was still pulsing through her body, each wave a little less intense than the last. In the circle of Desmond’s arms she was ensconced in a cocoon of cloves, oranges and clean sweat. He was breathing as hard as she was; it was almost as if they’d become one.
“You all right?” he asked after a moment.
She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut. When he stepped back she felt cool air waft over painfully tight nipples and she automatically lifted her hands to cover them.
“Don’t you dare.”
Long, sensitive fingers were caressing her body and then they were stumbling toward the bed and he was there with her, lips skittering over her breasts, her belly and her hips. His breath tickled her skin and the laughter that came turned to something else entirely when he found that hot secret place between her thighs, first with his fingers, then his mouth. And when he finally dragged his head up to kiss her, she was quivering so much he asked her if she was all right again.
“Yes,” she managed. Barely. They lay in silence for a moment, her ragged breath the only sound in the room.
“Well. Happy birthday, I suppose.”
It took a moment for her addled brain to register that , as well as the smirk on his face. She sat up in mock outrage, trying to bite back the laugh that threatened to bubble up. “You—”
“Yes. Me,” he confirmed, and then he was lunging forward, and his lips were on hers again, but gentle this time. She could taste the odd sharpness that was her, and the spiced, smooth sweetness that was all Desmond. Finally, it was her turn to explore his body.
She did so almost greedily. As a single woman in her position, alone in the Gulf, it had been years since she’d had so much as a warm hug, let alone meaningful physical contact with a man.
Not that this was meaningful, she told herself, sternly. And that was the last cohesive thought she had.
Examining Desmond’s body, unbuttoning the tailored sky blue shirt he wore, was a thing of delight. His skin was a warm and gold-hued brown, and lean muscle rippled below the surface, moving and tensing with every touch. His breaths were measured and deep, and his eyes were heavy-lidded with sooty lashes. In a way, she was grateful that he mostly kept them lowered because true intimacy wasn’t an option. Not tonight, not ever.
Desmond shifted his hips forward when her exploring hands finally dropped to his abdomen, and the sound that escaped her when she found him , hard and curved and rising against her hand, sounded alarmingly like a purr.
Was this really her?
“There you are, love,” he said huskily, and she had to grip her thighs together hard at the sharpening ache between them.
“Desmond…” The tip of her tongue escaped her mouth, skittering over her lips.
“Touch me.”
The command was rasped low and deep into her ear and she shivered. He drew her so close it was as if they were fused into one. As her fingers closed round the warm, silken girth of him, the hiss he let out reverberated through her body. His head tilted and his mouth sought out the tender skin of her peaked nipples. The silence in the room was pierced by a cry—not his, hers.
“Just like that,” he said in a near growl as her hands found their rhythm, stroking, thumb passing over the swollen tip of him, circling, slicking the moisture she found there. He tore his mouth from her breasts, his face tight with both pleasure and urgency. She’d forgotten what it was like to move with someone, to find their rhythm and they yours, to have your bodies fit together tightly, skin on skin.
She’d forgotten how addictive being swept away by passion could be. Desmond had ripped wide open something she’d held tight for years.
She drew back, and his mouth released her nipple with a soft pop. She looked at him steadily. His eyes were nearly black with an open hunger that made her insides twist. His lean, powerful, elegant body was, at this moment in time, hers. He was still swelling against the pressure of her hand and she wondered if it was painful for him. She trailed her fingertips down the length of him, tracing softly to where the tip of him pulsed and flushed.
He clenched his jaw and clenched the sheets in his fists. Val lowered her head, and opened her mouth, taking all of him inside.
“Oh, my—” he began, but got no further.