He stepped back, without breaking the hold his lips had on hers, and ran his hands down the front of her chest, over her beautiful breasts—just enough of a handful to rest in his palms, as if they were made for him and him alone. Her nipples pebbled beneath his touch and he cursed, because touching was no longer enough.

He followed the path his hands had taken with open-mouthed kisses, his tongue meeting silk and skin where the two pieces of material covered her breasts. He pushed one of the sections aside with his thumb and lapped at her soft skin—purer than silk, purer than any silk he had ever touched—and revelled in the power he had as he heard her soft gasp echo in the room.

He had never been so hard in his life. He should have known that this woman of all women could do that to him. But all thoughts flew from his head when she arched her back, whether consciously or not, pressing her breast closer and deeper against him.

He couldn’t hold back any more.

He yanked the material aside and took her hard nipple into his mouth, drawing on it as if he were a drowning man. Again she groaned, louder this time and more urgent, as if her body was calling to his...as if she did not know what she was calling for.

In the shadows of the room her pale skin gleamed like the purest white marble and he wanted to see more of it. He could see a soft shaft of light from the bedroom through the darkness, but he knew right then that he wouldn’t be able to make it that far.

Taking her mouth once again with his, he pushed her back, making her legs step in time with his until he felt her stop, pressed against the dark mahogany table framed by the floor-to-ceiling glass vista behind it. He lifted her up and sat her on the table, pushing apart her legs with his strong thighs. Not that he needed to. Her legs were already willingly spread, granting him access to her.

In the dark room he watched her hands come up to his white shirt, and with satisfaction he saw that her fingers were trembling—just as he had wanted them to be earlier that evening, not from cold but from the same insane desire that gripped him.

Impatient to feel her skin against his own, he reached up and ripped the shirt apart, sending small buttons flying across the room. A look passed over Eloise’s face and he wondered momentarily if it was fear. But that couldn’t be right, and with a split second’s decisiveness he changed tack.

He wanted her blind with desire. He wanted to hear her call his name before he entered her, before he found solace inside her. He wanted to know that it was he and only he who could drive her wild.

He reached behind her and swept everything from the table. All of it. The lamp, the pens and paper from earlier, when he had been preparing the speech for his press conference. He wanted all of it gone.

He wanted to hear the cries of pleasure he knew were waiting on his wife’s tongue. He wanted to block all thoughts—hers and his—of the future that was to come and simply immerse them both in this heady, impossible passion that threatened to consume them whole.

He pushed her back against the smooth wooden table top and gathered her small feet in his hands. Such delicate feet...he had never realised. He smoothed away the silk of her dress, pushing it up the shapely calves he found hidden beneath the material, up further past thighs of such smooth skin that it was almost enough to undo him right there and then.

Eloise moaned from the table, almost rising up to greet him, but he placed one palm on the plane of flat skin between her breasts, gently pushing her back down.

Hard. The thought came into his mind once more. He had never been so hard. So turned on. And for that he would ensure that she felt exactly the same. He relished the delicious punishment he was about to bestow upon his wife.

He pushed the skirts of her dress over her hips and found the tiny black thong covering the core of her femininity. And that was what he found there—nothing but utter femininity...

* * *

Eloise felt so incredibly open and exposed it almost took her breath away. She felt the heady combination of being both utterly vulnerable and incredibly powerful. Her husband—the most imposing, commanding man she knew—wanted to please her in this way, was looking at her with lust-filled eyes...eyes that promised and brooked no argument.

Somehow, in a room that was silent of everything other than the sounds of their harsh breathing and the desire-fuelled cries that seemed to come from somewhere other than her, even though she knew it was her, he was telling her what he was going to do. He was giving her time both to anticipate and prepare herself, for there was no stopping him now.

Tags: Pippa Roscoe Billionaire Romance
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