Free Brazilian Revenge (The Brazilians) by Carmen Falcone

could rationalize it.
    Whatever their differences were…this was when it all came together. And he knew it, too—he had to. Was that why he didn’t even spare her a glance? The tantalizing rhythm continued, and at every thrust he reached a deeper part of her. She lifted her head and tried to cup his chin, but with no luck.
    “Turn around.” She obeyed, spinning to her wobbly legs and splaying her hands on the wood furniture. “Like this.”
    He gave her ass a couple of smacks, and a sting of pain coursed through her. As much as she wanted to protest, the little tremors warned her otherwise. She pondered whether she should look over her shoulder or not, but, too rebellious for her own good, she slanted him a glance.
    The image spilled a ball of fire into her belly. Half dressed, with his hair ruffled from her hands, he stood powerful and glorious. His eyes gleamed with control and lust. The smallest smile formed on his lips, almost as if he was fighting it. God. The man was sexy.
    He smacked her butt. “Look ahead.”
    She chuckled. “You’re bossy.”
    “And you want to come, don’t you?” He nudged her legs open, his fingers slipping into her damp sex. “Unless I’m wrong.”
    “I thought you were never wrong?” she asked with a misleading playful tone. Her hips undulated without her consent, and she was clearly on the edge.
    “Exactly.” He drove into her, and this time there was no stopping. With quick, fast, hard thrusts, he claimed her. She clutched the edge of the furniture, rocking her hips into him. Abandoned into a rapture of pleasure, she let the tremors go through her. For a seemingly endless amount of time, she quivered, both sated and spent.
    His release came right after. He intensified the plunges, and soon she heard a guttural sound slice the air. When he was done, he carefully slipped out of her.
    “You okay?” he asked, and she wasn’t sure if he meant that because that was the first time she’d had sex after pregnancy, or because she had just screwed him.
    “Yes.”
    “Good. Turn around.”
    Standing up straight, she let go of the furniture. Sigh . When she spun on her heels, he held her nightgown in his hands. Now it was her turn to avoid glancing at him as she grabbed it from him and managed to pull it over her head.
    She was barely dressed when she felt a shift of movement, and that familiar warmth on her again. He scooped her from the floor, hands under her knees, and took her in his arms. “What are you doing?”
    “I’m giving you a lift to bed so you can sleep,” he said, as if this was his usual Friday night shenanigan. Her pulse raced like she was on a freaking triathlon.
    I can walk, you know. Sex was fabulous, but— She bit her lip and willed her sass away. The minute she rested her head on his shoulder, hearing his steady breath was peace. Almost better than sex. Certainly as good.
    She quivered.
    “Are you cold?” he asked when he laid her on the mattress.
    “Nope. I’m fine,” she lied.
    She opted for staring at the ceiling so he wouldn’t see the tear forming at the corner of her eye. God. She was a mess, and there was no end in sight. “Good night, Leonardo.”
    He flicked off the light. “Good night, Satyanna,” he said, before striding out of her room.

Chapter Seven
    Leonardo tossed on the bed. Again.
    Grunting, he turned around and sat. The sheets were warm, but not because of hot, languid lovemaking. Like what they’d done in the library hours earlier. No. He glided his hand on the soft Egyptian cotton. Ever since he tried to lie down to sleep he’d flipped from side to side like a dolphin.
    I’m an asshole. He’d taken advantage of her. It didn’t matter she acted like she’d wanted every bit of their sexual rendezvous as much as he. She was tortured, suffering, and he didn’t leash his raging hormones. Sighing, he surged to his feet. He slipped on his pajama pants, aware he could no longer sleep in the nude if she was staying with him. What