Free STORM: A Standalone Romance by Glenna Sinclair Page B

hers. He kissed her punishingly, before drawing away to whisper huskily: "But I'd rather shag, if it's all the same."
                  "Finally," Cara gasped. "I've been waiting days for this. You really know how to keep a girl in suspense."
                  "And you really know how to keep a bloke running to the cold showers," Simon muttered as he attacked her beneath her jaw. Cara turned her head sideways and gasped into the pillow, twisting and writhing in expensive and thoroughly sweat-soaked sheets. Her thighs felt slick with wanting as Simon thrust along the outer crease of her entrance. Cara gasped, pleaded, swore at him in turns for teasing her when she knew neither of them could bear it any longer. She could feel his hot breath on the sensitive shell of her ear, his lips murmuring words that she could scarcely put together anymore.
                  "How badly do you want it, Cara?" Another thrust against her clitoris, and stars exploded behind her eyes and beneath her skin. It wasn't enough. She was in utter agony left unfulfilled like this.
                  "Please," Cara begged him in a whisper. "God, Simon, I'll say anything you want if you just fuck me."
                  She felt an almost unbearable pressure between her legs, and then a rush of release as Simon slid himself inside her. Cara cried out and clenched instinctively, and Simon groaned as she tightened around him. He drove into her, burying himself inch by agonizingly slow inch, drawing a long and uninhibited moan from Cara. She really hoped that Melinda had gone to bed; at this rate, Simon was liable to wake the whole household with her. She felt helpless to contain her cries of pleasure as she contracted around his thick length. She had never been filled so completely. It was everything she had ever wanted, but her body told her it still wasn't enough.
                  "You feel amazing," Simon murmured in her ear. He pushed a sweat-slicked curl back from her feverish forehead, and Cara moved her hips needfully. "God, Cara, you're going to make me come just by looking at me like that."
                  "Fuck me," she whispered. "Please. Like you wanted to in the pool."
                  Simon groaned and slid into her again. "Is that what you wanted? When I had my fingers inside you? God, that made me so hard. Just thinking about it later…the way you moved against my hand, wanting more…"
                  "And in the living room," Cara gasped as he thrust into her. "When you had your hand beneath my skirt. I thought you were going to bend me over and take me right in front of the fire."
                  "In front of the servants?" Simon asked as he bucked between her legs. Cara raised her hips off the bed and moaned in pure bliss at the friction he commanded. "Is that what you wanted?" He pumped into her again, and she cried out beneath him as his hand slid behind her back and kept her elevated. Each angled thrust hit something deep within her, something secret, and she could feel a sweet, unbearable pressure starting to build inside her. No man had ever made love to her with such unrestrained intensity, and she doubted any man ever would. She was putty in his hands, moving as he dictated, certain that they had both imagined this scenario enough times to have the choreography memorized. Her hands stroked down his straining back, running over the scars, clutching at every raised muscle she could find.
                  Cara was beyond returning his dirty talk. Her tongue felt heavy, and she was breathless with exertion; her ribs rose and contracted, her breasts slid and bounced beneath him, as he pushed her closer and closer to climax. Simon must have read something in the tensing expression on her face, because an irregular, penetrating thrust sent Cara unexpectedly over. Her eyes flew open, and she arched against the hand cradling