“Where?” He tweaked her nipple. “Here?” He ran his finger down her stomach. “Or here?” He traced a barely there line across the top edge of her knickers.

“Or do you want me to kiss you here, Princess?” His fingers scorched against her sex, warm and massaging through the flimsy silk.

Yes, yes, and oh God, yes. She wanted his mouth everywhere. She lifted her hips, and he surprised her by slithering down to lie on his back beneath her, nuzzling between her legs. He was more insistent now, she could feel his tongue probing her through the material.

Oh, he was so, so good.

He moved her knickers aside with his fingers, and Sophie had to hold back the orgasm that hovered ready for him to claim. She wanted it to last, but the slow, insistent stroke of his tongue along her sex was beyond thrilling. Hot… wet… and when he fulfilled her wish and kissed her clitoris, his tenderness overwhelmed her efforts to hold it back any longer. He kissed her through the long blissful tremors, and then slid out from beneath her and hauled her down to sit between his legs. His bent knees bracketed hers as she leaned back against his chest.

“More relaxed now?” She could feel his smile against her ear as he crossed his arms over her body and held her breasts in his hands, the relaxed embrace of comfortable lovers.

“Just a little bit,” she laughed shakily, her heart still pounding. Sex with Lucien was a cross between the most sweeping romantic movie and the filthiest porn flick; he was feather gentle and filthy erotic all at the same time. 

Sophie had never known such a generous man. He seemed to get off on getting her off, and right at that moment she could feel his still raging erection pressing against the base of her back. She reached a hand behind her and covered his denim-clad crotch. “You don’t seem quite as relaxed yourself, though.”

“It’s what you do to me.” He lifted her hair over one shoulder and kissed the nape of her neck. After the week they’d spent together, Sophie knew they weren’t just empty words. She slipped her knickers off and scooted around to face him, her hand back on his crotch, her mouth on his. He moaned low and cradled her face in his hands as she unfastened his buttons. He was naked beneath his jeans, as she’d known he would be, and his cock sprang out of its confines, thick, ridged and begging for her attention. Sophie pushed his jeans clear and circled him with her hand between their bodies. He was so ready, she could feel the heavy rise and fall of his chest against her breasts.

“Jesus, Sophie…”

She kissed his closed eyelids, and the sensitive skin beneath his ear as she palmed his length. He was golden and sculpted in the firelight. Beyond beautiful.

“Condom?” she breathed, increasing her speed a little and getting a kick out of the look of almost agonised pleasure on his face. “In my jeans,” he muttered, and she reached behind her into his pocket. He ripped it open and sheathed himself, then pulled her back into his lap.

“Sit on me.”

Sophie laughed softly into his mouth. “Say that again.”

He rocked his hips, rubbing the head of his cock over her clitoris. “Sit on me.”

She raised herself up and impaled herself on every glorious inch of him. She sighed with pleasure, holding him as deep inside her body as he could possibly be. Utterly connected, totally lost.

“Fuck… fuck…” Lucien repeated his mantra, his face a study of erotic concentration as Sophie dictated the slow pace of their sex. She mouthed his neck when he tipped his head back, and he licked her nipples when she hollowed her spine.

His hands spanned her waist, and she could feel him holding onto his control as she rocked herself on him. Lust darkened his blue eyes and tensed his jaw, yet he was iron hard and unhurried in his quest to make the moment last for both of them. It was exquisite, and deeply erotic, and Sophie knew it was a memory that would stay with her forever. Her hand on his jaw, she increased the tempo, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to hold back any longer. His fingers bumped up her spine to curl over her shoulders, holding her down on his jerking hips as he climaxed with a shudder that shook his whole body.

Sophie watched Lucien’s face as he came. She saw his teeth clench, and when he opened his blue-grey eyes, she saw raw vulnerability there that was all at odds with the self-assured sex god he usually let the world see.

She laid her hand on his cheek, and he turned and placed a tender kiss against her palm. Then, instinctively, she wrapped her arms around him and drew him against her breast.

Of all the emotions Lucien Knight had aroused in her over the last few days, the one thing she hadn’t expected to feel was protective.

Lucien drew in a deep breath as his orgasm ebbed. Somehow, Sophie had turned the tables on him. He’d never felt anything like the orgasm she’d just given him, and over the years he’d had more than his share of beautiful and accomplished lovers.

A butterfly from her chrysalis, she’d emerged even brighter and more spellbinding than he’d imagined. She’d used her body to pleasure him, and in her arms he’d found far more than physical release.

The world had seemed a pretty bleak place standing in the cold graveyard that afternoon, but right now, anchored inside Sophie’s naked body with the warmth of the fire on their skin, it seemed pretty damn close to perfect.

Some time just after one and somewhere in between awake and asleep, Sophie moved beneath him again. Tangled limbs. Entwined fingers. Damp cheeks. Bruised hearts.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Sophie settled into her leather recliner on Lucien’s jet as it taxied for take off. The velvet black skies of the early hours outside matched the colour of her mood. Her stomach churned with dread, her mind already hundreds of miles ahead in London, playing through possible ways the day might play out.

Where would she be come nightfall?

If only she could rewind the clock and live last night over and over. Lucien had taken her breath away so many times it was a wonder she was still standing. He’d been rampant and rude at the dinner table, and later on he’d been tender because she’d needed him to be. She’d felt like crystal in his hands.

She glanced up as he buckled himself into the seat alongside hers.

“All set?” he asked. Already she could feel the gulf between them widening as reality intruded on their interlude. There was an awkwardness to his tone, and a detached look in his eye.

Or was she imagining those things in him because she felt them herself?

With every passing minute she felt more like the old Sophie, as if she were sliding back into her old, dull skin after a borrowed week covered in burnished gold.