Secrets and Sins:Raphael(8)

By: Naima Simone



“Oh, God,” she breathed, tangling her fingers in his hair and holding him to her. Each tug reverberated in the core of her, pushing her closer to the edge she both raced for and backpedaled away from, wanting this wicked torture to last.

His fingers and mouth played her like an instrument, tuned her tight and made her sing. He plucked, strummed, and stroked her body, drawing forth the sweetest pleasure, resonant notes that echoed in her head, her belly, and lower, deeper.

One hand abandoned her breast and slid down her stomach, passed over her skirt. The soft, urgent caress reversed at the hem and began its ascent up her thigh. The material hiked and bunched over his wrist. Cool air washed over her inner thighs and the wet, pulsing flesh between her legs.

Except for their labored breath, a heavy silence weighted the air, almost like the pregnant pause before the fury of a storm struck. He lifted his head, stared down at her spread thighs and the white panties that had to be damp and almost translucent by now. Her chest rose and fell as she sank her teeth into her bottom lip and gazed at the top of his dark head. She tensed, fighting against the urge to close her legs, hide the obvious evidence of her need.

Maybe he sensed the impulse within her, because he shifted, cupped her. Pressed the heel of his palm against her clit. Hard.

She broke. Cracked wide open and everything poured out of her—ecstasy, cries, whimpers, words, doubts, fears. Everything. The orgasm crashed over her, through her, leaving her shuddering, weak, and craving more.

And as Raphael levered his hips up, jerked his wallet from his back pocket, and snatched out a small foil square, the yearning sharpened. He tossed both to the seat and reached for his belt.

And she reached for him.





Chapter Three

“I, um.” Greer cleared her throat. Twisted the strap of her purse. Studied the empty street in front of her brownstone. Everything but meet the incisive, dark-blue gaze of the man she’d spent the last three hours having sex with in the backseat of his truck. “I— Thank you.”

Oh, Jesus. Had she really just thanked him for…for… Images of all he’d done for her and to her flashed across her mind’s eye in vivid detail.

A dark eyebrow arched high, joining the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth. “You’re more than welcome, princess.”

She closed her eyes, heat pouring into her face. Which was ridiculous in itself. After all they’d done, all he’d seen of her body, all the places he’d touched, kissed—oh, God, licked—embarrassment should be the last emotion bombarding her. But there it was. And damn it, why couldn’t she be more mature about this? Say good-bye like an adult? Play this off as if fucking him on a public street wasn’t a big deal?

Because it had been. To her, at least. And as silly and schoolgirl-crushing-on-the-quarterback as it seemed, she didn’t want to say good-bye. Not to tonight. Not to Raphael Marcel.

A big palm cradled her cheek, the warmth of his skin against hers like a shield against the cold night air.

“Hey,” Raphael murmured. She lifted her lashes as the pad of his thumb swept over her cheekbone. “I thought you said no regrets.”

“I don’t.” How would he react if she confessed the only regret she harbored was letting him walk away tonight and never seeing him again? No one had ever made her feel more cherished, more desirable…more beautiful. “I don’t,” she repeated softly.

“Then kiss me good night like you mean it before I have any more shrinkage.”

His last words took a moment to sink in. But when it did, she laughed, amusement warring with mortification.

“I really think you say certain things just to make me blush.”

He grinned. “Would I do that?”

“Definitely,” she said, voice wry. Maybe she’d only known him less than a few hours, but that wicked sense of humor? He seemed to get a kick out of needling her.

He lifted his other hand to her face, tipped her head back. Brushed the back of his fingers down her temple, over her jaw. “You have it wrong, princess,” he whispered. “I’m the one who needs to be thanking you. For staying with me. For trusting me with your body and pleasure. For trumping every kinky, fucked-up fantasy I’ve played in my mind over and over since the second I saw you in my office.”

She laughed once more, but this chuckle was softer, more breathless. God, he had a habit of stealing her breath.

“Now”—he swept his mouth across hers—“give me a kiss.”

Without hesitation she parted her lips, allowed him in. Even though he’d asked her for the kiss, he snatched control of it, dragging her further into the erotic world he commanded and ruled. His tongue curled around hers, sucking on it, coaxing her to get hot with him even as they stood on her doorstep. She fisted his long, dark hair, rose on the toes of her boots to delve deeper, demand more. She moaned. Almost begged him to follow her upstairs and pick up what they started and finished in his truck.

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