It had occurred to her, more times than she could count since she’d left America, that he knew exactly how to get under her skin.
She felt one of his hands slide down her back and take hold of one of her buttock cheeks. He gently kneaded, lifting and spreading it away from its twin. At once his hand slipped into the crevasse, holding her open and pressing his long fingers lower and lower until they acted as a saddle.
God, he was almost touching… He was so close to… She arched her back and the tips of his fingers grazed her vaginal lips through her trousers.
The vibration of his chuckle tingled and skidded across her chest. “Do you want more, my little vixen?”
Jillian couldn’t answer. If she were to engage her vocal cords, the only sounds that would’ve emerged would’ve been more moaning. And that just wouldn’t do.
As if through an intoxicating haze, she felt him begin to undo her blouse. To her surprise, she leaned back just a bit to allow him access to all the hooks and eyes. She wanted to feel him pressed to her skin with a desperation that took her aback.
One shoulder of her blouse fell away and his hand immediately went to cup her exposed breast.
This time, it was his moan she heard. He hugged her to him, sensually compressed to his body, between the hand that held her between her legs from behind and the breast he so tenderly kneaded. Her insides shook with need, and the juncture of her thighs went moist from the heat of his skin.
Bradley abruptly let her go and dragged one of the large cushions from a nearby bench to the floor of the gazebo. He maneuvered her backward until she rested upon it.
He lay down next to her, his fingers returning to caress her breasts, and his lips drew a path to her earlobe.
She closed her eyes languidly. God, but he knew what he was doing. His intrepid confidence only proved the fact. He exhaled near her ear, the air from his lungs producing a shuddering sigh.
Bradley’s mouth sought hers and he kissed her the way he’d taught her—their tongues intertwining, a soft dance, boldly begging permission to stroke then shyly doing so.
His ragged breath matched rhythmically with her own. She reveled in the fact that she’d been the cause of his excitement. It was then that she noticed her trousers were down around her knees and his hand was petting her privates that up until a moment ago had been hidden from his touch.
Jillian broke out of the kiss and kicked her trousers off the rest of the way. She refused to acknowledge that his trousers were being stripped off at the same time.
Bradley returned to his position next to her on the cushion. He groaned deep within his chest and gently urged her thighs apart.
She spread for him, welcoming his attentions.
When his fingers found her pearl, she moaned loudly, the sound soaring toward the ceiling of the gazebo.
There wasn’t terribly much she recalled from the inebriated night they’d shared together, but this, she remembered.
A river of pleasure ran between Jillian’s thighs, and Bradley tested the waters with his fingers at every opportunity, dipping low, then back up to tease her rigid flesh. He repeated this until she was out of her mind with sensation.
“You are so wet, Jilli,” he whispered in her ear, using the same nickname he’d given her the night they’d slept together. She shuddered in response, his voice sending sensual electricity that lanced all the way down her spine. “Will you come for me?”
His soothing voice floated almost unheard past her ears. Jillian nodded, afraid of what would tumble from of her mouth.
“Then let me stroke you until you do, like this.”
His wicked fingers gently tugged and released her, gaining speed. It must have been mere moments until Jillian cried out in pure bliss.
Barely a second after her tremors stopped, Bradley settled between her thighs, sinking slowly into her.
Oh, God. She remembered this intense sensation, too. Remembered it as if he’d done it to her yesterday. She bore down on him, squeezing her insides. He gasped and she reveled in his responsiveness.
“Yes, that’s it,” came his agonized voice.
He pressed harder into her and Jillian’s insides trembled gloriously.
“God, I love to feel you come.”
Unable to quell the tide, Jillian took a deep breath and allowed her feelings to control her voice. What came out was primitive, half-gasps and moans that didn’t mean anything but what she felt. He carried her over orgasmic waves and rode her hard, deep. He still had the most glorious physical cadence—and she couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.
Just when she felt she could catch her breath, he whispered, “My turn, Jilli.”
He slammed into her, unleashing his passion again and again, his precision incredible, the aftershocks nothing but pure pleasure.
He took his release, growling through clenched teeth.
They lay together, hearts pounding, skin slick, limbs shaking, until they were able to breathe normally.
Bradley rolled onto his side, his face serene, as if sleeping with a slight grin on his face.
Jillian pushed herself to a seated position, her blouse open and, hanging from one shoulder her hair, that had long since escaped the plaiting in the melee of activity, fell over the other. The air was balmy, and a breeze which smelled faintly of rain and roses stirred her wavy tresses. Behind the gazebo and beyond the trees, the stars twinkled as if nothing of significance had happened. Her gaze wandered across their impromptu nest. She observed the cushion under her bare legs and the pile of their clothes.
She felt her eyes go wide. What have I done?
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