Sommersgate House

Chapter Sixteen Julia’s Realisation

Douglas Ashton, Baron Blackbourne, was not happy.

“I’ll kill her.” These were Douglas’s thoughts but they were uttered by his friend, Oliver, who was standing at his side.

For the last half an hour, Oliver and Douglas had witnessed a display of womanly wiles so practised and successful that Douglas had no doubt his phone would be ringing off the hook tomorrow.

Which meant, tonight, after he was finished with Julia, thoroughly finished with her, he was going to leave her exhausted, naked body in his bed and then throw every phone in the whole damned, bloody house in the bin.

Jealousy, and he knew exactly what the feeling was, there was not a thing vague about it, was eating at him. A fine, red film of fury had long since glazed his vision. The only thing that stopped him from striding across the room and dragging her from the building was the scene he knew it would cause.

He’d spent the last three weeks calmly, he thought, patiently, he felt, waiting for her to come to him. He thought, if he allowed her some space, she’d come around to his way of thinking. If he let her have a moment to think, to settle in, she’d stop being so bloody-minded and realise she wanted him.

He’d been wrong.

His usually precise strategy had been spectacularly inaccurate. She’d been blithely unaware of him the entire time. Only once or twice he caught her looking at him with what he thought, even so far as fucking hoped, was longing, but nothing came of it. She was impossibly busy, always doing something for her charity, for the kids, nursing an ailing Mrs. Kilpatrick, setting a big bowl of spaghetti and meat sauce in front of a grinning Nick, decorating the damned Christmas tree.

The only time he felt as if he was making any headway was when she’d brought her business plan to him last night. She looked devastated when he’d set it aside without comment and gone back to his work. He thought his actions would make her react, finally (and verbally).

They did not.

The truth was, he’d been inordinately pleased she’d asked him, even trusted him to read it and he’d reached for it the moment she left the room.

That was then, this was now.

If she felt she could flirt, under his nose, with practically every man in the room, it was time for Douglas to disabuse her of that notion.

He’d only made his decision when he caught her eye and she blinked at him, her laughter at something the idiot at her side was saying dying on her face.

He realised that she knew he was displeased and that satisfied him immensely. He watched as, in the next moments, she glanced anxiously at him a couple of times and grabbed Charlotte.

“If you’ll excuse me, Oliver, I think I’ll call it a night,” Douglas muttered to his friend, deciding quickly to make his move before Julia had any chance to make hers.

“Capital idea,” Oliver muttered right back.

Douglas’s angry, ground-eating strides went unfettered by the crowd as they parted to accommodate him. In reality, they had no choice; he would have simply run them over.

In no time at all he had hold of Julia’s hand. She was looking away to where Charlotte had escaped and he leaned forward and told her simply, “We’re going.”

Her frightened eyes flew to his face but he didn’t hesitate. He had her at the cloakroom within moments. He tossed her wrap to her, pulled her out the front door and practically threw her in the back of the Bentley that Carter had, thankfully, parked close to the front steps.

Then they were away into the night.

She waited a few minutes before she spoke. “Is… um, Douglas?” she hesitated. “Is there something wrong?”

He didn’t even attempt to mask his reaction to her as he had been doing, painstakingly, for the past three weeks.

He turned burning eyes to hers.

“Wrong?” he inquired, his voice steely.

The passing streetlights illuminated his face and she shrunk away from him but said, “Yes. Wrong.”

“Why would you think something’s wrong?” With effort, he tore his eyes from her.

He couldn’t look at her in that exquisite dress without tearing it off her equally exquisite body. He imagined Carter, who was now practically like her favoured uncle, would find something amiss in such an action.

When he’d first seen her earlier that night standing in the dining room wearing that remarkable dress and calmly adjusting her glove, he’d nearly lost all control.

He had never, in his entire life, been so enamoured of clothing the way he was of Julia’s… entire… fucking… wardrobe. It took everything in his power to compose his face and regard her blandly when she finally deigned to give him her attention.

She laughed, breaking into his thoughts, he heard the anxiety in the sound and he was unreasonably glad of it.

“Well, we practically ran out of there,” Julia stated nervously. “I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye.”

She stopped when his head swung around to regard her. “Who, may I ask, of all the many people you met tonight, would you have liked to wish a good evening?”

She didn’t answer for a few moments.

Then she surmised accurately, “Something is wrong.”

Douglas didn’t reply.

Fifteen very long minutes later, when the air in the back of the Bentley was so thick Douglas felt it hard to breathe, they glided to a halt in the drive of Sommersgate.

In an attempt at escape, Julia grabbed hold of the door handle before Carter could make it around.

Quick as lightning, Douglas caught her upper arm.

“I think not,” he bit out, his voice holding a warning.

She froze and stared at him, caught like a startled doe in the burning heat of his gaze.

When Carter opened the door, she grabbed her opportunity and scrambled out. Douglas followed her swiftly, nodded sharply to Carter and bid him a curt goodnight.

He didn’t wait for Carter to reply but stalked behind Julia, who had made some headway, already had heaved the front door open and was in the house. However, in those deliciously erotic heels, she was no match for him and he caught her arm again as she was turning into the dining room, heading toward her rooms.

Her cautious gaze captured his.

“Drink?” he inquired, his tone barely civil.

“No, thank you,” she replied, her words polite, her voice tight. “I think I’ll just go to bed.”

“Excellent idea,” Douglas agreed and, not letting go, he slid his hand down her arm, capturing hers, and pulled her towards the stairs.

“What? Where are you…? Let go of me!” she burst out, tugging at her hand in his.

“No,” he returned, feeling her hand trying to pull from his, he stopped and yanked her forward. Caught off guard at this quick change and off balance at the jerk of his hand, she stumbled into him and his arms locked around her.

“What’s the matter with you?” she cried, her anxiety gone and the spirit and fire he was used to was beginning to light her eyes.

He watched her with smug satisfaction, enjoying her eyes sparkling. He much preferred her this way, the fire rather than the ice. Her fire would make this vastly more enjoyable.

She watched him back. When she was done waiting, she pushed against his chest. “Let me go!”

He pulled her closer to him, his arms tightening; her soft body had no choice but to yield to his hard one.

“No.” Her eyes rounded in anger but he carried on. “I’m not going to let you go, Julia. I thought I explained that to you. My patience has finally run out. I warned you.”

And that was when he kissed her.

It was not a tender kiss. He meant to devour her, he meant to punish her, he meant to let her know, in no uncertain terms, how he felt about watching her flirt with male after male right under his nose. He’d told her he wanted her to take his name, his hand in marriage and her body to his bed. He’d made himself perfectly clear on those particular subjects. He was not a man to be trifled with and he already considered her his. The kiss was meant to teach her that all-important lesson.

She tore her lips from his.

“What was that?” she snapped in disgust, wiping her mouth on the back of her gloved hand.

“That was a lesson. This is a promise,” he replied on a growl.

And he kissed her again, at the same time he forced her backward until she hit the stone wall of the stairwell. She let out a small cry of protest but he relentlessly pressed her into the wall, pressed his body into hers, feeling the glorious heat of her seep through his clothes. His mouth was hard and demanding but this time with hungry passion, not anger. His hands went behind her, both of them aiming low, one sliding over the velvet at her bottom outside her gown. The other did exactly what he’d been imagining since he’d seen the unbelievably sexy dip in the back of her dress. It delved in and rounded over her buttock then he pulled her tightly against his groin.

He counted on her melting as she did practically every time he touched her but he thought it would take some coaxing. He didn’t expect the minute his hand touched her bottom, with only the thin, lacy barrier of her underwear between his hand and her skin that she would react the way she did.

He heard her moan, deep in her throat, the sound nearly guttural with need. Her back arched, her mouth opened and her tongue darted between his lips.

He felt the blood rush to his head, through his veins and to his cock, heating his body to a fever as her hands went under his dinner jacket, tearing at his shirt, pulling it free of his trousers. Then he felt them, encased in their soft satin, gliding across the skin of his back, his sides, roaming everywhere, trailing fire.

While his tongue played with hers, she made a soft mew that he could swear he felt to his very soul and then he felt her nails, made less harsh through her gloves, drag down his back.

“God, I want you,” he growled against her lips, his one hand still cupping her soft, generous ass, his other hand pulling brutally at the material at her shoulder, the strap at the back tore free and the bodice fell to catch where his chest pressed against her breasts.

He registered her nodding mutely as he pulled away to watch the material fall further down, exposing her spectacular breasts to his view. With his hand on her buttock and the other arm now tightened at her back, he lifted her up to the tips of her toes while his head descended and he captured one perfect nipple between his lips. He dragged his teeth across it and felt it stiffen against his lips at the same time he felt his body tighten with a nearly overwhelming need and he heard a hungry moan escape Julia’s lips.

Her hands went to his hair, her fingers sliding into it, holding his head fast. He heard her breath catch then her body shuddered so deliciously, it communicated itself to him and the shudder tore through his as well. His lips closed on her nipple and drew it in sharply and she cried out in desire, the sound so primitive, he felt it straight into his bones.

He swiftly moved his mouth to hers, hungry to swallow the end of her cry, sucking her tongue into his mouth when she was done, just like he’d done to her nipple. When he became cognizant that she was pressing her body against his with need, her arms wrapped around his neck with longing, he tore his mouth away.

“Do you want me?” His voice was rough with passion, foreign to his own ears. He’d never felt this kind of desire, this desperate need in his entire life.

He was holding his breath, waiting for her reply, for some reason he knew his future depended on her answer.

Julia was silent.

His hand tightened on her ass.

“Do you want me?” he growled against her mouth.

“Yes, Douglas, I want you,” Julia breathed.

And then, abruptly, he bent double, picked her up and, just like a bloody, fucking caveman, Douglas threw her over his shoulder and carried her to his bed.

Julia woke up sometime in the night, her naked limbs tangled with Douglas’s.

She wouldn’t be able to move without disturbing him and, for the time being, she wanted to relish in the delicious moment of closeness. She wanted to take this precious time to savour what they had shared only hours, or maybe it had only been just moments, before.

He had carried her up to the bedroom, not in his arms like a doting lover, but in a fireman’s hold like a marauding Viking.

Not until he had her through his personal sitting room and in his bedroom did he put her down or more to the point throw her down, right in the middle of the bed. He didn’t utter a sound, not even a grunt of effort.

Some sanity had returned at that point and her hands flew up to adjust the fallen neckline of her dress while he turned on the light at the bedside table.

“Don’t,” he barked when he saw her movements and, at the sound of his rough voice, her hands stilled, holding the bodice in place over her breasts as she struggled into a semi-reclining position.

He was staring at her and she was immobile in the face of his blazing eyes. She watched him in fascinated silence as he shrugged off his jacket and threw it on the floor. His hands moved and he yanked at his tie viciously. In one tug, it came loose and he threw it to join his jacket. Then he went to work on the buttons on his shirt.

“Douglas…” Julia was trying for a conciliatory tone, she was half-mad with wanting him, half-sane enough to realise her own fear. She sought control of the situation, time to think. He was furious, she knew, even though she wasn’t entirely certain why, and a fury the strength of his was a frightening thing.

But it was also something else.

It was magnetic.

She wanted this, she was forced to admit. She was no fool and she tried never to fool herself.

At the same time she was terrified of it.

He wasn’t helping her, looking at her as if he would be hanged in the morning and she was his last meal.

He had the last button undone on his shirt then his arm reached out abruptly, grabbed her by the waist and jerked her to her feet in front of him.

“Who chose this dress?” he asked, his hands sliding down her sides slowly.

“Charlie,” she answered nervously.

“Remind me to thank her,” he remarked right before he bunched the material at her hips and savagely pulled it up over her head, forcing her arms up with it. In a split second it, too, fell on the pile with his tie and his jacket.

His hands settled on her waist, the heat of them searing her bare skin and making her shiver as he roughly pushed her a couple of inches away from his body, holding her suspended, for she would surely never have been able to stand on her own at that angle.

Rather than cover herself, her arms fluttered down to her sides and she watched helplessly as his eyes drifted over her hungrily. She was wearing nothing but her black gloves, a pair of black, lace edged, garter-less stockings, black lace underwear, her pumps and his emerald.

“Jesus,” he murmured, looked in her eyes again and she could have drowned in the depths of his, they had turned to ink.

He pulled her in his arms, her bare skin crushed against the edges of his partially opened shirt and she barely had time to savour that sensation before she was falling backwards, one of his arms around her waist, the other one thrown out to control their fall. Her back no sooner hit the bed when he was gone, pulling away from her, his hand reaching for her panties.

“Douglas, we need to slow down.” This was going too quickly for her, she needed to think, she needed her clothes, she needed…

“Slow is not an option,” he declared as he pulled the lace expertly down her legs and it too joined the pile of clothing.

She gasped at the quickness of his action but his body covered hers before she could think or move and she became aware that he was still nearly fully clothed while she was nearly naked. She felt exposed and vulnerable.

This, she didn’t like.

He kissed her again and all such thoughts flew right out the window. Her body ignited as if the time between the white-hot passion of the stairwell and now had simply melted away.

He sucked her tongue into his mouth and she took the opportunity to explore it boldly. His hands were all over her, her hands roamed over him. Her skin tingled where he touched it and she moaned low in her throat.

He pulled his mouth away. “Take off your bloody gloves,” he commanded and, for once, she obeyed happily, shakily removing her gloves and flinging them wherever they would land.

The minute her bare hands touched the skin of his back under his shirt, there was no time to think, there was only time to feel. She felt his mouth on hers, on her neck, at the base of her throat. She felt the edge of his teeth drag against her nipple then pull it hungrily in his mouth then move to the other, only to do the same thing. She felt his hands roaming the skin of her sides, her bottom, her hips, her belly, against the silk of her stockings and then up, between her legs.

“Oh!” she cried, as he found her with his thumb, a fleeting, joyous pressure that sent her neck arching back and her mouth opening in a silent groan of pleasure. Then it was gone, only to be replaced with one, long finger sliding slowly inside her.

Her breath dragged out of her while his finger moved and his thumb again found its spot. She started panting, actually panting, as her stomach clutched and then dropped away and she pressed her hips urgently against his hand.

It was her turn to touch him, her hands insistently roaming, her mouth at his neck and throat, her tongue darting out to taste the salt of his skin against the hard muscle as she rode his hand like a madwoman. She was close, the pressure was building, she felt she only had to reach for it and the wild joy he was promising would be hers.

“Do you want me?” His mouth was at her ear but his finger had slid away, his thumb disappeared.

“Yes!” She didn’t hesitate, wanting it all back, wanting it immediately and willing to do anything to get it.

His hand was still gone and she arched her back, her breath ragged, her fingers desperately running down his arm to find his hand and pull it back to where it was. But this was thwarted, Douglas captured her hand in his and pulled her arm over her head, his body settling on hers as he caught her other wrist and imprisoned both over her head in one of his hands.

Then she felt him yanking at his trousers, then parting her legs and settling between them and, finally, she felt him there, just at the edge and not moving any closer.

She wanted him closer. She needed him closer.

She needed him inside her.

She realised her eyes were closed when they flew open and she saw him watching her, his indigo gaze boring into hers.

“Douglas,” she whispered and the minute she uttered his name, he slammed into her with a heady ferocity that she welcomed without question. Her hips lifted to receive him, her legs moved to open herself to him, one wrapped around his hip, the other curling around the back of his thigh.

He let go of her wrists and both of his hands went to pull her hips boldly upward to meet his thrusts, deepening them, his open lips on hers, receiving her moans in his mouth, every once in awhile his tongue shooting out to duel with her own.

She’d never, not once, climaxed simply with a man inside her but she felt it building now, felt her muscles tensing with anticipation, her legs tightening, her fingers clawing, her mouth searching… and then he was gone. His body completely still, he was suspended where she could feel the promise of him but she didn’t have him.

She arched against him in desperation, pressed her hips down, sought him soundlessly and through all this he withheld from her.

She bit her bottom lip, her nails dragging down his back and when she could take it no more, when she thought she would likely die if she didn’t feel him inside her again, she pressed her mouth against his, looked into his dark eyes and begged, “Please.”

Hearing that word, he drove into her violently, burying himself to the hilt inside her, and she exploded, her entire body tensed, wrapping him fiercely in her limbs as if she would never let go and she went completely still. Except her mouth, which emitted a prolonged moan that eloquently informed him of the profound pleasure tearing relentlessly through her body.

He’d joined her moments later and she registered it with contented feminine knowledge but was still too immersed in the residual shudders and tingles of her own climax to watch. Then she felt the weight of his body settle against hers.

Her response was to tighten her arms and legs.

They lay there, still joined, his heavy weight pressing her into his soft bed while her mind fought for control over her body, and lost.

It had never, ever, been this good. She hadn’t even imagined it could be, not in her wildest dreams. She felt an intoxication that had nothing to do with seven glasses of champagne and no matter how hard her common sense struggled to remind her that this was a frightening risk, she delighted in it.

Douglas lifted his head and looked at her. She didn’t know what to say so, for once, she said nothing at all.

“Do not ever flirt with another man in front of me,” he growled so ferociously his command throbbed through both of their bodies.

She blinked at him in surprise.

So that was why he was angry.

She lifted a palm and laid it gently against his cheek. “Douglas, if this is my punishment for flirting, I’m afraid I’m going to have to do it more often.”

He didn’t move.

“In fact,” she went on, “I may do it all the time. I might start flirting with Nick,” she informed him and his arms stole around her, his weight bearing heavily on her. “And even Carter,” she breathed, because his body on hers was taking her breath away, in more ways than one. “You’re crushing me,” she whispered softly in his ear.

She no sooner said it than she lost his arms and him as he pulled out of her and away, dropping to the side, half-on her, half-off, lifting himself on his elbow to look down at her.

She may have been teasing but she saw that he was not amused.

He watched her and then asked bluntly, “Are you going to marry me?”

His eyes were intense and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

She wanted to say something flippant.

She wanted to rush home to the safety of Indiana, her old house, her old job, her old life, her old grocery store where she knew where the cake mixes were, but she understood now that it was all too late.

“Yes,” was her simple reply.

There was no crowing in victory. Douglas simply rolled into her, gathering her in his arms and he kissed her. Gone was the passion and urgency and in its place was complete and surprising tenderness which left her a different kind of breathless.

Then he carefully pulled away and, nearly reverently, swept off her shoes and stockings, righted her body on the bed and pulled her under the sheets. He discarded the rest of his clothes and met her there, pulling her back into his arms.

She wanted to talk to him, for him to reassure her, for something to be said that would be a hallmark of this momentous occasion.

Instead, she asked teasingly, “So, you liked the dress?”

His response, “It’s obvious you think this is incredibly amusing but allow me to educate you. Men do not like to be teased.”

He was lying on his back and had pressed her against his side and she’d laid her head on his shoulder.

“I gathered that,” Julia mumbled, his hand drifted to her bottom and he may have been about to give her a smack but she didn’t feel it because the intensity of her climax suddenly stole over her and she drifted to sleep.

Now, she was awake and she needed the bathroom, she needed a moment to herself, she needed a moment to think.

She shifted slightly and his arms tightened.

“Douglas,” she whispered, not knowing if he was awake or asleep, “I need to use your bathroom.”

Apparently he was awake for his arms loosened. She slid out of them and rolled off the bed.

Not entirely comfortable with ambling around his still-lit bedroom completely nude with him half-asleep, or not (she’d learned that lesson the night of the gunshot wound), she grabbed the closest thing at hand, which was his shirt. She shrugged it on, avoiding looking at him and scurried to one of the two doors she could see, hoping it led to the bathroom.

Thankfully, it did.

As with his bedroom, it was decorated in deep chocolate browns, dusky blues and sharp chartreuses. She quickly went about her business and, at the basin, after washing her hands, she stared at herself in the mirror.

She nearly laughed out loud.

Her hair hadn’t moved. It was still twisted in its elegant coils as if she hadn’t just been thoroughly satisfied by a rapacious baron.

She’d just lifted her hands to begin to release her hair from its pins when the door flew open.

She jumped.

“What are you doing?” Julia demanded, staring in the mirror at Douglas standing behind her in his glorious nakedness, his lean, muscled body nonchalantly exposed to her eyes, which were shining in disbelief at his intrusion. Her arms were lifted and her hands were stilled in the process of taking the hairpins out of her the hair at the back of her head.

He looked at her, also through the mirror. “You were taking a long time.”

“What? Did you think I was going to crawl out the window?”

He walked forward and stopped. She felt the heat of his naked body against her back, his eyes still on hers in the mirror and his hands settled on her waist.

“Honestly?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

She couldn’t help herself, she burst out laughing.

When she finished, she noticed he was still watching her in the mirror, no amusement in his eyes.

She was wearing his shirt which was unbuttoned and only partially gaping, exposing very little except the winking emerald that still lay against her chest and a one inch expanse of skin from chest, between breasts, down her midriff and belly to below. His eyes dropped to follow the opening as her hands began to pull out the pins.

“I need to take down my hair,” she explained her delay as his deep blue eyes rose to meet hers in the mirror.

Douglas surprised her when his hands lifted and pushed hers aside. He then further stunned her by working his fingers into her hair, gently seeking out hairpins and pulling them free, tossing them heedlessly in the sink.

Her arms fell and she grabbed the edge of the sink in an effort not to relax against him, which was what she desperately wanted to do. Her chin dropped to give him better access and she spied the emerald at her neck.

“How did you know?” she asked.

“Know what?” His deep voice rumbled behind her, causing her to shiver.

“About the emerald, how did you know it would be perfect?” Her voice was quiet.

His reply came immediately. “I asked Charlotte. She told me the colour you intended to wear and about the emeralds your mother gave you. So I found something to match.”

At the pronouncement of that bit of thoughtfulness, her fingers tightened spasmodically against the edge of the basin as something stole through her, starting at her belly and this time, heading north, straight to her heart.

She was falling in love with him.

Dear God, she was falling in love with Douglas Ashton.

In fact, Julia thought hysterically, she may have started falling in love with him the moment she met him.

But what she knew for certain was that she was falling deeply, madly, stupidly in love with him now.

She was falling in love with how good he was with the children and the reason he watched over them (and her) because of his heretofore unknown bond with his sister.

She was falling in love with how he warned off her father and how he protected her against Monique.

She was falling in love with the way he helped her learn snooker, didn’t make her feel a fool when she’d seen The Mistress and sat with her in her room until she fell asleep.

And she was falling in love with the way he made her feel when he looked at her (and was already in love with the way he made her feel with his mouth and hands and body).

His fingers worked carefully in her hair but her body stiffened against the knowledge stealing into her heart.

For the second time she was going to marry a man she loved. This time, she knew in advance the heartbreak it would bring. This time she knew that there would be a day when his eye would wander, when he’d grow tired of what they shared earlier that evening even though she’d live for it.

Her father had left her mother. Sean’s behaviour had forced Julia to leave him. And Douglas, Douglas would be no different. He was just Douglas. A man of means who got what he wanted, when he wanted it and, when he was satisfied, he’d be gone.

And it was then she realised she couldn’t do it. She’d agreed to it but she couldn’t go through with it.

He finished finding pins and his fingers slid against her scalp, running gently through her hair to it ends, then they dropped, stealing around her waist until he was holding her loosely there. She lifted her eyes to the mirror, first to look at herself (worrying that her hair would be a crazed, Medusa-styled mess but instead it was just a mass of curls) then to catch his eyes.

“Better?” His eyes warm, he asked his question softly, that one quiet word fastening like a silken shroud around her heart, and she nodded, not trusting her own voice. Not trusting what she might say. Not wanting him to know, ever, how she felt. And lastly, not wanting this moment to end because, she knew, it would be their last.

“Good,” he said, “come to bed.”

She nodded again, too undone with her new knowledge to bristle against his order.

He let her waist go but caught her hand and she followed him, still staggered by her realisation.

She had no idea what she would do, how she would cope but, right then, she was just going to go with it.

“Jewel,” Gavin had once said, “you need to take a risk, leave that little farm town and live your life. There’s something out there for you, little sister. But you’ve got to go out and find it.”

Tonight, she’d taken a risk.

She’d agreed to marry a wealthy, dangerous, English Baron, who she could easily love, who also happened to own a haunted mansion.

Tomorrow, she’d take it back and most likely regret it for the rest of her life.

But she had no choice. She had to guard her heart. She couldn’t go through it again without being destroyed.

He stopped, his back to the side of the bed, turning her to face him. His hands went to her belly and then turned, the backs of his fingers brushing against her as he spread open the shirt. His head descended and his teeth nibbled at her lips.

“I want you,” his voice was low and silky, “with this on,” he said, his mouth teasing hers and he indicated what he meant by tugging at the shirt.

She took a shuddering breath and mumbled, “Okay.”

He found her hand and pulled sharply at it, forcing her to fall with him back on the bed, hooking her at the waist so she fell on top of him.

He kissed her, his right hand delving into her hair to hold her head firmly to his and his left hand pushing the fabric of his shirt away so her naked body was pressed against his. She felt the immense heat of him and revelled in it, allowing it to fire her skin. Then his hands ran down her back, over her bottom and he did an abdominal crunch, his fingers softly sliding down her legs to the backs of her knees.

He pulled his mouth from hers and she found she was already breathing heavily, wanting him again.

“This time,” he began and with a forceful jerk he pulled her knees up and she found herself, with a surprised gasp, straddling him. One of his hands moved from her knee and went between their bodies, the other hand went to her waist. “You get to do all the work.” His hand on her waist drove her relentlessly down on him and, as he filled her, her teeth caught her lower lip in delicious pleasure, her head rolled back and her back arched.

“I think I can do that,” Julia breathed, wishing she sounded more sultry and cosmopolitan but he’d have to make do with just her.

She bent forward again, kissed him softly and it began.

Of course, it didn’t end with her on top, not with Douglas. Moments before their climax, he flipped her onto her back and drove into her unrelentingly, this time wrapping her legs around his waist himself, thrusting fiercely as if he wanted to penetrate her very soul, until her teeth bit uncontrollably into his shoulder and, finally, she had no choice but to throw her head back and cry out his name in pure, excruciating, mind-numbing pleasure.