Chapter Nine

Ricardo was silent and stony-faced on the journey back to the villa, and Helen couldn’t think of anything to say under the circumstances. General chitchat felt inappropriate. The man she had seen in action wasn’t the shallow playboy billionaire she’d thought she’d married. He’d shown extraordinary strength and self-control under pressure, and his hands weren’t shaking with the shock of it all like hers were.

They’d stayed an hour or so after the ambulance left, and Ricardo had made sure there was somebody to deal with every aspect of the farm while Tino was at the hospital. The animals still had to be fed and stabled, clothes and toiletries would need to be taken to the hospital, phone calls needed to be made, forms filled out…the list seemed endless.

“I need a drink. I don’t know about you,” he said as they arrived back at the villa. He suddenly looked completely drained. “A large one.”

“Just what the doctor ordered,” Helen said and tried to keep up as he strode across the drive towards the front door.

Once inside the living room, its glass doors flung open to the warm sea breeze and cry of seabirds. Ricardo handed her a large tumbler of whiskey before knocking his own back in one go. His voice was gravely. “Sorry, did you want ice?”

“It’s okay, I’ll get some.” She sniffed the smoky liquid. “I’ll need a dash of lemonade from the kitchen if I’m going to swallow this lot and live.”

“Sorry, there’s other stuff,” he said and ran his forearm across the soot and sweat on his the forehead. “Come on, let’s see what we can find in there. The fridge is always full.”

Helen noticed a tremor in his hand as she gave him back her glass. “You have that and then go and have a long hot bath. I can manage a fridge door on my own.”

“Thanks.” He sipped the second whiskey more slowly. “Sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not, as long as Lucia’s not guarding it!”

“Lucia has her hands full with her family right now. I’ve given her as much time off as she needs. But she’ll be your best friend forever after what you did today, don’t worry.” He drained his glass and put it down with a click on a glass table.

“I didn’t do much.”

He shook his head. “You were there for me,” he said quietly. “And for Tino and his family. There to help, no questions asked. Not many women I’ve known would have done that, risked ruining their expensive manicures and hairstyles.”

Helen glanced down at her hands. Her wedding manicure was a distant memory. She had a torn nail and the rest were full of dirt. “I think I’d better wash these while I’m in the kitchen,” she said laughing. “And then have a bath myself.”

“Good idea,” Ricardo said and turned to leave. “I’ll see you later.”

Later? That didn’t sound like an invitation to join him with a bar of soap. Helen shrugged and tried to put her disappointment aside. Thinking he might want her to join him for anything other than sex was irrational, not to mention stupid. She had no right to try to comfort him after the trauma of the fire, or indeed seek comfort herself. This was a business relationship, not an emotional one. She’d feel better after that drink.

.

“Do you like seafood?” Ricardo asked as he finished preparing the wood oven on the terrace. “The charcoal will be white-hot and ready in about half an hour.”

Helen was staring out to sea, the newspaper she had been reading folded neatly on the table beside her. She turned her head to look at him as he approached. “Depends what it is,” she said cautiously, her bright green eyes sparkling like glass in the afternoon sun.

Ricardo drew up a chair beside her and placed a glass jug and two highball glasses on the table. “Perhaps it would be easier to tell me what you do and don’t like then.”

“No whelks or oysters, not that I’ve ever been brave enough or drunk enough to try them.”

“But they’re supposed to make you horny,” he said and felt a zing of pleasure when she rewarded him with a broad grin.

Helen snorted. “Whelks? Yeah, right, like gagging is romantic.”

“I meant the oysters. I’ve never had whelks either, I don’t think.”

“They look like massive snails with disgusting looking gray and yellow innards.” She made a retching noise. “My granny used to pry them out with a pin and drown them in vinegar.”

Her face was a picture of revulsion and he couldn’t help letting a small laugh escape. “Actually, they do sound disgusting.”

“They have to be looking like that, don’t they?”

“I was going to suggest grilling some local red prawns scattered with garlic oil and flakes of sea salt, but if you’d prefer steak ribs—”

“Oh no, they sound perfect!”

Ricardo took her small hand in his and rubbed his thumb across the surface of the diamond on her ring finger. “You washed your hands.”

“I washed everything,” she said provocatively. “I found a bathroom on my way to the kitchen and it looked so inviting…”

He lifted her hand, twisted it and kissed the inside of her wrist. The skin was delicate and soft, her pulse like the touch of a butterfly’s wing against his lips. “You look and smell wonderful.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. Color tinted her cheeks, spreading like pink ink dropped in water. “You have immaculate taste in toiletries.”

“I have immaculate taste in everything,” he said silkily. “Especially where women are concerned.”

Helen frowned playfully and pulled her hand away. “I bet you say that to all the girls, you feckless swine.”

Ricardo chuckled. “I love it when you insult me like that, wife.”

Her eyes widened with mock outrage, and she smacked his forearm with the newspaper. “Make that ‘you feckless pervert swine’!”

Ricardo just laughed and began to pour from the jug. “How come nobody’s married you before now, Helen? I’m baffled.” Ice cubes clanked and bubbles leapt over the rim of the Murano glassware.

“I’m only twenty-four, Ricardo. Give a girl a chance!”

“Seriously, though. I saw the way Hippy looked at you, you can’t have ever been short of boyfriends looking like you do.”

“Stop fishing about, Almanza, and ask me what you really want to know.” Her emerald gaze held him fast, and he was lost for words for a second or two. She was as sharp as needles.

“Okay, how many men in your life?” There, he’d said it, she’d made him. He wanted to know.

“It’s really none of your business.”

“So?” He did his most persuasive smile, dropped his hand to her knee and began to stroke it.

She sighed. “Four. None of them particularly serious or long lasting. I moved around a lot with university and travel, and looking back, I think all of them were only after one thing.”

“You mean—”

She gestured at her chest, molded into stunning curves by the bronze beaded bodice of her sundress. “I’ve been led to believe I have great tits, but I’m not exactly good marriage material.”

“Seriously?”

“For real.” She picked up her glass and sniffed. “And to save you asking, my first time was at a young farmers’ party after too much cider. In a barn. Now, what is this potion you’ve given me?”

“Pomada, Mahon gin, lemonade, sugar syrup and a slice of lemon.” A shutter had come down behind her eyes. She was putting him at arm’s length and it served him right. It was none of his business. Not unless he proved himself better than the previous four. “And the hippy? Was he number four?”

“No, he was not!”

“Are you sure?”

Her tone was a touch irritable. “Of course I’m sure, Ricardo. I’m not a mentalist. I do know what I’m doing most of the time.”

“You met him on an archaeological course, you said. That is an unusual recreation for a young woman in Ibiza, you have to admit.”

“You think so?” She took a long drink from her glass and took a moment before swallowing. “Ooh, that is nice.”

She was trying to politely change the subject, but he had developed a strong dislike of her dodgy friend Bjorn. It wasn’t jealousy. It was merely concern driving him to uncover everything about their relationship, that’s all. “Tell me about it.”

“Archaeology’s always interested me, ever since my grandparents bought me a metal detector for Christmas when I was nine. I’d spend hours wandering around the fields and estuary looking for stuff. Once you’re bitten by the bug it’s hard to stop.”

“Did you find anything valuable?”

Helen laughed. “If I’d found a big hoard of treasure, I wouldn’t have had to marry you, would I?”

“I guess not.”

“I did find some old clay smoking pipes though and some broken pottery, and lots of rubbish.”

“And with the hippy? Did you find any fascinating artifacts together?”

“His name is Bjorn, and yes we found some very nice things. Some of the groups’ Phoenician-Punic finds are being displayed in the Archaeological Museum in the Old Town. Do you know it?”

“The one by the cathedral, yes, I know it well, but haven’t been inside for a long time.”

“We should go. I could show you the bits we unearthed.”

He tried to suppress a frown but failed miserably. He really didn’t have time for this Bjorn character and he didn’t want Helen to either. “You and him?”

“The entire group. There are about twenty of us.” Helen sighed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”

“That would be a preposterous conclusion. I don’t trust him, that’s all.”

“You’ve barely met him, how can you possibly judge?”

“I saw the way he looked at you. The way he spoke. The way he touched you.”

Anger bubbled up inside him and the words came out before he could stop them. “And he said something about ‘only two weeks ago’ you were doing something that made him surprised you were suddenly married. What conclusion am I supposed to come to with that?”

“That we’ve been at it like rabbits on acid obviously!”

“Well?”

Helen braced her hands on the arms of the chair as if to stand up. “Well what?”

“What did he mean by that?”

“I haven’t a clue, Ricardo, perhaps he was just trying to wind you up? Perhaps he didn’t like the look of my new married-in-haste husband. Maybe he suspected you were after one thing, or my money!” She laughed humorlessly. “This conversation is starting to get on my nerves.”

She was right. He was behaving like a control freak. What the hell was wrong with him? “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “It’s been a shit day.”

Helen was silent for a moment and then her expression softened. “Then let’s not make it any worse.” To his surprise she reached across and put her hand over his. It was soft and cool. It felt good. “I have an idea.”

“Tell me more,” he said, feeling calmer.

“Lucia isn’t going to be here for a while, right?” She feigned a gasp of horror and slapped the back of her hand against her forehead dramatically. “Which means we have to fend for ourselves?”

He couldn’t stop a smile escaping. “Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”

She grinned broadly. “I thought you’d say something like that, so how about you teach me to cook?”

“There’s no need, Helen. I like to cook now and again, and when I don’t we can get someone else to do it, or go out, or order in. You don’t need to cook any more.”

“Not for three months I don’t,” she said with a wry smile. “But consider this. If you teach me to cook I might snag myself a real husband one day. A husband that loves me.”

That remark shouldn’t have hurt quite as much as it did. It was a sharp, sudden pain that caught him unawares. It unsettled him, and he wasn’t sure why. That was the deal, after all. Three months and they were done. “Then there’s no time like the present. Let’s go fetch those prawns.”

“Deal,” she said and stood up. He looked up into her smiling face. He’d not seen her from that angle before. She was beautiful. The underside of her chin was a perfect triangle, and like alabaster. He wanted to taste it. “And Ricardo,” she whispered playfully. “Bjorn is gay.”

…

Helen ran her fingers along the grain of the kitchen table and watched with fascination as Ricardo rummaged through the fridge. “Tell me about your friend, Jerardo.”

“Jerardo?” He shot her a puzzled look over his shoulder and then resumed his search.

“Yes, our best man.”

Ricardo let out a sharp laugh. “That’s not why he was there, Helen. He needed to be present to make sure I really did get married! He’s not a friend.”

Helen caught the bulb of garlic he tossed in her direction. “I did think he was probably a bit old to be a mate, but I didn’t know what else to call him.”

Ricardo laughed. “Conniving old bastard will do.”

“What did you do to him to make him hate you so much?” She looked at the garlic bulb curiously and sniffed it.

“I never did anything to him. Now wash this parsley under the tap, will you?”

She took the bunch of cool green herbs from him and wandered over to the sink. “So why did he blackmail you into getting married against your will? What was in it for him?”

“Revenge. Cold, hard-hearted revenge. Whatever it cost him. Even though my father’s dead now, he clearly feels the need to try and punish the entire Almanza line.”

“So your dad did something to him?” She turned the tap on too quickly and water splashed up over her arms and chest. “Damn!”

He laughed at the state of her. “Persistent creature, aren’t you?”

“And wet!” Helen grinned. “Just tell me what happened!”

Ricardo sighed and leaned against the edge of the sink next to her. “Jerardo and my father were business partners many years ago. Jerardo put up the capital in the early days, spoiled rich kid that he was, and my father was the business brains and the charisma. To cut a long story short, my dad stole Jerardo’s fiancée and married her himself, and he never forgave him.”

Helen’s tone softened as he dabbed at her wet collarbone with a dry cloth. “So your mother was supposed to marry Jerardo?”

“No, my mother was divorced by my father so he could marry the Condesa. The Condesa, your old boss, was the ‘other woman’ and Jerardo’s fiancée. They both wanted her for her title and aristocratic connections even though her ennobled family was penniless. She was also well known for being a complete whore in bed. They found her irresistible.”

“How awkward…”

“More than that, I’m afraid. There were rumors that the Condesa was carrying Jerardo’s unborn child, but aborted it, a double whammy. The whole affair tore their social networks apart, and my dad ended up in prison. Jerardo had allies in dark places, friends with power that could be bought. They framed my father and ensured he was convicted of fraud and embezzlement. He was banged up for twenty years, but only survived in that hell hole of a prison for three.”

He looked terribly sad all of a sudden and Helen struggled for the right words, but found none that would suffice. “What a dreadful mess.”

Ricardo shrugged and looked out of the kitchen window towards the sea. “All he asked of me before he died was to get the department store back and do my best to clear the family name. I’m half way there now, thanks to you.”

“Honor.”

He paused for a moment and watched her shake the water from the parsley. “Yes.”

“I think I understand it all a bit more now.” She felt awkward, but the question had to be asked. “Weren’t you angry about what your dad did to your mum?”

Ricardo frowned. “He was still my father, whatever he’d done. He gave me life.”

“So did your mother.”

Ricardo nodded and sent her a knowing look. “She did, but she was no angel either.”

“Perhaps I’d better not ask any more questions right now. I’m getting hungry.”

His body visibly relaxed. “You’re always hungry.”

“There’s always something good to eat when you’re around, that’s why.”

“Well, tonight you’re going to help. We’ll get you cooking up a storm in no time.” He produced a mortar and pestle. “Peel the garlic, chuck in some of these salt crystals, and bash it all up until I tell you to stop.”

A few minutes later Helen plunged down the stubby wooden pestle and a clove of garlic flew into to air. “Told you I was hopeless…”

“Just a little too enthusiastic,” he said and moved to stand behind her. She felt his breath on her neck as he reached around and took her hands in his, guiding her until they had established a steady grinding rhythm. “There, you see. You just need to be a little more gentle, take your time…”

Helen closed her eyes and savored the feel of his body, warm and hard against her back. “It smells amazing.”

“And then we throw in some of this parsley that I’ve chopped for you…”

“And keep grinding?”

His voice had become low and husky. “Just stir now while I dribble in some of this virgin olive oil.” She could feel a distinct ridge pushing into the small of her back and a spark of lust made her blood flare. “Nice circular movements, that’s it, use your hips if it helps. And when it feels loose and slippery it’s ready.”

“You bastard.” Helen dropped the pestle and spun round to pull his mouth down on hers. Their tongues meshed angrily as she crushed her breasts against his chest willing him to push harder against her. Squeezed between the edge of the heavy kitchen table and the hardness of his erection was exactly where she wanted to be, where she wanted him to have her again. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said but she could feel his lips form into a smile as he lifted the skirt of her bohemian sundress.

Her breath was already coming in gasps as she fumbled with the zip of his black chinos. “You turned me on deliberately. Underhanded, not at all gentlemanly.”

“Then we have gone far enough,” he said and pulled away from her embrace and carefully lowered her dress back down.

“What?”

“I don’t keep condoms in the kitchen, my darling, and I’m supposed to be teaching you how to cook.”

“But—”

“And I’m not just after one thing like all the others.” He kissed the top of her shoulder lightly. “I want to prove that to you.”

“Don’t you want to, here on the kitchen table? It would be so incredibly erotic.”

“Later,” he said and gave her a look of mock admonishment. “Build the excitement, layer by layer. It’s more fun that way. For both of us.”

“You’re cruel,” she whispered, but rewarded him with a provocative smile.

“But I’m always right.”

.

“My mum would love this,” Helen said an hour later as she dropped the last prawn shell onto her plate.

“Well, now you know how, you can cook it for her often,” Ricardo said. “Quite simple really, wasn’t it?”

“Yep, except I’m not sure we can source prawns quite like that at home or the sunset.”

“It is beautiful, that’s why I’m always drawn back here. Among other things.”

“Such as?”

“Friends, nostalgia…it’s the place I consider my real home.”

Helen giggled. “You do seem to have a lot of houses.”

“Bricks and mortar, some of them, that’s all.”

“And marble, alabaster, custom-made sheets of the finest Venetian glass…”

Ricardo held up a hand as a gesture of defeat. “Fair enough, but there’s a certain feeling about home, isn’t there? You must have it with Primrose Farm.”

“I will confess to missing a decent cup of tea outside England, that’s for sure!” She picked up her wine glass and stared out to sea, squinting as the fiery red sun melted into the deep blue of the sea. “But I can’t pretend I don’t enjoy sunnier climates. The air seems a lot purer, especially near the sea, and it’s much drier than at home. Less humidity. I love the feel of the sun on my skin in the morning. Being cold and wet for over half the year is vastly overrated.”

“But an excuse for snuggling up in front of a blazing log fire.”

“Ah, so romantic. I grew up with log fires. The wood was free and coal far too expensive. In fact, doing the ashes every morning was one of my chores as a child. But it was a necessity, not a luxury. You won’t have noticed because we didn’t stay the night and you only got as far as the kitchen, but Primrose Farm has no central heating. It gets bloody cold.”

“You get used to it, I imagine.”

“I never knew any differently until I went to other people’s houses that were too hot with stale air and thick carpets and electrical cables everywhere.” She shuddered. “God knows what their fuel bills must have been like.”

“So your folks are pretty much self sufficient?”

“They have to be, they own the place, but there’s never been much spare cash.” They own the place now I’ve cleared their debts. “It’s not a life I’d choose to lead.”

“Really? You’d rather work for someone like my wicked step-mother?”

Helen laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far, but farming isn’t as idyllic as people would have you believe. I love the farm, it’s the only home I’ve ever known, but I want to do other things in my life too. It means I’ve had to be a bit selfish if I’m honest, which isn’t a nice feeling.”

“How so?”

“Once dad can’t run the farm anymore there’s no one to take over. I’m an only child, no big strapping brothers, no wholesome, ruddy-cheeked son-in-law to pick up the slack.” She shrugged and looked away. “I can’t make that sort of sacrifice, and mum’s made it clear she doesn’t want me to follow in her footsteps either. I don’t want to be a farmer, and I certainly don’t want to be a farmer’s wife.”

“But they seemed so happy together, your parents.”

“Oh they are! They adore each other, absolutely devoted. You have to be leading a life like that. Do you know what Mum always says? ‘The dawn chorus is the most beautiful sound on God’s earth when you’re up at four every day, but the only time your father and I have been away from this farm overnight was on our honeymoon. Thirty years ago. See the world, Helen. Do everything. Do it for me.’” Helen blinked and pressed her lips resolutely together as he studied her. “She says it to me every time I go home so that I don’t forget.”

“She’s right, Helen. It’s their choice to live that way. You must follow your heart and do what’s right for you.”

“The guilt is overwhelming sometimes. Stupid, isn’t it?”

“You’re very sweet. Not stupid.”

Helen took a deep breath and stretched out her legs beneath the table. The night sky was beginning to twinkle with stars, splintered diamonds on blue velvet. The scent of night blossoms was becoming intense. “I’m now feeling decidedly not sweet.”

Ricardo grinned and looked at her mischievously over the rim of his wine glass. “Should I be afraid?”

“You promised me a shower this morning, remember?”

“I did?”

Helen stood up and sent him a long look that she hoped spelled it out in big bold lettering. “Yes, you know very well you did, and now I really, really want it.” Her heart began to pound as he followed her lead, rose from his seat, and was suddenly very close.

“There were eight bathrooms in the place the last time I counted,” he said silkily and traced a warm fingertip across the top of her shoulder. One spaghetti strap slid off. “Where would you like to start?”

She felt as if her skin was on fire and hoped her eyes were smoldering sufficiently for him to guess that she didn’t just want to get clean. “The nearest one will do very nicely.”

“I see.” he slipped the other strap off and the silk slipped silently to her waist. “No bra?”

Her heart rate kicked up as he stared down at her exposed breasts. “No bra.”

She heard her own breath catch as he took both nipples between his fingers and began to tease them into hard sensitive peaks. “You’re very dirty, Helen. I think you’re right, an immediate shower is in order.”

She reached between his legs to confirm an unmistakable erection. “You’re filthy too, Almanza.”

“I certainly feel that way,” he whispered and lowered his mouth to the sensitive spot between her shoulder and neck. “Let’s fix that, shall we?”

Helen allowed a small moan to escape as he bit lightly into her flesh, sending tiny electrical darts of pleasure to the apex of her thighs. “Yes…”

The next few moments were a blur, but somehow they found themselves naked and in the master bedroom with Ricardo holding open the door to an enormous wet room. He turned on the jets, pulled Helen inside, and shut the door firmly behind them. His mouth had covered hers before she could say a single word.

Helen closed her eyes beneath the sharp hot darts of water and felt herself weaken as his hard body brushed up against her, the coarse hair of his thighs, large eager hands exploring her contours, his tongue exploring her mouth and a huge penis nudging up between her legs. “Let me wash you,” he murmured and trickled cold shower gel over her breasts.

She tensed for a moment, thrilling at the contrasting sensation of hot and cold, enraptured by the exotic scent of expensive essential oils. And then she felt the roughness of his hands spread the slippery potion over her nipples, teasing and plucking as he went. “Yes…”

“Hush,” he murmured, silencing her with his mouth and began to spread the lather down over her rib cage, around her back, over her buttocks and then massaged the bubbles into the triangle of hair between her thighs. She tried to touch him back, but he took hold of her hands and folded them behind her neck. “Not me this time,” he muttered. “Just you.”

She slithered a little as he pushed her gently up against the tiled wall, water gushing in torrents over them both, sensitizing her entire body with sharp little pulses of sensation. She felt the small mosaic tiles pressing into the back of her hands behind her neck, then into the soft flesh of her shoulder blades until her buttocks were pressed up against the wall too by his powerful hips and hands. “Stay just like that,” he said. “No touching me.”

“But I want to.” She opened her eyes to see the dark thunder in his eyes as he lowered his head to kiss her breasts, slowly, first one then the other, sucking each one hard until she shuddered and gasped.

“You may not touch me. Not this time.”

He slid one large hand behind her bottom against the wall and his other slipped quickly between her legs. She heard herself whimper as he put two fingers against her entrance, stroked them languorously back and forth brushing her clitoris and coating every part of her sex with foam. “Ricardo,” she muttered helplessly and then gasped as his fingers entered her. “I want to—”

“No,” his voice was harsh as he inserted a third finger, and his thumb began to rub her clitoris in delirious circles. “Not until I’ve watched you come.”

Helen lost the power of speech and the ability to resist him almost immediately. The feel of him pushing in, out and around inside her was unbearably erotic. His thumb was sending bolts of untamed energy to her breasts, crushing the breath out of her lungs with desire. Her thighs became weak and soft as his strong hands pushed her sex up against and into the wall with the motion of his thrusts and she opened them wider for him than she thought possible. No pain, no discomfort just blinding lust. “I want you inside me, Ricardo, please.”

“Not yet,” he said and began to use his entire body to urge her onwards. “Relax, let me do this for you, let go, come on me hard.”

She felt his chest rasp against her nipples, pressing urgently against her full wet breasts, his erection hot and hard against the base of her stomach, pushing into her hip, his balls so close to her center she could feel their soft weight against her skin. She was ready. “Yes, more.”

His voice was guttural. “That’s it, shout if you want to, it turns me on.”

Helen groaned loudly as he took a nipple deep into his mouth. “Harder,” she said and felt her hips buck involuntarily. “Yes, really hard.” Pleasure devoured her as her body was consumed by his touch. His hands, his mouth, even his breath against her skin was igniting her. And then the world turned black for a few seconds as she felt herself shatter into a spiraling orgasm. His voice became muffled as she cried out his name and an intense sensation spread throughout her body, rippling like waves of sin. Pure, decadent, selfish adult pleasure.

He held her close against him as her climax subsided, letting the water slide down and between them, washing away the foam until her skin felt squeaky. His tongue tasted sweet as he continued to kiss her and then the water stopped. “You’re clean now. Let me dry you.”

Helen silently allowed him to wrap her in a black cotton towel and carry her to the bed. He laid her down and she watched as he slowly dried himself in front of her, paying particular attention to the area below his taut, bronzed stomach. He was just inches from her face. “You’re massive,” she said and licked her lips.

“That’s all your fault.” He quickly pulled open the towel that was covering her. “And you’re all wet now, so I’m going to have to dry you off as well.”

He dabbed and stroked her breasts dry with the soft Egyptian cotton towel, ignoring her small cries of protest as he buffed her nipples gently into stiff peaks again. He kissed her and then went to work between her legs. The friction of the thick fabric was hugely erotic as he rhythmically stroked it backwards and forwards igniting the nerve endings of her sex until she couldn’t stand it much longer. “Let me touch you now,” she pleaded and reached towards him.

“No,” he said softly. “It’s all about you this time. I want to make you feel amazing. Indulge your fantasies. Tell me exactly what you want me to do and I will.”

Helen closed her eyes and shivered as his mouth brushed over her breast and the towel slid back and forth. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

She heard his breath stall as he watched her fingers trail to her other breast and start to stroke. “I’d like to watch you.”

“Watch me?”

“Yes.”

“You mean—”

“You know what I mean,” she said huskily. “Like when you’re on your own.”

“Naughty girl,” he said as she flipped onto her side and patted the bed.

She couldn’t believe she was doing it, suggesting he do that, but she could push the limits as far as he could. Maybe further. “Come on,” she whispered. “If you want to…”

He’d been hot, hard and ready ever since they’d got under the shower and her spine felt as if it was melting as he began. He closed his eyes, long lashes black against the smooth bronze of his skin and his lips parted slightly. She dared not blink as she watched his fingers, long and slender with square tips, and her breasts ached as they curled around and started to move.

He was beautiful and the scene unfolding in front of her was taboo, but he was letting her watch it, letting her into his secret world. The silence intensified her arousal. No talking or touching allowed as his rhythm became steady. Long, slow strokes just like with the bath towel and the shower gel. His mouth opened wider and she willed him to make a noise, but he didn’t, just his breath growing harsher and more feverish. His chest and shoulders grew tense, his movements more jerky, and she could stand it no more.

“Condom,” she muttered and put her hand over his to stall him. His eyelids opened with surprise, large black pupils circled with gold. “Now.”

“Top drawer.” She leant over him, and as she grabbed the handle he took a nipple into his mouth and sucked hard. He held her there for a few seconds and then bit down gently until she quivered. He let her breast drop free. “I should say no to you after what you just made me do.”

“Say no and I will have to kill you,” she gasped as she fumbled with the protection. “Christ, how do you ever get this thing open.”

“It’s a skill.” He snatched it from her fingers. “Now kiss me.”

She heard the condom rustle and then snap into place as her tongue tangled with his, and then felt the thick head of him pushing upwards against her entrance. She groaned against his lips as his hands came around her hips and pressed her buttocks up the length of his body and down until she was impaled with half his length. “Christ…”

“Too much for you, mistress?” He flexed his hips and pulled her down further, his eyes now flashing dangerously. “Can’t take what you hand out?”

“I can take it.” She moaned deeply as she braced her hands on his chest and took him all in. Stretched wide and deep, the sensation of him forced tight against the neck of her womb was intoxicating. Her breasts trembled as she tentatively began to ride him. “I can take everything you’ve got.”

“Then do it quickly.” He closed his eyes, the muscles of his neck straining as she slid back and forth, teasing his mouth with her nipples as her breasts swung against his face.

She closed her own eyes, reveling in the hedonism of their act, the feel of his balls tightening against her bottom and then his fingers dipping between them. “No,” she said as he flicked mercilessly beneath the soft hood of her clitoris. “Not yet.”

“Yes,” he said in a harsh voice, and thrust his hips upwards and increased the friction, exciting every inch of her until she began to tip over the edge.

She cried out as she arched her back, pressing into his hand and down hard on his huge penis. The image of him masturbating flashed into her mind as she felt him flex deliberately inside her, igniting the nerve endings at the front side of her vagina and making her gasp with the agony of it. She heard him cry out as his orgasm began, and the primal sound of him mating with her was too much for her to hold back any longer. Her body was strung tight with a thrilling pleasure she would never be able to forget or deny herself again, and she tumbled helplessly into a blazing ecstasy of mutual climax.