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The scars were all small—a nick here, a graze there, a mark that might be a burn—and would have seemed insignificant, but why were there so many of them? And why were they all in places where they would be unlikely to be seen? Across his buttocks, on the small of his back, under one shoulder blade.
She stood, unable to take her eyes from him, realising that whatever—or whoever—had caused these injuries, Rene had never led a charmed life as she had always assumed.
Perhaps they had been accidental, caused by the reckless life he had led in his late teens and early twenties, but whatever had caused those scars, he had kept the extent of the damage hidden from everyone, including her.
Suddenly, she felt sick with guilt, for judging him and never questioning the validity of all the things said about him in the press over the years. He was still frequently referred to as the ‘playboy prince’—but how could he be that man when he hadn’t slept with another woman, hadn’t even had an alcoholic drink in four years?
He finished rinsing his hair, then slapped one palm against the quartz tiles, while his other hand disappeared in front of him.
The fog of guilt and recriminations cleared in a rush, though, when his arm began to jerk in furious motion, and he groaned.
The wave of arousal slammed back into her at the realisation that he was pleasuring himself. And she gasped.
He glanced over his shoulder and his hot gaze fixed on her face.
‘Melody?’ he murmured, his eyes glazed with desire, his hand still wrapped around the turgid erection when he turned towards her.
Trapped, exposed and so in need of him, she stared back, a furious burst of compassion tangling with desperate yearning.
He straightened away from the wall, stroking the thick length, but his gaze remained locked on hers. Raw need drew tight in her abdomen and made her nipples swell and harden beneath the damp bikini.
He dipped his head. ‘Take it off,’ he said, his tone thick with desire, the command unmistakable…and undeniable. ‘I want to see you, too.’
She obeyed without question—in thrall not just to his need now but also her own.
The kimono slid off her shoulders and dropped to the deck, the silk rough against her oversensitive skin. But her fingers were shaking too hard to unhook the bikini bra. She heard his gruff chuckle, and embarrassment scorched her cheeks as she gave up trying.
Who was she kidding? She’d never been a seductress, had never even attempted to do a striptease for a man before now.
He crooked a finger. ‘Come here.’
She hesitated.
‘Now, Melody, before I come get you,’ he said.
She did as he demanded, compelled to obey the urgent command. As he switched off the water and faced her, she couldn’t take her eyes from that thrusting erection, mesmerised by the length, the hardness, the girth, and the thought of having it lodged deep inside her again—branding her as his.
He tucked a knuckle under her chin when she reached him, his gaze aflame with heat when it met hers. ‘Turn around.’
She did as she was told. The bikini top snapped off and fell to the stone tiles. She covered her breasts instinctively, the weight swollen and heavy in her hands.
His arm wrapped around her waist to hold her steady as her knees weakened. The thick erection prodded her back as he devoured her neck with his mouth and his other hand delved into her bikini panties.
She sobbed, bucking against his hold, the touch too much, so much, as he found her clitoris and worked it ruthlessly.
She shot to peak, the orgasm brutal in its speed and intensity.
Hollowed out, floating in afterglow, she found herself scooped into his arms, her heart dangerously close to shattering too.
The guest bedroom, like hers in the main house, opened out onto the beach, the daylight dazzlingly bright. But when he dropped her onto the huge bed, then reached into the dresser, found a condom and ripped open the foil packet, it wasn’t the sunlight which left her dazed as the wave of afterglow cleared but the vicious yearning, not just for sex but for so much more.
‘Lose the panties,’ he demanded while rolling on the condom, his eyes fixed on her face.
She scrambled out of the bikini bottoms, everything inside her clenching and releasing, tensing and twisting with need, her heart most of all.
He cradled her hips, pulled up her knees to position her, then plunged deep in one ruthless, all-consuming thrust. Her body struggled to adjust—the too-stretched feeling overwhelming. But the frantic, furious strokes soon sent her soaring to another peak.
She clung to his shoulders, trying to control the rush of painful pleasure, the shattering weight of her heart pummelling her chest wall, even as her fingers slipped over damp flesh and touched the small scars.