Losing control

Her kisses continued down his neck, onto his right shoulder, all the while tasting, devouring.

He turned so that he sat sideways on the couch with his back to her, one knee on the cushion.

Abbey settled herself in behind him, touching his bare back with both hands and pressing her breasts into him.

Damien let out a ragged breath, his head came back, and Abbey could hear him sucking in air.

Good, she thought. It was working.

But not only on him.

Abbey's nipples screamed to be released from beneath her top. She almost obliged. She wanted to feel skin on skin, but she was all too aware of that camera with the telephoto lens on the other side of the road.

She let her hands slip around Damien's waist. Instead of flinching, this time he pushed back into her, as if he wanted to feel her nipples, harden them. She played with his, twisting them into points, and was gratified to get a gasp in return.

He was hot, she realized. Ready. He was getting as much enjoyment out of this as… she was.

No, this was not supposed to happen. She was not supposed to enjoy it! Sex with a complete stranger was wrong. Bad.

Abbey was never bad.

Then again, he wasn't a complete stranger. She'd read his file...

She closed her eyes, but they flew open again when Damien's hand brushed her leg. It moved higher, stroking, caressing the bare flesh.

Her own breath had become ragged now. The higher that hand moved the more she realized she wanted him. She wanted to push him down on the couch and ride him until they were both spent.

Control, Abbey. Get a grip.

But control was long gone. The higher that hand went, on its too-slow journey, the less control she had.

Her heart was racing now, thudding against Damien's back, and her skin felt papery thin, fragile, as her nerve endings screamed for his touch.

Damien half turned toward her to get into a better position so his hand could continue. It moved upwards and inside, under her skirt, heading higher.

Then it stopped.

She caught her breath and her gaze rose to his face. He was looking at her. Dark, hooded eyes glazed with heat and passion flashed back at her, questioning her.

In answer, she moved, just an inch, but it was enough, and his fingers brushed against the film of lace. She drew in a sharp breath and her nails dug into the muscles of his back.

More. She wanted those fingers higher, inside her. She wished she'd dispensed with the underpants tonight as well as the bra to make his job easier.

Damien obliged her need and rubbed, his fingers dipping into her wetness, the lace offering little barrier. Abbey moved her hips so his fingers slid further inside.

She was almost kneeling on the couch beside him now, and his face was at her breasts.

She took his head in both her hands and gently pulled him to her. He licked at one nipple through her tight top and it puckered, begging for more. He focused for a moment on the other one, drawing it into his mouth, sucking, nibbling.

Abbey's gasp shocked even herself. And it was enough to bring her crashing back to earth.

This wasn't right. She was supposed to be seducing him, not the other way around. And although Lucy may have got some great shots already, she'd stressed the part about getting him naked. And he wasn't. Not yet.

With a sigh of regret, Abbey released herself from Damien's fingers and his tongue and concentrated on him instead.

She unwrapped the towel from his waist and drew it open, exposing the steadily beating, hard as a rock, erection. It was up, straight up, almost flat against his stomach. It begged to be stroked, caressed, licked.

He let out a sigh then a tiny moan as she took it into her palm. He leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes as Abbey explored with her fingers, lightly touching the ridges, the veins, the smooth tip.

His breathing became loud, forced, and his eyelids fluttered.

"That feels so good," he whispered. "Don't stop. Please."

The plead made her heart thump. It was as if he hadn't felt a woman's hand there in a long time. As if he wanted—no, needed—it to go on, until the end.

She watched his face as her hand massaged. The muscles along his square jaw jumped and his sensuous lips parted.

Damien Vane was a gorgeous man. No wonder he had so many women. The thought of that long list of mistresses, and the angry wife, made Abbey's hand miss a beat.

But Damien didn't appear to notice. His Adam's apple leaped once, twice, and his hand found Abbey's leg again. He pushed her skirt up the short distance it needed to go so he could get his hand inside. He rubbed against the damp panties, pressing her swollen folds.

Abbey closed her eyes, then forced them open. She removed her hand from Damien and stood, nearly overbalanced, then wobbled on her high heels to the window. If she was going to take this further, she at least wanted to keep some of her dignity.

"What are you doing?" Damien asked thickly.

She closed the blinds and turned back to him. He looked like a pagan God, sitting naked on the couch, his legs parted, his manhood standing to attention.

"The moon's too bright."

The sound of her voice surprised her—it was heavy with lust.

She pulled the tiny top over her head then unzipped the tight skirt, wiggling it down her bottom and thighs and letting it puddle at her feet.

She hooked her thumbs into her lacy thong, and began to lower them too, but Damien, entranced by the show, held up his hand.

"Stop," he said huskily. "Turn around."

Something in his voice made her obey. His was a voice used to commanding, used to getting him his own way. Usually she hated being spoken to that way, but not tonight. Tonight she wanted to obey every command he gave to bring the evening to its logical, inevitable and very satisfying conclusion.

She turned, slowly, giving him full view of her butt and the cotton thong slicing her cheeks in half.

Aware of his black eyes on her, she did something she'd never done for any man. She swayed to a rhythm in her head. With her back facing him, Abbey ran her hands down her waist, round her gyrating hips and placed one on each cheek.

She let them explore across her skin, enjoying the way she felt and knowing he wanted to do the same. She glanced over her shoulder, cheekily giving him a view of her breasts and behind at the same time.

His face was distorted with desire as he stood, mesmerized.

She turned to face him fully.

"I want you," he whispered.