Breathe You In (24 page)

“This has been wonderful,” he said,
pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“I agree, what a place. Do you think our
parents enjoyed it?”

“I don’t think you need to ask. I haven’t
seen my mother smile so much for years. She’s completely in love with you.”

“Is she?” I asked.

“Yes, she told me a while ago how perfect
you are for me. That she couldn’t imagine me with anyone else.”

“That’s nice.” I paused. “Did you…” I
should ask, ask if he took that conversation elsewhere.

“Did I what?”

But I couldn’t, what would I do with the
answer? “Did your dad have fun too?’

“Of course, if Mum’s happy he’s happy.” He
pointed into the distance. “Do you really want to do this walk? Our villa is
just there.”

I glanced to the right. Our secluded straw-roofed
luxury hut could just be made out through several twisted trees and a couple of
unruly bushes. A winding path of driftwood planks, lit with the occasional
solar light, led the way to the veranda.

“Not if you don’t want to,” I said.

“It’s not that I don’t want to.” He
stooped and swung me into his arms. “I’m just keen to consummate our marriage.”

“Ruben.” I laughed and linked my hands
behind his neck. “What are you doing?”

“I know this isn’t our real threshold, but
still, I’m a traditional type of bloke.”

He marched over the sand, holding me
tight. The sound of his bare feet hit the smooth driftwood, and I tucked my
face into his neck, breathed in the salt-laced scent of his sun-warmed skin.

“Let me,” I said, when he struggled to
hold me and unlock the door. I took the key and twisted it, tugged at the
handle.

Ruben caught it with his foot, kicked it
wide and stepped into the darkening villa. The door slammed behind us. “Here we
are, Mrs. Strong, welcome to your Barbados home.”

“I was here earlier,” I said, running my
fingers through his hair.

“Yes, but you weren’t Mrs. Strong then.
Now you are.”

“And proud to be.” I pulled him in for a
kiss.

He set me down and held me close. When he
began to slip my thin dress straps from my shoulders, I pushed him away. “Ah,
ah, no, no.”

“But it’s my right.” He grinned. “You’re
mine. All mine.”

I wagged my finger. “Naughty Mr. Strong.
Go and get on the bed.”

For a second I thought he wasn’t going to
do as I’d asked, but then he whipped off his shirt, tossed it on a wicker chair
and moved to the imposing four-poster bed that dominated the room.

I turned and faced the dressing table and
began to unpin my hair. Performing my task slowly and knowing full well he’d be
getting harder by the second. Each pin I dropped onto the shiny surface of the
table allowed another tendril of my hair to fall loose.

When my style was down, tickling my
shoulders, I reached behind myself and tugged the zip on my low-backed dress.
Once released, I let the material shimmy down my hips and legs, revealing my
white underwear. The bra was a corset, but a soft, comfortable one. The
knickers were thong, and I treated him to a good view of my buttocks as I bent
and retrieved my dress, staying stooped for a fraction longer than necessary.

Straightening, I caught his reflection. He
was watching my every move with his lips slightly parted. I noticed his
attention kept returning to the white garter with a small blue bow that circled
my right thigh.

I removed the silver necklace my parents
had bought me to wear for the day, set it next to the pins. The tiny crinkling
noise the chain made was loud in our silent room.

A swarm of desire took off inside me. It
would have been easy to rush, to persuade him to jump onto my bandwagon of
rampant lust, but I wanted it slow. Wanted this to be as special and treasured
a memory as when we’d first made love.

I opened the small drawer beneath the
table, took out my birth control pills. Turned and held them up.

“In the bin,” he said. “As we planned.”

A tiny wastepaper basket sat at my feet. I
let go of the strip of foil, half full of yellow tablets, and let it flutter to
the bottom of the plastic lining.

Done. As simple as that.

“Come here,” he said. “Let’s make love. Let’s
make babies.”

“Let’s make memories.” I sashayed to the
bed, rolling my hips suggestively, and my breasts moving a little in my corset.
“But first you have a job to do.”

“I like the sound of that.”

I set my foot on the bed, twanged my
garter. “I think tradition demands that you remove this with your teeth.”

He licked his lips. “Well, it’s a dirty
job, but I suppose someone’s got to do it, and like I said, I’m a traditional bloke.”

He maneuvered into position, captured the
lace frill in his teeth and dragged it down and over my knee. I studied his nose
that had a sprinkle of freckles from the sun. The feel of his breath, the touch
of his fringe on my skin, it made impatience bubble within me again, but half
the fun was keeping it protracted. Lingering over every move, every detail,
every sensation.

He paused halfway down my calf and kissed
my thigh, where the garter had been, kisses as tiny as diamonds, then resumed
his task, not cheating until it got looped on my toes.

“How is that?” he asked, holding it up
with one finger.

“Perfect.”

He set the garter on the bedside table then
slipped off his chinos and boxers. “I have a wife,” he said, reaching for my
hand and pulling me onto the bed with him. “I’m so excited that I can say, my
wife this and my wife that. My wife and I are going…”

“You can say all of those things,
husband.”

He grinned and tugged me down next to him.
He lay on his side, half over me, and when I bent the leg opposite from him he
sent his hand on a gentle drift from my ankle to hip and back again.

“I know sometimes we get a little wild,”
he said, kissing my cheek. “And I bloody love it. But tonight I just want to
make love to you. I just want to be as close as two people can possibly be.”

“That’s what I want too,” I said, feeling
his cock press against my leg, the smooth head already a little filmy with
desire. “That’s what I want more than anything.”

Together we discarded my thong, but I kept
my pretty, wedding-night corset on as he moved over me. I reached for his firm
buttocks and twined my legs around his. He slipped his arms beneath my
shoulders, held me firm and then found my entrance and pushed in on a long,
blissful glide.

Our lips hovered a hair’s-breadth apart as
our stuttered sighs and moans combined in a delicious melody of bliss.

“Katie?”

“Oh…oh, that’s it.” The feeling inside me
was so perfect, he was touching just the right place, the end of his cock
bumping over my sweet spot and then burying deep and good.

“Katie, this heart that beats in my chest…”

“Ruben.” I slid my hand up his back,
taking in every dip and curve of his sinewy muscles. “
Shh
…”

“No, I understand it now, perfectly.” He
pulled out, smoothed back in, full depth. He was staring down at me with sudden
urgency.

I coiled my fingers in the hair at the
nape of his neck, the over-long tendrils that were perfect for hanging on to.
“What, what do you understand?” I gasped.

His breath was warm and sweet and washed
over me as he spoke. “This heart was made to love you, Katie, and you alone.
Wherever it is, it beats only for you.”

THE END

If you enjoyed Breathe You In, check out
Lily Harlem’s
website
which
gives details of all her other erotic romance stories. You should note that
Breathe You In is the tamest end of Lily’s hot writing scale and she goes all
the way up to wild and kinky!

Keep reading here to sample the first
chapter of Lily’s sexy soccer novel,
SCORED
and the prologue and first chapter of her M/M/F novel
The Glass Knot
,
both of which boast many 5* reviews.

If you like sexy sports romance, Lily’s
on-going
HOT
ICE
series regularly receives industry nominations and awards.
There’s nothing like a hot, hard hockey player to get those
ebook
pages burning up!

Look out for the
Sexy as Hell
trilogy
coming soon – dark BDSM novels co-written with Natalie
Dae
that explore edgy fantasies and dangerous desires.

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Scored
by Lily Harlem – back cover information

Okay,
so I eat, sleep and breathe football and reporting the beautiful game is my
dream career. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have time for a major crush on the
England captain, Lewis Tate. The bloke is sex on legs, hot with a capital H.
Add in his awe‐inspiring talent, his brooding good looks and what’s not
to lust after?

So my
excitement is sky-high as I set off with the official press team to cover
England’s battle for the European Cup. But when a series of unfortunate, or as
it turns out fortunate events, attracts Tate’s attention my way, who am I to
say no?

Add in
a misogynistic manager, an over-zealous colleague, two blue silk ties and some
incredible ball-handling skills and it becomes clear the road to victory, for
me, will be an intensely erotic journey. Determined to savor every moment, I
hang onto my sanity as best I can while living the fantasy and wondering if it
can ever become reality. Because once Lewis Tate has taken me to heaven and
back, its clear no one else will ever compare.

The Glass Knot by Lily Harlem – back
cover information

What’s a girl to do when the guy she
falls for is married to another man?

This is
exactly what happened to me. Seeing Josh Kendal stroll out of the Mediterranean
Sea wearing tight navy swim trunks and looking like a hot new James Bond was a
truly delicious moment. Catching sight of his wedding ring was like a kick in
the shin and meeting his gorgeous husband, phew, that was enough to make any
girl groan at the cruel joke God was playing on her.

But all
was not as it seemed, and when Josh needed a woman to sort out a ‘delicate
predicament’ I was the one for the job – heck, what did I have to lose?
Certainly not as much as him, literally.

Trouble
is, emotions always get tangled, loyalties can’t help but be divided and with a
night of memories so hot they'd have the devil sweating, there was only one
thing for it—it was time to get honest, fight for what I wanted despite
society’s constraints and open my heart to the people it needed most.

Reader advisory - The Glass Knot is an
erotic romance featuring M/M and M/F love and every combination of two guys and
a girl you can think of!

Chapter One

“Please, please, excuse me. Can I just...”
I wriggled and shoved my way through the gaggle of sport reporters looming
before me, ducking and weaving like an agile gatecrasher as I held my iPhone
ready to record. “If I could just squeeze in here...please, thank you, thank
you very much...”

Finally I made it to the front of the
conference room. I was hot, flustered, anxious about my getting my question
heard and only too aware of the grumbles of complaint I’d left in my wake.

Tough shit. I was the only female reporter
in here; I barely reached five four in my heels, so if I was to have even a
slim chance of getting my few seconds with the England football team, then I
had to be at the front—the very front.

Squaring my shoulders, I tried my best to
secure my position within two giant journalists and looked around. Pinned onto
the wall in front of me was a large red and white England flag, before it a
long table with three empty seats and a man in a suit setting out tall, slim
glasses of water.

The reporter to my left suddenly lurched
forward, bumping me with his elbow. I grabbed his jacket to regain my balance,
but trod on the toe of the man the other side of me. Both ignored my stumbling
as they strained to see the doorway.

Stooping to peer beneath an arm, I spotted
two players and the team manager walking into the room.

The crowd behind surged, knocking into me,
almost swallowing me. But I stood my ground. Kept myself firmly planted at the
front. I might be little but I was tough, and as those who knew me would
testify, it was a grave mistake to underestimate me because of my size. Not
only that, if I was going to follow my team to the European Tournament with
this bunch of animals I would have to show them what I was made of from the
outset.