Breathe You In (A Sexy Romance) Page 17

  My mother giggled and nudged Veronica. “Sounds fun. What do you think?”

  “Sounds like a cultural experience.” Veronica nodded, her eyes wide and looking a little unsure.

  I caught my dad’s gaze and grinned. His cheeks had flushed with the cocktails, and he looked more content than I’d seen him in a long time.

  “Are you two coming?” he asked.

  “Oh, no,” Ruben said quickly. “We have a romantic stroll along the beach planned for our first evening as man and wife.”

  “That sounds lovely,” my mother said, placing her napkin on the table and standing. “And you couldn’t have chosen a nicer spot to enjoy a walk in.”

  “It is stunning, isn’t it,” I said, looking at the near deserted beach that stretched into the distance.

  Hues of gold and amber created a magical glow, and the ocean was turning deep blackcurrant. The sand was lined with a scramble of foliage; ferns, palms and huge cerise flowers I didn’t know the name of. The outline of a tumbling mountain, also a mass of greenery, paraded into the sea as though guarding our hotel resort.

  After more hugs, plans to meet for lunch the next day in the hotel’s rooftop café, and Trevor’s excited rush to head off to see the limbo dancing, Ruben and I walked to the water’s edge.

  He rested his hand on my shoulder, and I slipped my arm around his waist. I lifted my dress just high enough so the salty water didn’t catch the hem.

  “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 hov
ered 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!

  SCORED BY LILY HARLEM

  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.

  I watched the footballers take their seats. The captain, Lewis Tate, sat in the middle, his angular jaw tight, his mouth a straight line and his sharp blue eyes assessing the scene. He shoved his hand over his dark blond hair, took a sip of water then rubbed the famous vertical dent in his chin with his index finger.

  My heart skipped a beat. I’d admired him for many years but this was the first time I’d seen him up close. His skill as a striker was second to none and he more than deserved his captaincy as the team went into the tournament. If anyone could get the goals when they mattered, when the pressure was on, then Lewis Tate could.

  The team’s best defender, Neil Bryers, sat to his right. All impossibly wide shoulders, broad chest and skin the color of the darkest night. On the other side, sat Gavin Fellows, England manager, and one-time England captain himself. I’d seen him on several occasions. He was matter-of-fact, said it how it was. I rated his abilities in managing the team.

  “Thank you all for coming today,” Fellows said, leaning forward to speak into the static microphone on the desk in front of him. “This, as you know, is the last press conference in the UK. Tomorrow we head to Donetsk and the day after begin our journey that will end in us lifting the European Cup. So if we could have questions in an orderly manner then everyone will get a chance to ask what they need to.” He looked at the tall reporter to my right and nodded. “Ted, you wanna start?”

  Ted puffed with importance then immediately tried to look nonchalant about the fact Gavin Fellows knew his name. “Yeah, thanks. Lewis, what kind of mood are the team in after the nil-nil result in the friendly against Spain last month? Surely they are feeling nervous about taking on France after that?”

  Lewis Tate folded his arms and raised one eyebrow. “The mood is positive, as always. That score was perfectly respectable. A decision didn’t go our way but if it had then it would have been a defeat for Spain.”

  I watched his lips as he spoke. He had a soft, wide mouth that although sensuous wasn’t prone to smiling. Press photographs always seemed
to catch him serious, brooding, as if thinking about tactics and strategies even when walking into a restaurant or hanging out on a beach. Tonight he looked like he could do with a bit of lightening up. I suspected his ultra glamorous girlfriend, Naomi George, would take care of that later in their hotel room. Goodness only knew what she could do with a hot body like his to make him feel better.

  I suppressed a shiver of appreciation. It was no secret that beneath his football shirt there were the sculpted muscles and sinewy tendons worthy of a Grecian God. He wasn’t just the player to put money on in terms of skills, he was also the guy all the top designers wanted to wear their clothes, feature in their adverts and endorse their products

  “Next, er, you.” Fellows pointed over my head to the reporter on my opposite side.

  I jigged in frustration and thrust my iPhone further forward, hoping to be picked next.

  “Ryan Dell, Mirror. Can I just ask what the policy is on wives and girlfriends? Are they traveling to the Ukraine with the team, and if so, what are you going to do to keep the players, er, fresh for the morning?”

  Gavin gave a humorless huff. “Wives and girlfriends are not staying here at the Hilton tonight, and as per policy, they will not be traveling with us. The England team is going to the Ukraine to work, not holiday, and I’m insisting on no distractions of any kind, on or off the pitch.”

  Ah, of course, no wonder Lewis looked more pissed off than usual. He wouldn’t be getting any for weeks. Starting tonight.

  “You,” Fellows said, moving his attention to the back of the room.

  “Phil Adams, Sportsline. Neil, how do you think the defense is looking now that Harley is injured?”

  Neil Bryers shrugged. “At the end of the day, injuries happen. It’s a shame for Harley but I have every confidence in Taylor. He’s young, fast, playing great, and his experience is growing all the time.”