First Strike by Pamela Clare

and just let the erotic thrill of being devoured by him carry her along, her cheek now pressed against the tile, her breath coming in ragged pants.
    But then he thrust his tongue inside her—and she shattered.
    She cried out, her orgasm so intense that she reached down between her thighs to cup herself as if to hold herself together, his tongue fucking her, forcing its way past her clenching muscles to stroke her until at last her climax had passed. She sagged against the cold wall, breathing hard.
    But he wasn’t finished.
    He drew her upright and turned her in his arms, his mouth coming down on hers, her own musky taste exploding across her tongue. He caught her left leg with his hand and wrapped it around his waist, his breath leaving his lungs in a rush as he slid inside her. “You are so tight, so sweet.”
    She clung to him, her senses filled with him as he picked up the rhythm, his powerful thrusts carrying them both over the edge.
     
     
    Laura turned off the water, resting her head against the hard wall of Javier’s chest, his arms encircling her, his heart thudding as hard as hers. The bathroom air was heavy with the scent of sex, his salt and her musk mingling in the steam. She might have stayed like that forever had the hotel phone on her night stand not begun to ring.
    “ Helvete !” She pushed out of the shower stall, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around herself as she ran to answer. She reached it on the fourth ring. “Laura Nilsson.”
    “Miss Nilsson,” a man’s voice said, “I am sorry to disturb you, but we have received a complaint about noise coming from your room. Your neighbor said it sounded as if you were screaming or fighting with someone.”
    Laura’s pulse skipped, her mind racing.
    Think fast, Nilsson, or get ready for a few years in prison.
    She let a quaver come into her voice. “I-I’m very sorry. I received some very upsetting news from home tonight. I was … crying. I didn’t realize I was disturbing anyone.”
    She looked up to see Javier listening, a towel wrapped around his narrow hips, beads of water on his bare chest. He moved quickly and silently to the door, looked out the security peephole, then glanced over at her and shook his head.
    No one was listening in the hallway.
    “I am very sorry to hear that, Miss Nilsson. Is there any way we at the Radisson may be of help to you?”
    “I’m afraid not. There’s nothing to do now but pray for my grandmother.” Laura hated to lie, but she was pretty sure she’d hate prison more.
    “I will keep her in my prayers, Miss Nilsson. So sorry to have troubled you.”
    “I’m the one who is sorry. I let myself get carried away.” Yes, she had, but with sexual bliss, not with grief or worry. “I’ll make certain not to disturb anyone further.”
    The man wished her a good-night and hung up.
    Laura did the same, then turned and glared at Javier, fighting not to laugh.
    He shrugged, an innocent look on his face that had no right to be there. “What? You were the one who screamed.”
    She tried not to smile. “You made me do it.”
    A grin spread on those magical lips of his. “I told you I would.”
     
     
    Javier finished addressing the postcard he planned to mail to Mamá Andreína and set it together with the pen he’d borrowed on Laura’s nightstand. “How long has it been since you’ve been home—and where is home, exactly?”
    They lounged naked on the bed facing each other, sharing a bowl of Medjool dates, Javier trying to stay aware of the time.
    As much as he wanted to ignore the clock, he knew he had to leave her soon. It was already nearing midnight, and he had an early flight. He still needed to pack his duffel, confirm his reservation, print out his boarding pass, get some sleep.
    Then again, who needed sleep? He could sleep on the plane.
    “I have a flat in Manhattan, but I haven’t been there for almost six months.” She nibbled a date, daintily prying the pit out with her fingers. “I spent my