Spanish Heat

Unable to stop himself, Antonio tucked a loose strand of hair behind Serena’s ear. She stiffened. Her shoulder muscles tensed, and her throat moved delicately as she swallowed. His cock jumped at the sight.

“Please,” she said softly.

“Please what, mi querida?” Antonio whispered, leaning toward her. He should step away, give her room to breathe, but he couldn’t tear himself away. He couldn’t be in the same room without wanting to touch her.

“Please don’t,” Serena whispered. “We shouldn’t do this. I’m a professional, and I’m here on assignment. This isn’t right.”

“This is right,” Antonio said, straightening. “Besides, you just said the management should take a more—how do you say it?—hands on approach to welcoming the guests.”

Serena smiled and glanced at his hands, just for a second, but it was enough. He grinned.

“Antonio, I’m not here to tell you how to run your resort.”

“Then why are you here?”

It was a dangerous question, one so loaded with possibility that a lesser woman might avoid it all together. But Serena was better than that.

She bit her lip, then shook her head and threw her hands up in the air. “Oh, what the hell. I came here for an encore, and I don’t really think it’s fair if I leave without one.”