Serpent Sting. Toni Grant
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He gently touched it a second time. She was killing him! She settled back on his groin, pressing hard against him.
His arms remained outstretched. Francesca studied his position and met his eyes with a satisfied look. “Yes, that’s exactly the way they laid me out,” she said.
“What happened next?” He was almost too afraid to ask.
“Then they took turns at teasing me.”
“How?” he croaked.
“They said, ‘She’s a virgin. Let’s get her ready.’ They kept saying things like that.” Francesca lowered her voice. “Then they all circled my breasts with their fingers. Like this.” Slowly her fingers ran around her breasts in a figure eight. She grabbed his hand to do the same.
Nicholas watched her pulse catch at her throat. Francesca pressed his hands flat against her, covering her breasts.
“I screamed, ‘Get away from me,’” Francesca continued, releasing her hold on him. His arms fell to rest on her thighs.
“The girls all laughed and climbed all over me. I screamed again and they said, ‘Francesca, no one will hear you here. That’s why Nicholas loves this place. When we scream out his name, only the wind and the ocean can hear.’ Is that true Nicholas? Do you take girls there? Do you want to hurt them? Why do you want to make them scream?”
“Yes, I do take them to that place, but never to hurt them, Francesca. We’re all willing partners, I can assure you.” Nicholas paled. “Did these girls do anything else?”
“Yes.” Francesca lowered her eyes. Nicholas lifted her chin gently to face him.
“Tell me, love. Francesca, it’s important that I know everything that happened.” He spoke tenderly, easing her into the difficult subject.
Francesca frowned momentarily, searching his dark eyes and bit hard on her lip.
“Giuliett said ‘Stop! It’s my turn.’ The girls pulled me to my feet and held my hands behind my back. One sniggered and I saw them all looking at each other.”
Francesca pulled Nicholas up from the floor and demonstrated, one hand tightly clasping his wrists behind him. She watched in awe as the extent of his fitness took shape. Muscled shoulders and his bare chest filled her vision and as her hand ran along the bunched biceps and powerful forearms Francesca curiously watched them flinch at her touch.
“Giuliett did this,” she whispered.
Her fingernail lightly traced the outline of his lips and jaw as Giulietta had done to her. She moved closer to Nicholas, breathing close to his lips and pressing her face to his. Breathing slowly and deliberately, menacing, before drifting slightly away.
Francesca placed a measured kiss on each cheek and stopped millimetres from his lips. Nicholas felt the threatening power of her and he stilled, waiting, defiant, just as Francesca must have done with Giuliett.
Francesca brushed her lips against his, paused, before pressing them again. Nicholas tasted her inexperience and suckled gently.
Through renewed tears, Francesca opened her mouth to him. Wrenching his hands free Nicholas cradled her face, pushing his fingers into her knotted, auburn hair. Her bewildering passions exploded.
The kiss deepened. Hands slid around her neck and shoulders, pinning her between the bedroom wall and his strength. Francesca melted into him.
She breathed out at the sensation. “More,” she whispered.
Anticipation gripped his shoulders as fingers expertly released the remaining buttons of her dress and the ties of her bikini. He stripped the swimsuit away. Through the thin cotton fabric, he rubbed her, teased her, watching her expression and the passionate call of her eyes. When at last he tasted the sweetness of her, she breathed his name softly.
Hungry lips again crushed hers and Francesca tasted herself, a heady mixture of Dior and sunshine. She smiled at him.
A warm, growing heat came from him. Her hands sought to touch it.
Pulling at his swim shorts, she found skin. Her soft touch explored his hips and buttocks and in a rush of emotion, returned to meet his coarse hair. Francesca felt the urgency inside her stomach bubble up and escape from her lips. She kissed him hard exploring the softness of his neck and bit down gently.
Nicholas groaned. Releasing the binding cord, he encouraged her fingers to explore his need for her.
Francesca gasped at the silky hardness of him, marvelling at the feel of it before quickly returning to the safety of his chest. Her hands slid along his bare chest and shoulders. She bent her head to taste, flicking her tongue over the raised bumps as he had done to her, before nuzzling his neck.
Tantalizing, intoxicating and completely out of reach. Without the slightest clue, she’d placed Nicholas completely under her spell. Again.
He tasted her lips, found the softness of her mouth, before reluctantly pulling his head away from her. He held her close, cradling her against his shoulder. Gently he pulled her hips onto to him. His father would have his balls if he seduced her.
He would do it anyway.
“It was like that but without the last kiss from you,” she mumbled against his bare chest, wrapping her arms around him. “That didn’t happen because I screamed in her face and ran away. I had to find you Nicholas. I had to find you and be safe.”
Breathing heavily, Francesca burrowed into the masculine scent of his neck and chest, her soft lips pressing against the spiky roughness. She licked at the hollow of his neck sighing at the new sensations filling her and spoke dreamily.
“Kiss me again, Nicholas. I want to know what those other girls know.”
Francesca’s hand tentatively slid down his stomach, reaching into his shorts. She breathed out pleasurably. “And I’m ready for you to teach me.”
Nicholas woke with a dry mouth and his hand on his cock.
The gentle rocking of the boat lulled him back to the present. He struggled to bring his thoughts together in the haze of past and present. His weary eyes searched the yacht’s bedroom in the vain hope of seeing her appear before him.
God, would he ever get over her. It was not enough that he bore the physical scars of their secret relationship. Every night his dreams were filled with her. And every day, when he dressed, he was reminded of the girl he’d lost at the hands of his irrational father. Nicholas would risk it all again just to see her one more time.
Sitting at the edge of the bed, Nicholas found his bearings and shifted focus. He sifted through the outcomes of the mission and the moments before he’d fallen asleep on the luxury yacht.
Last morning, at Seta’s villa, he’d tasted success. And it was bitter. Six years of specialist military training had prepared him for the physical duties he’d undertake. To focus on the task and ignore the emotion required self-control. A skill learnt from his mentors.
For the most part Nic was accepting of his new and anonymous life. A nephew indebted to his uncle. Alessandro had created the opportunity for a son to right the wrongs of a father. In this new regime he was a ghost, silently slipping between the layers of organised crime, protected by his uncle’s vast network of wealth and influence. To the world, and in the eyes of the past, Nicholas Delarno was dead.
Physically and mentally, Nic was stronger than he’d ever been. It was the emotional journey that challenged him the most. Just when would he heal and how could he, when the chilling reminder of his mafia connections taunted his mind and scored his body every day?
When at this moment, any effective solution was as elusive as Francesca herself.
Once on board the yacht, Nicholas had immediately sought refuge in his room, isolation and sleep. It was the only way he could deal with his past when these particular emotions threatened.
Pushing his hands through closely cropped hair, again