Untamed Italians. Janette Kenny
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didn’t know how a kiss could muddle her so, but she was lost in his embrace, in this moment. He pressed her into the bed without breaking the kiss and she started. How had he carried her to her bedroom without her being aware of it?
Then the question was lost as he stroked her arms, her back, her breasts, taking his time with each. The glide of her silk gown was a barrier she loathed and an aphrodisiac that heightened her pleasure.
Oh, and what pleasure he gave!
His mouth moved over hers with ravenous passion and she trembled, starving for more. Each bold thrust of his tongue parried with hers sent an answering throb to the very core of her.
She writhed against him, wanting something she could only imagine. It was as if she’d slumbered all her life and just came awake now.
“Kiss me, bella,” he murmured against her lips. “Kiss me like you want to.”
Dare she? Her experience was laughable, but her desire was great.
Her small hands glided up his bare chest, awed and emboldened by the telling tremors that passed from this tall, muscular man into her. His hands weren’t passive, either, and those long fingers gliding over her sensitized skin adored and teased in turn. How could she have thought this man hard and cruel?
They were chest to breast, yet she ached to be closer. She hooked her legs around his lean hips, the movement pressing her sex to the hard length of his.
The silk of her gown sheathed his penis, yet each shift of their bodies created a delicious friction that shocked and emboldened her. She wanted skin on skin, wanting to know this man as intimately as a woman could.
The desire was bold and totally unlike her. Yet she felt no shame. Just want.
Her mouth played over his, treating him to the same sensual torment he’d afforded her. A deep moan of satisfaction rumbled from him, melding with the blissful sighs she could no longer hold back.
“You are made for loving,” he said, his lips trailing over skin he’d just bared.
Her skin pebbled under his knowing touch, but old promises and new fears threatened to dampen her amorous mood. He made a growling sound of protest and continued his exploration of her neck, her breasts.
“You deserve a lifetime of amorous pleasure, mio caro.”
She tried to summon up anger that Stefano only wanted an affair with her. But his mouth settled over one bare nipple and a maelstrom of new sensations exploded within her.
What would be quickly faded into oblivion. Her life suddenly hinged on this sensual fever he ignited in her.
She arched against him and breathed a sigh of relief when he rid her of her gown, the sound of tearing silk more erotic than she could have imagined.
She gloried in those strong, masculine hands that played over her skin, amazed that he knew what she liked, what she craved, more than she knew herself.
In this there were no barriers between them. At least not physical ones.
They were a man and woman in the throes of a passion that was far too intense for her to imagine. Mio Dio, if Stefano was that passionately aggressive for an entire month, she’d never purge him from her mind.
No, don’t think on those terms! Don’t think of falling in love with Stefano.
But how could she not imagine giving her heart to this man when he whispered a litany of love words in her ear. When he made her feel desirable and wanted and loved.
“Bella,” he breathed as his sex filled her.
She gasped more from surprise and pressure than any pain that she’d been warned she’d feel this first time with a man. No, any pain she felt was in her mind—for what could never be between them.
He went still, his dark eyes registering a moment’s shock as well. And she knew that he recognized she’d been a virgin.
She could almost read the second doubts he was warring with himself. The surprise that she wasn’t what he’d accused her of being.
She arched against him. “Please, don’t stop.”
His expression became more intense, more possessive. Then his mouth captured hers in a long, drugging kiss that left her awash in pleasure and need.
She raked her fingers down his back and melted against him, reveling in the new sensations. So this was how it felt to be joined to a man.
She hadn’t imagined she’d feel so free. That this moment would feel so right.
Stefano cupped her face in his palms and locked gazes with her, and she marveled that even in the dim light she saw her need reflected in his dark eyes. “You are mine now. Do you understand?”
She nodded, but she refused to read anything into that arrogant comment besides the fact she was now his mistress.
Then he sank into her fully and withdrew before she could catch her breath, only to do it again and again. His mouth dipped to hers and she met him midway, the kiss going as wild and frenzied as his thrusts.
There were no more words, just an explosion of sensations and pleasures that their bodies understood.
She matched his strong, sure movements, clinging to him in helpless abandon. The sensations building within her were too huge, nearly too intense to bear. Just as she feared she’d faint from the sheer joy of finding completion in his arms, they climaxed together.
Gemma had heard the saying of two becoming one, but she hadn’t understood what it meant until now. She felt his heart beat in every pore in her body, felt the tension and power of the man rippling through her in sultry waves.
He rolled to his side and took her with him, still inside her, still holding her close to his heart. She nestled against the solid wall of his chest, his heartbeat loud and steady against her ear.
He was as much a part of her as she of him. She felt branded by his touch, his possession. She felt wanted and desirous and loved.
A delicious, drowsy warmth spread over her. She yawned, her last coherent thought was she’d be content to spend every night just like this.
This was heaven.
This was a delicious dream from which she never wanted to awaken. But she knew before she closed her eyes that it would end all too soon.
For the morning he was sure to pepper her with questions that she still couldn’t answer.
The whomp-whomp of the helicopter snapped Gemma from her euphoric dream. She lay in the bed a tense moment, disoriented by the splendor surrounding her.
The yacht.
Stefano.
This bed where they’d made love last night.
His masculine, spicy scent that lingered on the sheets and her skin. The tenderness of her breasts and the flesh between her legs.
She reached to his side. The sheet and pillow were cool. Not even an indentation remained to prove he’d been here.
The helicopter!
She bounded from the bed and winced, her body protesting the sudden movement in the wake of the erotic pleasure she’d gained last night. Her gown lay in a wad of torn silk on the floor.
Impatiently she tore through the closet to find a thick velour wrapper. She bundled up in it and rushed into the salon, still feeling cold inside.
A maid started from straightening the room. “Scusi.”
Gemma shrugged aside the woman’s apology. “Where is Stefano?”
The maid looked to the window. “He left.”
“In the helicopter?”
“Sì. May I bring your breakfast?”