It Started With A Proposition: Blackmailed into the Italian's Bed / Contract with Consequences / The Passion Price. Miranda Lee
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room, kicking the door shut behind them.
Jordan was no longer a romantic teenager. She’d learned in the decade post-Gino that falling in love did not come as easily when you’d seen more of life. And of men.
When Gino curled his hands over her shoulders and leant her back against him Jordan realised she didn’t care if she still loved him or not. Her desires had moved past the point of no return. She was Gino’s woman again. At least for tonight. No, for the whole weekend.
An erotic shiver rippled down her spine as he eased her jacket off her shoulders.
‘Do you wish to go to the bathroom first?’ he whispered.
‘No,’ she choked out.
Her jacket gone, he turned her round and began unbuttoning her blouse. When her nipples tightened within her bra, she closed her eyes.
‘Open your eyes,’ he commanded.
She obeyed him, if a little reluctantly.
‘Now keep them open. I want you to see that it is Gino making love to you.’
‘You think I wouldn’t know it was you, even with my eyes closed?’
His smile was almost smug. ‘You have not forgotten me?’
‘I remember everything about you, Gino,’ she said, echoing his words down in the bar.
His eyes smouldered as he stripped the blouse from her body, then her bra.
‘Then you will remember I am not always a patient lover.’
Jordan’s mouth went dry.
Sometimes, when he’d come home from work, he’d lifted her skirt and taken her swiftly, standing up. No foreplay. Just his flesh filling hers whilst he told her how he’d thought about doing this to her all day.
His impassioned words had excited her as much as his actions, sending her over the edge within a shockingly short space of time.
She shuddered at the thought that this was what he was going to do to her now. Though he couldn’t, could he? Not with what she was still wearing.
‘You should not cover your beautiful body with clothes such as these,’ he told her, as he unzipped her pin-striped trousers and pushed them down over her hips. When they pooled onto the floor she stepped out of them, leaving her standing there in nothing but cream cotton panties, beige knee-high stockings and sensible black pumps.
‘Ridiculous,’ he growled, his top lip curling at the sight of her. ‘Get them off. Get everything off!’
She might have done as he ordered if he hadn’t started undressing himself, tossing aside his black leather jacket and reefing the white T-shirt over his head in a flash.
The sudden baring of his chest kept her rooted to the spot, her heart thudding as her eyes washed over him. He was leaner than he had been ten years ago—leaner, yet still utterly gorgeous.
‘Do you want me to do it? Is that it?’ he asked as he unzipped his jeans and shoved them down, taking his underpants with them.
Jordan swallowed. ‘What?’
Gino shot her a frustrated glance before sitting down on the edge of the bed and yanking off his shoes and socks.
Once totally naked, he remained sitting there, his dark eyes narrowing as they travelled up and down her tautly held body.
‘You are thinner,’ he said.
‘So are you,’ she countered, desperate to find some strength to fight the wave of weakness which was washing through her. ‘And your hair’s shorter.’
‘Is yours?’
‘No.’
‘Then take it down.’
She just stood there, willing herself not to blindly obey him, as she once had.
His dark eyes glittered. ‘If you don’t, then I will.’
Jordan’s hands lifted to pull out the pins which anchored her French pleat, her hair spilling down over her shoulders.
‘Now come here,’ he said, and moved his knees apart, drawing her gaze to those parts of his body which she’d been trying not to stare at.
Jordan stiffened. What did he want her to do?
‘Put your right foot up here,’ he said, patting a small area of the bed in front of him.
Relief loosened her frozen muscles, and she moved forward to do as he suggested.
He slipped off her shoe and tossed it aside, then peeled the short stocking down her leg, his fingers caressing her calf as he did so. Then her ankle, and then the sensitive sole of her foot.
‘Mmm,’ he said, once her leg was bare. ‘Cream nail polish on your fingers, scarlet red on your toes. I wonder if your work colleagues know the real you, Jordan? The other foot, please.’
‘And who is the real me?’ she said, struggling to keep her voice steady whilst he gave the other foot the same erotic treatment.
‘You’re a closet exhibitionist. And a sensualist.’
Jordan grimaced when he pulled her foot towards him, pressing her toes into him.
‘Rub your foot up and down on me,’ he said.
When she did, a raw groan broke from his lips.
‘You see?’ he said, grabbing her ankle and depositing her by then unsteady foot back on the floor.
She saw nothing, her mind having tipped from reality into that wildly erotic, heart-pounding world where desire ruled and pleasure beckoned.
‘Come closer,’ he commanded.
When she did, he dragged her panties down to her ankles, then bent forward to kiss her stomach.
Jordan’s belly tightened under his lips, her hands lifting to rake through his hair. She groaned when he swirled his tongue in her navel, gasped when his hands slid between her legs, whimpered when his fingers slipped inside her…
His head suddenly lifted from her stomach. ‘Don’t let go yet,’ he warned her, even whilst he continued the most intimate exploration of her body.
‘Oh, God, Gino. I can’t. I…Please…Please…’
‘Now you are the impatient one. I like that. Would you like me inside you now? Tell me how much. Tell me,’ he urged, his eyes like shining black coals as they gazed up at her.
‘Stop tormenting me,’ she cried.
‘But I find I am enjoying it. It makes me feel good to see you this desperate for me.’
‘Just do it, for pity’s sake!’
She was on the bed and under him before she could utter another word. He hooked her ankles over his shoulders, then drove into her. Deep.
‘Is this what you wanted?’ he muttered as he pounded into her.
‘Yes,’ she panted. ‘Yes.’
‘You can come now,’ he growled, just as she splintered apart in an orgasm which blew her mind even further than it was already.
Dimly, she heard him cry out, her senses no longer her own. She was lost, drowning in the heady sensation of his hot seed flooding her womb, exulting in the feel of his flesh pulsating in a rapturous tandem with her own.
It wasn’t till some time afterwards, when their bodies had finally become as quiet as the room, that Jordan’s brain kicked back into gear, her stomach somersaulting at the realisation that Gino hadn’t used any protection.
Not that this was a total disaster. She was on the pill. But her own lack of thought in that regard—and, more to the point, his—was a real worry.
‘Gino,’