Bound To The Sicilian's Bed: Bound to the Sicilian's Bed. Annie West
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swollen contours until each taut and aching nipple was in an exquisite state of arousal. Instinctively she writhed against him and felt the hard cradle of his desire. And now the moaning sound she could hear was his as he deepened the kiss—underpinning it with a sudden sense of urgency.
‘Nicole,’ he said unevenly and she’d never heard him say her name like that before.
Her arms were locked behind his neck as again he circled his hips against hers in unmistakable invitation and, somewhere in the back of her mind, Nicole could hear the small voice of reason imploring her to take control of the situation. It was urging her to call a halt to what they were doing and to do it now, before it was too late. But once again she ignored it. Against the powerful tide of passion, that little voice was drowned out and she allowed pleasure to shimmer over her skin.
She drew back a little to pull some air into her lungs—and the expression on his face both shocked and thrilled her. Because she’d never seen Rocco look like this before. The tension had turned his features into a taut mask. His eyes were blackened with lust, their sapphire brilliance almost concealed by the dilated pupils. Two lines of colour flared along the edges of his high cheekbones and contrasted with the hue of his olive skin.
‘So, tesoro.’ His murmured words were provocative as his circling groin gave yet another candid demonstration of just how aroused he was. ‘Is this what you’ve been missing?’
Nicole swallowed. She should tell him not to be so arrogant. She should tell him a lot of things which were long overdue. But she was in no fit state to give a coherent answer because he was idly whispering his middle finger down over her midriff and somehow the barrier of her filmy shirt was making what was happening doubly provocative. So that instead of telling him to stop, she found herself whispering, ‘Yes.’
He gave a little groan of satisfaction as he slid his hand up beneath her shirt to cup the breast which was straining madly against her bra. So close to the skin, she thought frustratedly—and yet much too far away. Her mouth dried as he began to circle a nipple with his thumb and her eyelids fluttered to a close as she felt it puckering beneath the lace. How could a touch which was barely there feel so incredible? ‘Oh,’ she said, her voice sounding slurred against the seeking pressure of his kiss.
He gave a low laugh as his hand moved from her breast down to the waistband of her jeans and Nicole held her breath. Would he dare go further? Surely she shouldn’t allow this? She knew she ought to break the spell yet she was so in thrall to what was happening that she was powerless to move. She heard the rasp of her zip as he began to slide it down and she held her breath, praying he would continue even though she knew he ought to stop. And now he was slipping his hand into the space provided by the open denim, and was easing one finger on a downward path over the warm surface of her belly. She swallowed.
‘Is there something else you would prefer me to do?’ he murmured. ‘In which case, you’d better tell me, because although I have many skills where women are concerned, I’m afraid mind-reading isn’t one of them.’
His teasing incited her—it made the heat raging inside her intensify to such a pitch that the idea of calling a halt to this madness seemed unbearable. Yet it angered her, too. How dared he bring up the subject of other women at a time like this? Did he think she didn’t care about stuff like that? With a yelp of rage she kissed him hard and she could feel his mouth curving into a smile, because by now he was slipping his fingers inside her panties. And didn’t the molten wetness he encountered there seem like a kind of betrayal? A physical demonstration of just how much she still wanted him, no matter how much she wished she didn’t. Her head fell back as he began to circle the tip of her clitoris with a feather-light touch.
‘Oh, my,’ he said softly as she quivered uncontrollably beneath the rhythmic caress of his finger. He gave a soft laugh. ‘Oh, Nicole. Just like old times. So wet and so hot. I think we’d better do something about this, hadn’t we, mio tesoro?’
She opened her mouth to tell him he’d got it all wrong but her desire was so great that she couldn’t speak. And even if she could, what the hell could she say?
Stop what you’re doing because it’s wrong. It’s making me feel weak and vulnerable and I vowed never to let myself feel that way again.
Because right now she didn’t care about any of that. All she cared about was the way he was making her feel. So she stayed silent as layer upon layer of pleasure began to build—so sweet and so achingly familiar. It took her to such a pitch of sexual hunger that she found herself wanting to whisper his name over and over again, like some life-affirming mantra. She was going to come—she knew she was—when the sudden memory of his mocking words crashed into her mind and shattered the magic spell he was weaving.
Just like old times, he’d said.
But it wasn’t, was it? It was nothing like old times, when she’d still been naïve and foolish enough to think there was some connection between them, which could get deeper if they worked on it. They weren’t those star-crossed lovers she’d imagined them to be and nor were they the unlikely newlyweds with no idea how to communicate with each other. The past was gone and this was not how she intended her future to be.
Nicole clamped her hand over Rocco’s wrist, halting the finger still poised with tantalising precision over the engorged bud as she summoned up all the willpower she possessed. And although her body was screaming out its objections, she blocked them. Because she’d been through a lot to get to where she was today. She’d worked hard and built her little business up from scratch—and it might not be very much, but it was all hers. She was beginning to establish herself as the artist she’d always wanted to be before life and Rocco had sucked her up and wrung her out to dry. She’d even started to convince herself that one day she would be properly over him. Was she really prepared to jeopardise everything—including her precious self-respect—just because her hormones had been reactivated by Rocco Barberi’s overt sexuality?
Heart pounding, she yanked his hand out of her panties and stepped away to turn her back on him while she readjusted her clothing. Her cheeks were burning as she zipped up her jeans and smoothed down her white shirt while the silver chains around her neck jangled like wind chimes. Slowly she came back to reality, blinking as she took in her surroundings to realise that they’d been making out on a penthouse terrace not far from Monaco’s picture-book harbour. And while they weren’t exactly being overlooked, what was to stop someone on one of those fancy yachts from peering through a pair of binoculars and seeing them? Some paparazzi photographer taking a few candid snaps to earn himself some unexpected money? Or one of Rocco’s staff turning up with papers for him to sign? She gave a violent shudder of remorse as she turned on him.
‘How dare you try to have sex with me?’ she hissed.
Unabashed, he shrugged. ‘That isn’t the message I was just getting. And isn’t it a little late in the day for such an outraged reaction? I thought only teenagers played games like that.’
‘I wasn’t playing games!’
‘Letting me go only so far and no further?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t consider that an adolescent game?’
‘Not in the circumstances, no. You were making me feel like...like an object.’
‘I was making you feel pleasure,’ he corrected. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
She shook her head. ‘And now you’re insulting me by asking such a dumb question. Having sex with you would complicate an already complicated situation—we both know that. And that’s not the reason I’m here.’
‘But you wanted me,’ he said slowly, his bright sapphire gaze taking in the breasts which were still heaving beneath her filmy shirt. ‘You want me now. Your body is crying out for me to touch you again. Surely even you wouldn’t deny that, Nicole.’
Nicole bit her lip, angry that he could look so cool and controlled when she felt so hot and bothered. Hating the fact that if she denied his accusation, she could rightly be accused of hypocrisy. And she didn’t have to answer him. She could flounce off this terrace any time she