The Italian Boss's Secret Child(7)

What was happening now with Damien couldn't be more different. Right now  making love with Damien felt like her destiny. A destiny she felt  powerless to deny.

With his hand at her back steering her towards an exit, she allowed him to propel her towards that destiny.

He swooped and opened a side door in her path, his other hand  encouraging her through to the dimly lit hallway beyond. He pulled the  door shut behind them and spun her against the wall in the same  rapid-fire action.

Her back met the wall at the same instant his mouth meshed with hers.

Frantic.

Hungry.

His lips slanted over hers and a moment later he was inside, his tongue  seeking hers. He tasted rich and real, of masculine heat and warm  brandy, and she let herself go with the sensation, the ecstasy of him  filling her mouth.

One hand found her breast and she gasped as his fingers grazed her nipple, searing through the light fabric.

The other dropped to her skirt and he filled his hand with the round of  one perfect cheek. Her muscles tightened in response and he was rewarded  by the push of her belly into his growing hardness.

He growled, long and low, at the building tension, the anticipation of its relief, and she squirmed under his hands.

His touch was a brand on her, exploring, pushing, urgent and hot. Need  radiated inside her like a fire front, the flames spreading wider until  every part of her was alight. The oxygen delivered by her rapid breaths  fuelled the flames.

The door alongside swung open. Someone looked around, mumbling a quick  apology before diving back into the auditorium. Damien pulled his mouth  away giving a low soft curse. He grabbed her hand again. 'Come on,' he  said.

She followed behind him down the corridor, senses reeling as he tugged  her insistently along, then round a corner, up a flight of stairs and  over a parquet floor. He stopped outside a pair of solid doors flanked  with impressive brass framing. The boardroom. He pulled something from a  pocket somewhere-a keycard-and shoved it through the slot. In the  wooden surrounds and over the muted sounds of the revelry below the  click echoed loud and long. And final.

She swallowed as logic fought for precedence in her mind. Once inside there was no turning back. No chance to change her mind.

But she had no intention of changing her mind. There was no way she  didn't want to follow this scene through to its logical conclusion.  She'd come too far.

He pulled her into the room, though she hardly needed persuading. The  door closed behind them and he turned the lock. They were alone, the  room unlit but for the venetian blind dressed window sending slices of  moonlight cascading across the sleek boardroom table.

Her eyes adjusted and in the gloom it was as if the years had peeled away and history itself was replaying.                       
       
           



       

Right now she was Cleopatra and he was her Mark Antony.

He reached out a hand to her face, touching her mask.

She flinched from his grasp and shook her head. 'No!' she whispered. She  wouldn't kid herself. He wouldn't be doing this if he knew who she was.  Only after, when it was too late for him to change his mind, only then  would she let him take off her mask.

He would be angry, no doubt. Even worse, he would be disappointed. His  fantasy would end right then and there. But she would have this memory  to treasure for ever. And, no doubt, she would.

In the pale moonlight she saw the corner of his mouth lift. 'All right,  let's do it your way. I have more urgent business first.'

His hands went to her waist and he lifted her easily to the table,  pushing away the chairs to each side. He eased down the bodice of her  gown, releasing her breasts to the air and his gaze. Her skin tightened,  her nipples achingly firm.

He growled low and rough, and dropped his mouth to one pert peak. Her  swift intake of breath pushed her breast further towards him; he filled  his mouth with the flesh as his tongue traced the tip. He left that  breast, focused on the second, delivering the same languid pleasure  strokes with his tongue, his hands now at her legs, running her gown up  her bare legs, spreading them as he forced himself between.

She clung to his head, her fingers raking through his hair, down his  neck, exploring his wide shoulders, drinking in the width and strength  of his back.

One hand rounded her thigh and against the fabric of her thong. The damp  fabric of her thong. 'Oh, God,' he muttered as her head fell back, his  fingers continuing their gentle exploration, the fabric no barrier to  flesh already inflamed and exquisitely sensitised. She clawed at his  costume, attempting to fill her own hands with the touch of his skin,  frustrated that she could find no way in.

Suddenly he wheeled away, impatiently pulling at his garments, shucking  off the shoulder gear and chest plate with a clatter and tearing off his  tunic. He returned to her, naked but for his black underwear and his  sandals, his skin gleaming in the soft moonlight.

She pulled him into her arms and relished the feel of the skin at his  back, hot and slick with expectation and desire, as he continued his  exploration, driving her crazy with need as he teased her with his  fingers.

'So beautiful,' he murmured against her nipple. 'And so wet.' Those last  words sounded as if they had been wrung from him. He lifted her  slightly and removed her thong and with both hands he pulled her closer  to the edge of the table. His underwear was no barrier to the hard bulge  of his erection butting against her.

He was so big.

Anticipation kicked up a notch. She wanted him inside her. All of him.  He pulled himself away fractionally, wrenching down his own underwear.  And then he was free. Even in the dim light he looked magnificent, all  pulsing energy with its own special rhythm. She reached down a hand,  wanting to feel the power, to guide him to her, to share the dance.

She touched him, her fingers cupping him, entranced by the weight, the  contrasts in the feel of him, rock-hard yet with skin like silk, so  rigid yet pulsing, filled with life.

She closed her fingers around him and he gasped. This fantasy woman  would not escape him tonight. He had to have her. Had to feel her  wrapped around him, hugging him tight inside, her muscles clamping  around him in spasms when she came.

Her hand moved the length of him, her thumb flicking over his sensitive tip.

Oh, God!

Exit rational thought.

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away as he scooped her yet  closer, directing himself at the same time that he dropped his mouth on  hers. His rapid action took her by surprise-her lips already open and  forming a surprised 'o' even as he plundered her mouth with his. And  then he brought her closer still, until her legs wrapped around behind  him and her slick wetness welcomed him, urging him to drive himself  home.

He didn't need further invitation. With one smooth thrust he entered  her, wrapping himself in liquid velvet. She cried out something  indiscernible, but even muffled by his mouth over hers he recognised the  same note of victory and ecstasy he'd felt in joining her.

She felt magnificent.

Slowly he withdrew, only to slam into her again, leaning into her and  forcing her lower. Her hands went back to support herself and she threw  her head back, gasping for air, her shiny fake hair falling back from  her pale skin like the tide receding.

He loved the way it moved.

He loved the way she moved, especially when he was inside her.

He planted his mouth over her throat in the spot where her pulse  flickered and jumped as he pumped into her again. She felt so good, so  damned good, and as she squeezed her muscles around him and the pressure  built inside he knew that though he wanted this feeling to last longer,  for ever, there was no way he was going to be able to make it last.                       
       
           



       

No way on earth.

There was nothing he could do. Control ceased to exist. Then she bucked  under him, her muscles tight and urgent, inflaming, drawing him deeper  and deeper inside and he was lost.

He cried out, something harsh and guttural and triumphant as he emptied  himself into her shuddering body, collecting her up and pulling her down  on to him in a broad conference chair.

Oh, wow!

She hadn't known what to expect but it sure hadn't been such an  all-consuming experience. Her body still hummed from their union    , her  pulse and breathing slowly settling back into a more normal routine.

He sprawled below her, cradling her, as her brain tried to kick back in.

But what had she done?

She took a few deep breaths, feeling her pulse quieten and trying to make sense of what had just happened.

She'd just made love with the boss. And not just any boss. She'd made love with Damien DeLuca.

What was more, they'd not used protection. Nothing. Hadn't even stopped to think about it.

She must be mad. She'd thought she wasn't the reckless type but one  feeling of desire, one whiff of Damien being attracted to her, and logic  had vanished from her mind. Completely and utterly.