Bound by the Italian's Contract(51)

                “Ravenous.” She moved to him and stroked a hand down his chest, feeling far bolder than she ever had with a man.

                “Hmm, would you like Italian?”

                She trailed a fingernail down his breastbone and had the satisfaction of hearing him draw a sharp breath, his blue eyes darkening to near black. “Are we talking food or the man?”

                “Both.” He bent close, capturing her lips for a kiss that was far too brief. “What would the lady like first?”

                Her stomach chose that moment to release a low growl. Or had that sound bubbled from her throat?

                “I get my choice between a fantastic meal or you?”

                “But of course. It is always your choice.”

                “Then I choose you,” she said against his lips.

                He drew her flush against his length, his mouth teasing the corners of her mouth, her nose, her eyes before melding over her, lips, tongue flicking her teeth, tasting and taunting. His hands explored her shoulders, his palms smooth, the fingers strong as they trailed down her back, over her hips before cupping her bottom and sweeping her up in his arms. Any protest she made, not that she could utter more than a gasp, was stopped by the slow, erotic thrust of his tongue against her own.

                “Bella, mio amore,” he said, flicking the buttons open on the shirt to free her breasts, his palm cupping one and brushing a thumb over the nipple before his mouth captured it, nuzzling and drawing it in deeply, doing the same to its twin in turn.

                Fire raged through her blood, a sensual inferno that could only be put out by his possession. She dug her fingernails into his back, lost to desire, not caring how or where he took her as long as it was now.

                “Love me,” she husked against his head, threading her fingers through the dampening strands of his hair and pressing closer to his ravishing mouth, feeling his blood pulsing in his temples and the tension vibrating in his arms.

                “With pleasure,” he husked out, taking her down on the counter, his weight barely suspended above her, his hot, hard erection probing her swollen flesh that was damp with desire for him again.

                This time there was no hesitation, no sense of awkwardness alive in her. The trust she’d once had returned, along with the longing she’d held close for him. But that longing had come alive at his touch, and she reveled in being wanton in his arms, consumed by the promise of pleasure that blazed in his blue eyes, a promise she’d tasted once and hungered for again.

                He rocked forward above her and she lifted her hips to meet his downward thrust. She gasped as they smoothly became one. He released a grunt of pure masculine satisfaction and held her tightly, still and hard within her, hearts thundering from the storm raging within them.

                In that moment, suspended in passion, she thought she could stay like this forever and yet knew she could barely take another moment of this sensual torment, tasted but far from sated. And then, thankfully, artfully, erotically he moved, slowly pulling back from her core before thrusting into her so hard and deeply she saw stars flickering behind her closed eyes. Heaven. She was but a breath from it and it was far more glorious than she’d dreamed it could be.

                “Look at me,” he ordered. “Look at me when you climax, bella.”

                She did, blinking until her eyes focused. Her breath caught in her throat as his gaze bore into her, holding her tighter than any bond could.

                “I could drown in your eyes,” she said.