Bound by the Italian's Contract(69)

                He peeled her thong away and pushed her skirt up, wanting only to pleasure her. Taste her. With seductive precision, he opened her to him with his tongue and finger before he thrust inside her, playing a game with her libido and his own, gambling which one of them could hold out. God, he could draw this moment out. Embed memories of a night that would never be triumphed.

                She would remember her first lover, the first encounter with sex not counting because it had been taken. This was given to her.

                He clasped her buttocks as she arched her back, surrendering the passion locked in her. So sweet. So tight. His gift.

                What they shared was a moment she would bank away for the future if loneliness overcame her. He hoped she would remember the very good and not the bad, that those images of a beast abusing her would vanish. God knew he would banish them for good if he could.

                Caprice was just rousing from her climax, supine and drowsy in his arms.

                “That was beyond wonderful,” she said. “Now I believe it is your turn.”

                He caught her before she could move, drinking from her lips until he was drunk on passion, until his own plans of setting her away from him seemed flawed.

                “You make leaving difficult,” she said.

                “I could say the same.”

                Their mouths met and melded again in a moan, lips dueling an erotic melody while their hips swayed to the same wanton rhythm. Whatever time they had together, he would give her his all. He wouldn’t regret this decision.

                She deserved this from him and so much more.

                And yet was this lovemaking that much different?

                Yes, because his attitude was different. He’d given without expecting compensation.

                Her head lulled back, a sigh whispering from her. “I feel boneless,” she said, clearly basking in the sensations rocking through her while he did the same just knowing he’d given her this release.

                He pulled her flush against him, the hard length of his erection pressed to her belly as he kissed her neck before his lips found her ear and his tongue traced the contours, pleasuring her until she cried his name. Only then did he look up into her face and catch her wide smile of pleasure.

                And he smiled, knowing he’d succeeded, that she had indulged in passion. Remember me, he thought before he tucked her close and sought the same sleep she was quickly falling into.





                                      CHAPTER EIGHT

                CAPRICE STRETCHED IN the massive bed, silk sheet under her bosom, her mind clearing from the sensual haze she’d reveled in last night. Talk had been minimal after that last amazing joining of bodies and souls, or at least it had felt that strong and good for her.

                Now her affair was closing. Luciano had said so in so many words. But she didn’t balk. She had to get away from here and return home so she was grounded. Had to get away to where the likelihood of running into Mario was incredibly small.

                She could manage. She had in the past seven years.

                The bathroom door opened and he stalked inside, looking painfully contemplative. “What’s wrong?”

                “I need to return to Colorado,” she said.

                He swore and stormed toward her, towel cinched over his lean hips. “Why?” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It would be safer if you stayed here awhile longer.”