Marchese's Forgotten Bride(47)

A vivid image of burning gas jets flew across her mind and brought the pink tip of her tongue snaking out to touch the tingling curve of her upper lip. A lusty growl and he caught that pink tip between his lips and sucked. He was already backing her out of the twins’ bedroom, the shockingly rampant evidence of his intentions building in strength with the stimulation of the move. Her hands had to clutch at his arms to maintain her balance because he was really kissing her now, exploring her mouth with a sensual expertise and urgency that arched her neck, and pressed her breasts into firmer contact with his chest.

She could feel the heavy pump of his heart, his heat, the sheer masculine dominance of his hard male contours turning her female softness to a quivering, sensual flow of warm blood. When she heard the sound of a door shutting and instantly recognised it as her own bedroom door, she had to fight to drag her mouth from his.

‘We can’t,’ she groaned.

‘We can,’ he insisted, then added with a searing rasp of amusement, ‘We must,’ and buried his mouth in the heated hollow of her throat.

‘But school—the twins!’ she tried again—desperately.

At least she succeeded in bringing his dark head up. His eyes looked like black pits filled with flaming frustration, his lips were parted, warm and soft.

‘How long?’ he demanded, tension holding him like a string of prickling barbed wire.

Cassie tried to think without taking her wary eyes off him to look at her bedside clock. She didn’t trust him. She could still feel the powering urgency being pressed against her, and her own body wasn’t behaving itself. There was a pulsing ache taking place deep down in her abdomen, sensual moisture already livening the tender place between her thighs.

She tried for a breath. He was waiting for an answer, taut and bold and still. Her head twisted round, eyelashes flickering as she glanced away from him at the clock then back to him again.

‘H-half an hour.’ She watched his frustration flare to monumental proportions and like a rat throwing itself on a trap she sealed her own immediate destiny. ‘Jenny, m-my neighbour, picks them up, s-so let’s call it forty-f-five minutes before they get back…’

The flare of frustration became a glow of pure arrogance. ‘I can work within those parameters,’ he drawled.

Next second her pencil skirt dropped to the floor. The veins in her slender thighs started to sting as her blood began to race through them. Sandro was yanking his tie off, eyes fixed and intent on her face. He stripped with a grace and a speed that held her breathless and speechless.

‘If you want the truth, I wasn’t going to do this,’ he admitted, the lithe move of his hips seeing his trousers stripped from his legs along with whatever else he was wearing beneath.

‘Do what?’ Cassie couldn’t stop staring. He was magnificent naked.

‘Make love to you again before we married.’ He fed his arms around her and drew her against all of that taut masculinity, uncaring, so assured about the perfection of his own body. ‘I was going to make us wait, build on the tension so you’d be so hot for me you wouldn’t think of changing your mind.’

‘Arrogant,’ Cassie shook out as he slipped her blouse from her body and unclipped her bra.

He didn’t even complain that she’d been too shy to strip herself. He caught the weight of her breasts in his palms and lifted them to meet with his lowering mouth. The sharp sting of pleasure that shot through her body forced a shaken gasp from her throat.

On a low growl he caught it, licked it from her lips as it arrived there. His hands followed the smooth, squirming contours of her body right down to her bottom, which he cupped, then lifted her into the waiting bowl of his pelvis and the tasting kiss jumped into pure, naked heat. He just took and kept control of her senses through the energy in his body and the direction of his kisses, stripping her of the final layers of her clothing until finally—gratefully, he laid her down beneath him on her narrow bed.

No more talk—no breath spare for it. The fever took over from the moment he lay down beside her then rolled towards her and sent his long fingers stroking into the warm, moist juncture of her thighs. He roughed out a string of soft curses when he discovered she was so ready for him.

Weak, fretful, clinging to him, green eyes washed with pleading as they clung to his smouldering dark glare, he caressed her into a writhing turmoil of agitated pleasure, watching—watching as she fell apart for him. It did not occur to her that giving her pleasure heightened his own until she reached down to clasp him and watched him fall apart too. His control fled on the single ragged breath he took, and he ran his eyes over her with a fierce possessiveness that verged on the wild. Her whimper of protest when he drew back from what he was doing for her was replaced by a series of fevered groans in answer to the exquisite caresses he plied across her quivering flesh. By the time the first driving thrust into her came she lost what bit of sanity she had left.