Mistress By Blackmail(54)

Her eyes widened as she did as he commanded. Her fingernails bit into his skin and she arched in a bow underneath him. Her inner core squeezed his cock. Elation swept through him as he watched her come once more. Watched the pleasure he’d given her seize her and throw her into the need and want and desire he felt as well.

His time. He let go of the final thread of control. His body stiffened, shuddered. Sweat poured off him, slicing down his hot skin. His hips pounded out a drum of fervent taking. He tightened his hands on her slick skin, pinning her to the bed with his big body. He felt her breath on him, felt the beat of her blood. Felt himself bind and blend with the center of her. Trembling and shaking, he thrust one last time. Pushing himself over his own edge.

Into the oblivion of utter fulfillment.

Into an ache he thought never to feel again.

Into a fear rushing through his pleasure, fracturing his heart.

As he poured the last of his pain, and his fear, and himself into her, he realized he was in too deep with a woman once more.

Not only physically.

Emotionally.





Chapter 11





She woke alone and cold.

The silk of the sheet slid cool on her skin. She knew instinctively he was gone, gone from more than simply the bed. The shadows of the room were lighter now. She could tell from the sunbeams splintering through the shades it was day, but early. Very early.

Apparently late enough, however, for the La Rocca work ethic to kick in.

Her mouth twitched into a grimace. Clearly her sexual appeal hadn’t lasted longer than one night if her lover had bounded out of bed to get to his all-important work.

She rolled over and surveyed his side of the bed.

Empty.

The pillow held the imprint of his head. She pulled it to her, curled into it. It was cool. He'd been gone for a while. Yet she still could smell him on the silk. Masculine virility mixed with the sweet sweat of sex.

Closing her eyes, she pictured him as she'd seen him last. His dark lashes long on his cheeks as he slept at her side. The beginning of a five-o'clock shadow on his jaw. His olive skin glistening from the heat of their coupling.

The pure beauty of the man. The pure joy she felt with him at her side.

She rubbed her cheek on his pillow. A tear dripped down, darkening the silk.

What he'd given her. The gift ran through her like a clear stream of healing. The night had been a revelation. A reawakening. She still found it almost impossible to take in. Sex had always been a transaction to her. A way for a woman to pay her bills, keep her man. Her mum had showed her the moves by her example. And Darcy had taken it all in. Sex was something she never wanted to have. Sex was something dirty. Sex was something that had ultimately killed her mum.

Plus, there was also her fear of sex. That had come later. But the experience at seventeen had put an iron seal on the lessons she’d learned as a kid.

Last night, though, he'd changed everything.

It hadn't been sex she'd experienced last night. It had been love.

Another teardrop splattered on the fine woven silk.

She was in love with Marcus La Rocca. She'd given her body in love. She'd found more pleasure, more intimacy in this one single act than she'd ever found in any other interaction with another human being.

But this morning, when she desperately wanted him, wanted to sink into his warm arms, taste his lips, feel him move inside her…when she wanted to once more find this amazing bond between them…this morning, he’d left her.

She popped her head up and listened. Listened to complete silence. He wasn’t in the flat. She knew it with a bone-deep certainty. Looking around, she saw no loving note to tell her where he’d gone. She didn’t need one. He wasn’t out buying her a breakfast pastry. He hadn’t raced from the flat to buy her flowers or chocolate.

As sure as she knew herself, she knew him.

Marcus La Rocca had gone to work.

Exactly as if it were another day.

What did it mean? Was he disappointed in her? Had she showed how naive and untrained she was at the act? Last night he'd seemed satisfied. But she'd been so overwhelmed with all the emotions and feelings running through her head and heart and body, she'd barely been able to focus on any of his reactions.

Her scrambled thoughts ran through her head driving her crazy. Why was she sitting here torturing herself? It wasn't in her nature. She wasn't going to spend her time mooning over a man while lying here stupidly waiting for him to come back.

Which probably wasn't going to happen if she’d disappointed him last night.

The memory of him arching above her, his face grimacing, the low groan that tore from his mouth as she moved with him—

No. She was sure she'd given him pleasure too. Enough that he'd want to do it again.

The thought of doing it again with him brought a flush of anticipation to her face and body. She really, really couldn't wait.