The Marriage He Must Keep(26)

Still, her remark continued to turn over in his mind, aggravating him even when he returned to his mother’s house and found her napping. She was so different, so serious and perhaps even more reticent than when they’d first met.

By the end of their honeymoon, he’d been captivated by the woman he’d married. She’d been passionate as hell in bed, bright and funny yet thoughtful. There was no sign of that woman now and it was his fault.

He must have come across as smug in those early weeks, because Primo had said, “Lucky you,” with a sneer, and made a remark about how he would be happy to continue steering the ship if Alessandro wanted to go back to playing house.

Alessandro had seen the threat then, he acknowledged now, had even acted by sidelining his new wife in favor of asserting his position at work and within the family. He’d sent Primo to expand the London office and the confident woman who’d begun to blossom had soon been sent to the same cold climate where she’d been stepped on until she was completely closed against him.

He wanted their marriage back to where it had been last year, before he’d gotten her pregnant, when she’d been quick to come forward and kiss him in greeting, hands sliding around his waist as if she’d been waiting all day to touch him.

The way he had waited all day to hold her.

Instead, they were back to the very beginning. In the days leading up to their wedding, she had allowed his touch, but she’d been a lot like she was now: wary and unwilling to look him in the eye.

With a bittersweet smile, he recalled his gentle breaching of her defenses on their wedding night. She’d been apprehensive, but endearingly brave in her determination to overcome her qualms. He had enjoyed teasing her past her reservations one slow step at a time. Dancing to low, erotic music in their hotel room while she got used to the feel of his hands on her body. Undressing in the light of candle flame so her skin glowed as she blushed all over. He’d coaxed her to explore him and she’d reacted as though he was too hot to touch, hands drawn mothlike to his skin, then fluttering away.

He’d been the one to burn on contact. She’d been so responsive, moaning against his mouth and gasping as he circled her nipple with his thumb. When he’d pressed her to the bed and lightly explored her inner thighs, driving them both crazy with anticipation before he’d finally found what they were waiting for, she’d been wetly aroused, so slick and heated he nearly lost it just from exploring her.

“Do you do this to yourself? Show me what you like,” he’d said, petting, enjoying the way she shivered and tensed and made strangled noises in her throat.

“I’m not going to tell you that,” she’d choked, hand trembling over his as she tried to decide between the pleasure he was giving her and the bashfulness that was receding behind desire.

“You do,” he’d teased, then commanded, “Let me make it happen for you,” and had tongued her nipple, sucking as he fondled her into climaxing with her hands in his hair and soft cries escaping her lips.

He had wanted to thrust into her then, so close to losing control he’d been shaking, but he’d gone down, arousing her all over again, carefully penetrating with his fingers to prepare her and making her arch up to his mouth as she gave up another orgasm.

Then, then he had covered her, gritting out, “I’ll be fast. It will only hurt for a minute.” He’d had nothing left for discipline and for the first time in his life he wasn’t using a condom. But as he’d thrust into her, she had tensed in the wrong way, gasping an anxious, “Wait.”

It had nearly killed him, but he’d kept himself still, eyes closed, breath held, racked in a state of exquisite torture. He’d been so aroused he had been one pulsing nerve that felt and smelled and heard. He had been completely in the moment, his entire world reduced to her silken clasp around him, her scent, her shaken breaths as she relaxed by slow degrees.

Finally, her soft lips had sought his, whispering a damp acquiescence against his mouth.

As he’d begun to move, he’d known what they were doing wasn’t sex. It had been everything from the basest type of mating to the highest art form. He had promised to be fast, but he had wanted it to last his lifetime. His need to pour into her had been so acute he couldn’t breathe. One more stroke, just one more then—

“Oh. I think I’m— Keep going. Don’t stop. Please. Oh, oh.”

Music and torment. He had guided her thigh to his waist and pushed a hand under her hip to angle her so he could drive deeper, kissing her hard as she dug her nails into his shoulders and sobbed with pleasure into his mouth. Then she had shuddered and rippled and had come again, pulling him with her so they were both tumbling through the same waves of mindless pleasure, clinging to each other while they drowned in ecstasy.