The Marriage He Must Keep(40)

Her body was, though. His hand went to her waist, drawing her close and in a way that was part muscle memory, her back arched and her hips wriggled so she slithered into place perfectly against his front. She shuddered with a kind of mental release as her body melted against his. It had been so long since she’d been snuggled up to his naked chest and felt his hairy legs abrade her own as he surrounded her in his strength.

She couldn’t help but sigh in homecoming as she reacquainted herself with the delicious sensations of warmth and smooth skin, hard muscle and masculine scent. The dark room and soft bed gave her a safe place to forget her worries and take comfort from physical contact.

“Cara,” he protested, hands moving restlessly on her, urging her to stillness. “I’m trying not to—” His breath hissed out against her cheek and he swore under his breath. “Too late.”

He was hard. She could feel his erection thrusting against her abdomen, straining the silk that was trying to contain him.

“You never wear anything to bed,” she murmured as she discovered his shorts.

“This way I can get up with Lorenzo. Stop,” he growled, catching at her wrist. He didn’t pull her hand away, however, just went very still as she traced his shape through the silk. As she rediscovered his thick length and moved the silk against the sensitive tip, he jerked against her hand. “That feels good. But you should stop.” The last was a tight statement that didn’t sound very sincere.

Yearning trickled through her. She longed to rediscover all the wonderful textures and scents on his body, the places that made him groan and shudder. The only time she had ever felt his equal was when she pleasured him in bed. That’s why it had destroyed her to think of his seeking other women. She was supposed to be the special one, the only woman who could do this to him, make him shake and shatter.

He was a straining muscle from head to toe right now, making her believe he’d been honest with her and hadn’t had any sort of release since they’d made love months ago.

“Bella, stop,” he said in a rasp. “I’m going to come.”

“I want you to,” she said with a feeling in her chest like a purr. She was velvet on the inside, sensuality welling up to fill her for the first time in too long. Kissing his chest, she snaked her hand beneath his waistband, making an approving noise as she reacquainted herself with the smooth, naked shape of him, thick and taut and hard. He said something, but she only nuzzled until she found his nipple. “Do you want my mouth here?” she asked. She circled the tight bead with her tongue before sucking it wetly. “Or here?” She took firm hold of the hot, iron-hard shape of him, caressing him the way he liked, squeezing and slowly pumping.

He bit out a very dirty word, crushed her hand through the silk and thrust within her tight grip. The silk shifted against her wrist and he swelled and hardened, so fiery against her palm he burned her skin. His hand tangled in her hair and he bit out another word, her name, and lost control with a shudder, noises of satisfaction escaping him while his abdomen shuddered and lava soaked her fist.

She smiled, intensely pleased, and kept her lips pressed to where his heart slammed inside his chest while he made a gratified noise and caressed her arms and back and shoulders with shaking hands.

“I can’t believe you took me apart like that,” he scolded on a whisper that lilted with disbelief. He rolled away to twist his shorts down and off, using them to swipe the wetness from his belly and her hand before he tossed the garment from the bed.

Then he rolled so he hovered over her, not crushing, but close enough to be a heavy, damp, human quilt.

“I didn’t know how I was going to sleep against you, but I did not expect that, you erotic little witch. I meant to behave like a gentleman.” He kissed her, once briefly, then again, this time passionately and hungrily, as if they were only getting started.

Arousal spiked through her, stinging between her legs.

“Sandro, don’t,” she moaned, breaking away and wriggling beneath him with conflicted desire, wanting to make love, but saying, “I can’t.” It was just over a month and the doctor had said six weeks.

“Can’t take me inside you, but I can touch you the way you just have me.” In a well-practiced move, he crooked his knee to push her legs apart, then set the proprietary weight of his hand on her mound.

His hand closed into a fist, drawing the silk of her nightgown upward, bunching it to her waist. She sucked in a breath as tingles of anticipation burned, teased by the movement of his hand and the stroke of silk climbing her skin, baring her thighs.