She teased him, crooking her knee, letting her fingertips run up the inside of her thigh to where he couldn’t seem to remove his attention.
And there, for just a second, she saw his composure start to fracture. A shudder ran through him and he dropped the condom.
“Roll over,” he ordered.
“Make me,” she invited.
His stomach muscles tightened as though she’d punched him. He flared his nostrils and did it, upper lip shiny with sweat, hands shaking as he rolled her over and arranged her on her knees before he scooped up the condom and knelt behind her, one hand staying heavy on her lower back as if he wanted to be sure she would stay there.
It was a power position for him, but she felt as if she held a lot of it as he knelt behind her, gripped her hips and entered her. She groaned unreservedly and held nothing back as she relinquished herself to their raw lovemaking.
It was glorious and it affected him.
She heard it in his voice and felt it in his grip on her hips, hearing it in his curse as he fought his release. He was trying to wait for her, but it was a struggle and she loved it. She met the buck of his hips and said, “Don’t stop. Keep going. It’s so good, so good.”
“Now,” he growled, reaching to stroke and incite her. “Come with me. Now.”
His release arrived a panting breath before hers in a guttural, almost defeated cry and a rush of heat that was as heart-poundingly satisfying as the orgasm that rocked through her like a blast wave.
As he folded over her and crushed her into the mattress, she smiled.
CHAPTER TEN
THE LIMO DROPPED them in front of the grand entrance to a mansion on the outskirts of Valencia, Spain—just about the last place Alessandro had ever wanted to show his face.
As their host and hostess greeted them, Bree was directed to take Lorenzo to an upper floor on the condition, Sorcha said, that they take the correct baby with them when they left. She wore a shimmery green gown that set off her blond hair and smiled with as much joy as Octavia did.
Sandro found a pained smile of his own. It went unseen as Sorcha hugged his wife as though they were reunited twins, leaving him to introduce himself to Cesar. It was a thankfully brief handshake since guests were arriving in a steady stream. They were invited to move inside and partake of the food, dancing and the silent auction tent.
Sandro let Octavia lead, since this was her idea, and wondered again why he had agreed to come here.
Well, he knew why he had agreed. She had come into his office a week ago, set her hip on his desk, let the slit in her wrap skirt fall open and batted her lashes.
He had leaned back in his chair, far too experienced with women to fall for any sort of sexual manipulation, not that he said so, but he had admired the effort. He was partial to those thighs of hers and when she adjusted the fall of floral fabric so he could see her hip was bare of underthings, she’d had his full attention.
“I don’t ask for things very often, do I?” she’d said.
“You asked me to get up with Lorenzo this morning,” he’d countered.
“I said it was your turn. That’s different.” Gone was the mousy wife of his first year of marriage. Octavia was much more sure of herself now, not just in her sexuality—which she used unreservedly by leaning on one arm and offering him a delicious view down her top—but in ways that kept him on his toes. She voiced her opinions and woe betide the man who questioned her judgment where her son was concerned.
He would never have expected to like having a spitfire for a wife, but it was nice to be able to let loose with some of his own forceful personality without fearing he’d flatten her.
Case in point, he took his fill of the swells of her breasts, then dragged his gaze upward without making any effort to hide his instant, rapacious desire. “Are you asking me to make love to you? I have rather a lot of work today, but for you, I can spare the time.” He tossed his pen onto the desktop beside her hip.
She set the heel of her shoe, a sexy, strappy red one, on the arm of his chair, parting her legs slightly as she did. Her tongue wet her lips as though she was deciding whether to butter him up with sex first, or get his agreement before she gave him access to the sensual banquet she presented.
Either way he was enjoying the show so he was more than happy to be patient while she made up her mind. He toyed with the strap of her shoe, seeing if he could hurry the process along.
“I want to take Lorenzo to Spain,” she finally said.
“Alone?” His hand instinctively closed around her narrow ankle.
“I’d prefer it if you came with us.”
And he had thought, Well played, knowing he was done for, but he’d forced her to work for it. The shoes had stayed on and they’d brushed his ears a few minutes later. He would never again sit down at his desk without thinking of their erotic hour upon it.