The Truth About De Campo(43)

Quinn pressed her lips against the throbbing pulse at the base of his neck. Dropped her hand to slide her palm against the rigid hardness of him. He went willingly to his knees. Slid his fingers under the almost nonexistent sides of her bikini bottoms and yanked them off. The musky, aroused scent of her hit him like a brick to the head.

“God, Quinn.”

He put his mouth to her, drank in her essence until he was so crazy with want he thought he might lose it. Palms pressed against her buttocks, he held her to him, dragged his tongue across her, inside her. Made her cry out and dig her hands into his hair. She murmured unintelligible things, begged him to slide his fingers deeper into her in a caress he now knew made her crazy.

“Dammit, Matteo—”

He lifted his mouth from her. Pushed to his feet and brought her hands to the waistband of his trunks. “Take them off,” he growled.

She shoved her fingers into them and ran them down his long legs. When she straightened and came back to him her face was pinched, expectant. He lowered his mouth to hers, sucked her bottom lip into his and kissed her until she was pliant beneath his hands. “Relax, bella. You say stop, we stop.”

She rested her forehead against his and nodded. He picked her up and set her down on the massive king-size bed, her dark hair fanning out against the white silk sheets. She was creamy-skinned perfection, had the most exquisite hourglass figure he’d ever seen. Somehow he had the presence of mind to rummage up a condom and slide it on before he returned to her and smoothed his hand down over the curve of her hip, between the juncture of her thighs. Where he wanted to be.

Her eyes went huge. He straddled her, holding her gaze the entire time. “Touch me,” he rasped. “I need your hands on me.”

She leaned forward and curved her fingers around the heated, throbbing length of him. He was sure he’d never been this hard, this aroused in his life. She was just that beautiful to him.

Her lips parted, the focus she devoted to his pulsing erection just about doing him in. He reached down, cupped her buttock in his hand and brought her thigh around his waist. “Take me inside of you,” he urged. “I need to be inside of you so badly, Quinn.”

She closed her fingers around him and guided him to her slick, hot flesh with that same intense concentration. He sank his palms into the mattress on either side of her and forced himself to wait. “More?”

“Yes.”

He sank into her just enough to find his place. She arched her hips against him. “Please—”

He gave it to her, excruciatingly slowly, an inch at a time, waiting for her body to adjust to his. Waiting for her to relax—fully trust him. Deeper and deeper she took him, flexing beneath him until he was buried to the hilt. The shocked, dazed pleasure in her eyes had him whispering mindless pleas in Italian for control. He had never felt anything so good in his life as she clenched her tight muscles around him.

He let out a husky groan. If this was hell, he never wanted it to end.

Quinn wrapped her leg tighter around him, brought him closer. “Tell me,” he said softly. “Tell me what you want.”

She lifted her hips. “More.”

He shook his head. “No. Tell me. I want to know what you like. What you need.”

She began with soft, breathy requests that were half shy, half eager. He gave it to her, easy, leisurely, leashing the hard demand of his body to give her the buildup she needed. She caught her lip between her teeth. Her cheeks turned rosy. He urged her on with husky commands, goading her, making her tell him more. Making himself half-crazy in the process. Her demands became more insistent, more graphic. He hooked her leg higher around his waist and stroked even deeper inside her.

Deeper, harder until he was shaking with the effort it took to hold back. She flung a hard, raw demand at him that was the end of him. He swore under his breath and set his thumb to her center.

“Come, sei bella, Quinn,” he murmured, dropping his mouth to hers. “Come for me.”

She moaned and closed her eyes, pushed up harder against his thumb. Something inside her was still holding back, unable to let go. He held his screaming body in check and took her apart with one firm rotation of his thumb against her clitoris. Her hot contractions around him set him off like fireworks.

He kissed her, hungry, wild, his hoarse cry spilling into her mouth. And then there was only the long, sweet road back, his body cradled in hers, their connection so complete, so inviolate, he knew he’d never experienced anything like it.

Neither of them dared say anything. It was that heavy in the air. He rolled onto his side, took her with him, loath to break the bond. Her hot tears dampened his cheeks. He brushed them away, murmuring soft endearments in his native language until she fell asleep in his arms.