“I always thought that one day I would make love with my husband,” she whispered. “But we don’t do that, do we? We just have sex. We…” She used a word that she had never in her life uttered before. Sandro recoiled slightly in response, and the soothing stroke of his fingertips stopped abruptly.
“Don’t use language like that,” he rebuked. “It doesn’t suit you!”
“Well, it’s what you once called it,” she defended herself hotly.
“I would never—”
“You did.” She interrupted the imminent denial calmly. “On our wedding night, after the first time, I tried to…to…” She blushed as she remembered her naïveté back then. She had reached over to snuggle with him, and he had moved to the edge of the bed in an effort to get away from her. “Well, anyway, you told me not to mistake what we did with any act of love. That it was much more basic than that. Just sex, you said, just…well…you know…”
His hands had dropped from her face to her shoulders, and his eyes narrowed on her painfully humiliated face. His grip tightened on her shoulders, and she squirmed slightly before it let up and he kneaded her shoulders.
“Theresa, I was pretty hammered on our wedding night.”
She nodded, her eyes bright with tears as she remembered how long he had made her wait for him. Her innocent, eager anticipation had been dashed when the dignified, distant husband who had left her all alone in their hotel suite had returned three hours later, so drunk that he could barely hold himself upright. He had fallen onto the bed and immediately passed out, leaving Theresa shattered. Two hours later, his skillful hands on her body had brought her out of a restless doze, and he had strummed at and played with her body like it was a finely tuned musical instrument, making her a willing slave to his every command.
Such had been her response that it had barely registered that his lips hadn’t once touched hers. He had kissed just about every other part of her body, and afterward, while she strove to maintain the closeness between them, he had all but destroyed her fragile spirit by denigrating the act. She could tell that Sandro was recalling the events of that night too, and his eyes dropped to where her hands were still restlessly fidgeting with the pencil that had fallen into her lap. He dropped one huge hand over hers to stop the movement.
“I resented you very much,” he admitted. “Because I felt trapped.”
“Wrong tense, Sandro,” she whispered. “Your resentment is still very current.”
“Things change, Theresa.”
“Some things are inexcusable, Sandro,” she whispered painfully. “And unforgivable.”
“We’re not getting anywhere with this,” he growled in frustration, and she dragged her hands out from under his.
“That’s what I’ve been telling you for the last three days,” she pointed out, and he bit off a curse before getting up abruptly. Theresa jumped up too, to avoid being intimidated by his height. But she had miscalculated; he was still standing too close to her, and when she got up, her breasts brushed up the length of his body from groin to torso. They both immediately went still as awareness simmered between them. Theresa made a soft sound and attempted to put some distance between them, but Sandro’s arms came up to circle her loosely, his hands meeting in the small of her back and the tips of his fingers just brushing against the slight swell of her backside. Her own hands came up to firmly brace against his chest. She wanted to push him away but somehow her hands were idly stroking him instead of exerting any force.
His large hands moved down to fully cup her backside, and he lifted her slightly until she could feel his sudden arousal. He pushed himself against her, dipping his head until his mouth was next to her ear.
“Despite everything, cara, you want me,” he whispered, his breath hot and moist against her ear. “And God knows I want you too…”
“Just sex,” she protested weakly.
“Maybe.” He nibbled her earlobe gently before moving down to nuzzle the sensitive spot just below her ear, something he knew made her crazy. It didn’t fail this time, as she gasped and wound her arms around his neck to push herself closer to his hard body. His tongue gently circled the highly sensitive erogenous zone, and Theresa moaned, wanting more. His wickedly hot mouth moved down to her throat, licking, sucking, and nibbling the exposed skin along the way. Theresa buried her face in his short, soft hair and muffled a moan of pure sizzling lust.
His hands were busily yanking her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt and they both groaned when his hands finally made contact with the naked skin of her back. He muttered something in Italian before he swept his hands up to the clasp of her bra, unhooked it expertly, and brought his hands around and under the lacy little B-cups. She cried out and arched violently against him when his thumbs found her sensitive nipples. Sandro half laughed and half groaned in response to her wild reaction to his touch.
“I want you,” he whispered, his breath feathering against the skin of her neck, where he was nibbling gently. “How I want you!”
She sobbed, wishing she was more adept at resisting him but desperately wanting him too, despite her bitterness, her anger, and her frustration. She nodded slowly, tears seeping from between her closed eyes and trickling down her cheeks.
“Please…” She didn’t know if she was begging him to stop or to continue, but Sandro took it as assent. One of his hands dropped from her breasts and tugged at her skirt until it was bunched up around her hips. Her brief, lacy panties were swiftly dealt with, and his hot, urgent fingers found her melting core with unerring accuracy, stroking, plunging, and preparing her. Her hands dropped to his belt buckle and she fumbled with the opening of his trousers until she held him captive in her hands. She did her own stroking and caressing, loving the familiar satiny feel of him, loving the heat, the hardness, the substantial size.
He made an animalistic sound, swinging her around and backing her up until she was leaning against the workstation that he had so casually been half sitting on earlier. He lifted her up until her backside was firmly planted on the desk and moved between her spread thighs. Tilting her pelvis slightly until he had the angle just right, he at last, with a groan of pure satisfaction, sank into her soft and welcoming heat. Theresa’s breath hitched as she was, once again, caught by surprise by his length, girth, and incredible hardness.
She lifted her slender legs and clasped them around his hips as, after the first gently thorough thrust, he simply rested against her. With his hands braced on the desk on either side of her hips, he lifted his head to look down into her eyes. Theresa was undone by that, as he had never just looked at her before, not in bed or out of it. His dark eyes continued to search hers, and she wondered what it was he was looking for. She licked her lips nervously and his scrutiny dropped to her mouth, and his pupils dilated until his eyes were virtually black.
Theresa’s breath was starting to come in little gasps as she tried to control her own need to move against him. Her hips gave the slightest twitch, and she felt herself spasm around him. He hissed at the movement, his face clenching as he withdrew slightly, only to plunge back into her as if he couldn’t bear to leave. That was all it took for Theresa’s head to fall back limply and her mouth to open on a soundless scream of ecstasy. The record speed of her orgasm seemed to take Sandro by surprise, as well as trigger his own. With a shocked sound and another half thrust, he buried himself as deep as he could go, arching backward in the process and coming violently. It seemed to last forever, but eventually his entire body went limp and he half collapsed against her, burying his face in her damp neck.
So stunned was Theresa by the unprecedented swiftness of the act, it couldn’t have lasted more than three minutes, that she nearly missed the words. In fact, she might have missed them entirely if she hadn’t felt his telltale breath on the sensitive skin of her neck. But he said them. The words were muffled but she knew exactly what he was saying. His mantra, his prayer…
“Give me a son, Theresa…” and just like that, it was over for her. Her legs fell away from his waist, and she pushed at his chest until he levered himself up to look down at her curiously. He made a soft sound of protest when he saw the tears on her cheeks and attempted to fold his arms around her. Yet another unprecedented move, but she shoved him again until he stepped away from her.
“Why are you crying?” he asked hoarsely as he readjusted his clothing.
“I hate you,” she said, dashing at the tears, despair weighting her voice.
“What we just did didn’t feel like hatred to me,” he pointed out.
“Just another…” Her mouth started to form the ugly word but he cut her off.
“Don’t say it,” he snapped. “Don’t you dare say it!”
“Why not?” she protested. “It’s the truth, and don’t you try to pretend otherwise at this stage of our so-called marriage, Sandro. Do you think sex makes things better? It makes everything worse, like adding gasoline to an already raging fire. All you’ve proved is that I am unable to resist you!”