Instead of dressing, he tied the long towel around his waist after drying off, and then swept his hair back with a comb.
“Ready for bed?”
A loaded question if there ever was one.
I said nothing as he extended an arm in a ladies first gesture. He wanted to watch me walk. Bene.
The house was pleasantly warm, the fireplace blazing, perfuming the air with spiced wood. The heady scent of resin lingered from the freshly cut trees in the house.
Our view was unparalleled from all angles—an entire wall of reflective glass allowed us to see the outside world but shielded us.
The sky was as vast as I had ever seen it. I imagined this was what the world must have looked like years ago, before man polluted the air with chemicals and cluttered the earth with buildings, restricting the stars.
I could see the stars burning with ardor. The snow only added to the ethereal beauty of our surroundings as it twirled down, moved by the mouth of the wind, coating the earth in a cold, vivid blanket as it fell and stuck.
After a few minutes of looking out, I turned to find Brando watching me. He could see my reflection through the glass.
Creeping toward him, light on my feet, not making a sound, I stopped when there was only a breath separating his body from mine. I looked up, yearning to slide my breasts against his slick chest, back and forth, to create some friction between us. Instead, I stared at him as I undid the towel, my cool fingers lingering on his hot skin, before I let it fall to the floor.
“Bed?”I said in Italian, tilting my head toward the bed, but I didn’t wait for his reply as I slid in.
He came in behind, his body brushing against mine as he situated himself to face me.
We said nothing, but his hand slipped along the thin fabric of theouvertpanties, memorizing the shape. I expected him to rip them off, to growl about the layers, but he didn’t.
He ran soft fingertips along the swell of my belly, making my stomach contract. Goosebumps puckered my skin from the cold that clung to the sheets. Heat radiated off him, drawing me in like a moth. Closer,a bit closer, my breasts made contact, gliding against him. My bones shook with suppressed want.
His head slipped underneath my chin, his warm whiskey breath caressing, his tongue tasting and teeth nipping. He murmured sensuous Italian words against my skin, about how I tasted on his tongue.
His hand slipped further under the cover, his mouth moving lower, and I arched and moaned when he found both aching spots at once, my swollen breasts and the throbbing between my legs.
His voice dropped with his mouth as he muttered about how ready I was for him. “I don’t even need to touch you,” he said.
“No,” I rasped out. “Never.”
He slipped inside, penetrating my walls, even more so my defenses. My body conformed to accommodate his, and we both moved in a slow, aching rhythm. My eyes rolled, my mouth parted, and my hands clasped on to his shoulders.
“You have the most beautiful breasts,” he said in Italian, having a hard time getting the words out as we moved. He wasn’t drunk, but the amber had softened him, made him looser with his tongue. “Your ass.” His hands came around, bringing me even closer, squeezing through the opening in the underwear.
A low growl vibrated in his throat, and I thought I’d come apart then.
He slowed his movements, took himself almost completely out, hauling me back from the brink. I cried out, frustrated at the loss of full contact, and my fists bunched, about to pound on his chest.
“Why want a man you don't know,Scarlett? Tell me, why share his bed.”
Beyond frustrated at his teasing cadence and the fact that the panties were still on, I said the first thing that came to mind. “Perhaps I would have been an easy lay if it weren't for you claiming me.”
He flipped me on my back, pinning my wrists to each side of my face. “If you weren’t carrying my child, I’d show you what it means to be fucking easy.”
I let out a long, suffering mewl, desperate for him to bury himself again. Though the words were not meant to turn me on, they had. Once he struck the flame inside of me, there was no snuffing me out, not until I had him completely.
With that thought in mind, the panties suddenly felt like an irritant against a raw wound. He was going to leave them on, for the first time in our history allow layers between us.
Such a subtle gesture could break me, was breaking me, as I’d broken him with a whip from my tongue.
He couldn't tell me in words how he felt, but there were ways to show me, and he knew every damn one.
Neither one of us were letting up or giving in.
