A burst of laughter came from the both of us when we turned to head toward our room but ran into the wall instead, not watching where we were going.
I was drunk, he wasn’t, but it seemed like we both were.
He kissed my head, laughing, but his laughter soon turned into a loud growl when I bit his chest. We were rushing to the privacy of our room and savoring the peace of having the villa mostly to ourselves. Mia and Matteo slept hard, once down, and sounds didn’t bother them.
“Being quiet is for the birds,” I said drunkenly, throwing his pants wherever.
“When are you ever quiet?” He tossed the heels across the room, and they crashed against another wall with a clatter.
“When there’s other people close,Iam.”
He barked out a laugh. “Why do you think I kiss you so much?”
“Because you like the taste of my mouth?”
“Your mouth is so fucking sweet. Your—”
I made almost a squeaking noise when he cupped my ass, hard, almost lifting me off my feet. But I was able to loosen his hold and worship his body with my hands and mouth.
He hissed out a breath, his back slamming against the wall, as I used my lips to journey over his smooth, taught body. My tongue traced over the voyages of the veins swelling beneath his skin.
He looked down at me, so much fire in his eyes that I almost stopped and melted into a puddle, his hands fisting in my hair, urging me to go deeper.
His voice came out strangled when he ordered me to stop—but the sound of his voice made me feel powerful. He recovered his control a second later, and lifting me to my feet, hauled me over to the sprawling bed caveman style.
He might start banging on his chest or growling at me like I was a piece of meat.
“Yess,” the word slipped from my mouth.
He had reached some feral place that drovememad. His hair was a tangled mess, sweat coated his skin, and the only thing keeping us from getting close was thethingthat was going to bring us together.
“Take it out on me,” I whispered, reaching up to caress his chest. “Everything. Let me feel it. Give itto me.”
He stared down at me until I squirmed. His eyes were intense, his chest moving with the frantic beating of his heart. He was wound so tight that he was damn near close to bursting.
“I dare you,” I breathed.
To dare my beast was one of my life’s most erotic aphrodisiacs. Jumping out of a plane, speaking in front of an audience, driving over a hundred miles per hour—none of these compared to the dangerous edgeinhim.
His teeth rolled over his bottom lip, and the tender skin glistened. “I’d kill you,” he said, his voice low, but loud enough that I heard him clearly, the warning sharp and real.
As twisted as it was, the sound of his voice made me moan, loud enough that he tensed, and I inched even closer.
The power he had to bring me to the brink and back, a constant war between pleasure and pain, went straight between my legs.
“I can take it.” The words were spoken softly, but with a conviction behind them that made him narrow his eyes.
Matteo chose that moment to squawk from his room. Beads of milk leaked from my nipples, slipping down my skin in warm streams. I went to get up, but Brando urged me down. He slipped on a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips, show casing the deep V, where lower abs met hip flexors, his jet-black happy trail, and a bulge that was hard to look away from.
I went down in a plop, blowing a piece of hair from my forehead. The ceiling spun—the definite separation between mind and body making itself known. So caught up in the pleasures of my husband, I hadn’t had a chance to notice how lit I was.
His presence, his body, along with the wine were like fuel to a fire. I felt feverish, my skin hot, my muscles trembling, and every so often a shiver would run through me.
Closing my eyes, trying to ignore the spin, I let go of time and place—and had no idea how long he’d been gone. I knew when he returned though. His smell, musky and spicy, along with a rush of warmth, flooded the room.
Knowing he was watching, my fingers trailed along my chest, over flesh and bone, flittering across, once, twice, as soft as gossamer wings against my skin. Then they ventured even lower, over my breasts, my nipples hard.
He made a noise low in his throat, not a growl, not a groan, but somewhere between the two.
