He brushed her lips as gently as he possibly could. Deep inside, he felt like a feral predator, hungry beyond all reason. Lust rose sharply but was tempered by the overwhelming love he felt for her. His emotion allowed tenderness to coax her lips apart for him rather than just take. He wanted her to feel the way he would always cherish her. Would always protect her. Mostly, he wanted her to feel loved.
Her lips parted, his tongue swept inside and he was drowning. He hadn’t known one could taste love, but it was there. He was lost in everything Amaranthe. The delicate nuances of her. The subtleties of her. He had never experienced euphoria kissing a woman, but Amaranthe managed to take him there.
“Too many clothes on, Danzatrice Ombra. I need to feel every inch of you.” He murmured the half command, half entreaty against her lips and then bit down on the bottom curve, nipping lightly and tugging.
Once again, she put her palm on his chest as if to stop him. He lifted his head, his gaze drifting over her face to read her expression. “What are you afraid of, baby?”
“Letting you down.” She whispered it like a confession.
He rubbed his lips over hers to erase her frown. “How could you possibly let me down?”
“You do realize I have zero experience, Geno.”
She sounded so anxious he found himself more protective of her than ever. He caressed her cheek with the pad of his thumb.
“Zero experience?” he echoed. She kissed like a fuckingdream. He’d known she wasn’t experienced in the kissing department. That hadn’t mattered in the least. She could melt his heart. Melt his brain. Send flames rushing through his veins. Put absolute steel in his cock. She didn’t need experience.
“I’m not going to measure up. You’ve had a lot of women. I’ve seen all the magazines.” The admission came in a soft whisper. Her eyes avoided his.
Geno couldn’t deny the hundreds of photographs deliberately published on social media. Seeking out the paparazzi was a good part of the cover for the shadow riders. Everywhere they went they were photographed, usually with a famous model, a movie star or a woman from their same social circle, so the speculation whether they were serious and would soon be taken from the market hit every tabloid and was widely circulated. They were adept at creating headlines and staying in the spotlight. That was what gave them airtight alibis when bodies dropped. They were rarely serious suspects, not even in the death on Miranda’s back porch.
He brushed kisses over her eyes and then along her high cheekbones. “The pressure isn’t on you, Amara. It’s all on me. I need to make it good for you. Believe me, baby, it’s going to be good for me. I have to make certain your body is ready for mine—go slow enough to prepare you. The first time isn’t always wonderful for the woman, at least that’s what I’m told. I wouldn’t actually know. I’ve never been with an inexperienced woman. So if things don’t work out perfectly for you, that’s on me, not you.”
Her long lashes lifted, and he found himself falling into those beautiful dark pools. “Geno, you can’t believe that.”
“Iknowthat, but it’s all right. We’re going to have lots of time to get it right. Right now, I think the clothes need to go. Are you comfortable with that?”
He brushed his lips back and forth gently over hers. Coaxing her. Shamelessly tempting her. All the while the pads of his fingers caressed the bare skin of her stomach.Blatantly seducing her. If anything, touching Amaranthe so intimately was only increasing his hunger for her. Her skin was exquisite. He could feel muscles running like steel beneath the satin.
Outside the wind picked up speed pushing the clouds across the sky a little faster, an ominous warning of the predicted storm. Geno liked storms. He especially liked to watch them from the glass wall as they came in over the river. Dark threads formed clouds spinning and rolling, blocking the silvery sliver of a moon. Occasionally, in the distance, he could hear the rumble of thunder. The sound matched the pounding of blood in his ears.
Geno pulled Amaranthe’s top over her head and tossed it away from them. She didn’t protest, but her body flushed a beautiful shade of rose, and her breathing turned ragged.
“My breasts are too small.”
“Who told you that?” he demanded. He lowered his mouth to her chin and then nibbled his way to her throat. “Your breasts are perfect.” As far as he was concerned, they were.
He kissed his way to the top of the slight curves, the heavy shadow on his jaw sliding over her tender skin leaving behind his mark on her. Very gently he lapped at her right breast and then stroked her nipple with his tongue. She circled his head with her arms, her breath hitching, her body sliding against his restlessly.
“Geno.” She whispered his name, an ache in her voice.
He tugged very gently on her nipple with his teeth before drawing the small, very sensitive breast into the heat of his mouth. He gently pinched her left nipple and then kneaded and rubbed her breast while he suckled strongly, using his tongue to flick and play.
He felt her body’s response, the flush of heat from breast to core, her skin growing hot until she seemed a living flame. An electrical charge zapped down his spine and over his body to hers.
“I’m getting rid of the panties, Amara,” he warned her,sliding his hand down her flat belly. Taking his time. Savoring the feel of the muscles under her satin skin and the way she made a slight strangled sound in the back of her throat. Her eyes went wide in a kind of shocked daze.
He waited a heartbeat. Two. He didn’t want her to panic. “Tell me what you’re feeling, Danzatrice Ombra,” he coaxed while he drew the little boy shorts down her dancer’s legs one-handed.
“Hot. Like I have a terrible fever, burning from the inside out,” she answered instantly. Honestly. “I’ve never felt like this before, and it’s magical but frightening because I feel out of control. I’ve never been out of control.”
He kissed her again, not only because he wanted the taste of her in his mouth, but to erase the wild panic welling up in her eyes. He wanted only pleasure there. Desire.
Lifting his head, he kissed and nibbled his way to her belly button. “You aren’t supposed to be in control, Amara.”
“I feel like you’re taking me over,” she whispered.
He liked that. He claimed her with his mouth and hands. Gently. Tenderly. Not forcefully when there was a part of him that felt like a caveman wanting to make her his own cavewoman.
