I don’t respond. No need to tell him that being raised in the Marino household means disobedience from one results in consequences for all. One little mistake from me would reign down hell on my sisters. But with Matteo, I find I don't care much about the penalties. “I’m just saying that I won’t be agreeable… oh!”
I gasp when he presses me against the dresser, his tall frame caging me in place. My heart hammers in my chest as he aligns his body to mine, those dark eyes fiery with a heat thatseems to burn through my wedding dress and into my skin. My body buzzes with sensitivity, and I nearly whimper at the ache that pulses between my legs.
“I think you are mistaken about something,tesoro mio,” he says thickly. “I have no patience for a wallflower as a wife. My bride will need to be strong to stand at my side. Better yet, if she's stubborn. It'll only make her submission all the sweeter.”
He doesn’t want blind submission? But isn’t that what my mother’s been pushing on me for my entire life? How to be a proper lady. More desirable if I am shy and quiet. I played into that role the first night we met. A sweet little thing, harmless too.
Isn’t that what a man like Matteo wants?
But what do you want?
My eyes drop to his mouth, and I swallow hard. His face is so close to mine, I can almost feel the soft caress of his breath on my lips—and I know… I shouldn’t want this. Sure, the man is about to become my husband, but he’s still a stranger. I shouldn’t want to feel those firm lips on mine, but I find myself trembling for it. He’s so tall. Christ, why is he so tall? I’d have to get on my tiptoes to kiss him. The thought alone is enough to send my heart galloping in my chest.
“Sofia…”
“Hmm?”
“You’re trembling.”
Am I?"It's the wedding jitters," I whisper, lifting my eyes to his. "Every bride gets them. I'm marrying a man I've only met once in my entire life. Well, if you don't count the gossip sites or that gala my parents took me to when I was seventeen. I spotted you in the crowd, but that was ages ago…"
His mouth slams down on mine, swallowing the rest of my words. I whimper and grab the lapels of his jacket to hold myself up, eyes fluttering closed when he slides his mouth over mine in a slow pull of lips. So deliberate and sensual. His left hand circles my waist and pulls me flush against him as the other slides under my veil and into my hair, palming my nape, holding my head still as he kisses me. I startle when his tongue grazes my lower lip, his mouth gently urging mine to open.
“Let me in,tesoro mio,” he rasps, tugging at my hair, and my mouth parts in a gasp, giving him the opening he was looking for. I moan when his tongue finds mine, and the kiss turns erotic… sinful.
I taste whiskey on his tongue, the sweetness and smoky flavor of a drink I was never supposed to taste but did anyway when my rebellious teen years had me raiding my father’s liquor cabinet. I only took a sip of the bitter stuff and hated it, but on his lips… It's intoxicating. Better than anything I have ever tasted in my life.
He’s so warm.
So big and strong and… perfect.
I slide my arms around his shoulders and rise to chase the kiss, my nipples puckering painfully behind my wedding gown with every wet slide of lips. As if sensing my need for relief, he releases my hair and slides his hand between us. I whimper into the kiss as he kneads my breasts over my wedding dress, groaning when I push into his touch. My tongue chases his as he fondles my breasts, the caress doing little to soothe my aching nipples.
I want to tear off the dress, feel the burn of his touch on my naked body.
“Matteo…” I whimper, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve said his given name. “God.”
“I’ve got you,” he says thickly, sliding a hand behind me and lifting me onto the dresser, tugging at the heavy skirt of my gown. I tremble when I feel those long fingers travel up my legs, squeezing my thighs in their slow ascent. “I love the way you taste,” he rasps, his breath hot against mine. “So sweet, like fucking candy. And the way you feel…”
A rush of heat burns through my stomach and down to my core when his fingers caress the juncture of my thighs. “Oh God,” I moan, urging him without words to touch where I’m wet and wanting—where no man has ever touched before. Those long fingers… I need them to caress that spot. The pulsing ache is so intense it hurts.
You don’t know this man. He shouldn’t touch you!
My fiancé.
Only he has the right to touch me.
The thoughts swirling in my head are conflicting, but the loudest one of all is the one that calls for his touch, stranger or not. He's the cause of this fire; it's only right that he puts it out.
Please.
As if hearing my silent plea, he tugs my flimsy underwear to the side and slides his fingers underneath. My head falls back against the mirror with a loud moan and my thighs jerk hard when he slides his finger through my slick folds. His touch is electric, stroking my wetness with maddening slowness. "Oh God," I gasp, gripping his shoulders when he drags his middle finger up my center and then back down, spreading my arousal.
“You’re soaked, practically dripping,” he growls, and the raw hunger in his voice makes me clench around nothing. I’mtoo far gone to think of anything but the finger sliding into me and sending delicious sparks rippling through my body. I’m mad with desire as I roll my hips to meet his touch, eyes dazed as I stare at the hazy figure of my fiancé. All those strong and gorgeous lines of his body. That face made for sin. Eyes so dark they should scare me.
He should scare me.
But I’m too caught up in the fire building in my core to be scared of the man touching me. Whatever thoughts I have left all scatter when his thumb circles my clit, causing my hips to jerk off the dresser. “Oh God… Matteo…”
