‘I… I do want to feed it. I want you, so much.’
The whispered declaration snapped the last thin thread on his control and the fierce hunger roared through his system.
He dragged her into his embrace, to capture the thundering pulse in her neck with his lips, sucking the soft skin. Finding the curve of her bottom, he caressed the warm flesh, rocking her against his throbbing cock, to ease the pain.
The need swelled. And hardened.
He boosted her into his arms. ‘Wrap your legs around my waist,’ he demanded, his voice harsh—his need harsher.
She didn’t hesitate, cupping his cheeks, raining kisses over his face as he carried her into the bedroom, the ache in his leg for once obliterated by the throbbing agony in his cock. He ground the turgid length against the juncture of her thighs… Desperate to bury himself so deep inside her, he could make the pain go away.
For tonight, at least.
Tali sobbed, her lungs seizing, as Dario tossed her onto the huge bed. The fire in her blood became an inferno as he towered over her. His dark eyes remained fixed on her face, making her skin feel tight, and the swelling heat in her sex ache. He threw off his jacket, then ripped open his shirt, making buttons pop.
‘Take off the dress, Tallulah,’ he demanded as he tore the shirt free of his trousers and tugged it off. His voice was surprisingly calm and controlled, but the feral harsh command had her racing to obey him.
She tugged the zip under her arm, shimmied out of the expensive satin. But her lungs seized again, her gaze devouring the sight before her when he slung the torn shirt away. His naked chest was as magnificent as the rest of him, the muscles bulging and flexing as he bent his head to unhook his trousers. His pecs were contoured with dark hair that trailed down in a thin line past ridged abs, accentuated by the delicious V of his hip flexors.
He grimaced as he transferred his weight to his bad leg to drag off his trousers. Sympathy echoed in her heart as the crisscross of scars on his thigh was revealed. And she recalled the boy she’d known, lying for weeks in the bedroom in Westwick, insisting the drapes remain closed, often refusing to even acknowledge her presence.
She shook off the sentimental thought when he straightened, her gaze fixing on the thick outline of his erection distending the black briefs.
‘The dress, Tallulah,’ he said, his voice husky with need. She scrambled to finish taking it off, aware of his hot gaze skating over her bared breasts in the half-light. She folded an arm over her chest, suddenly brutally aware of her nakedness. But when she stood, intending to fold the dress, he grasped her wrist.
‘Leave it,’ he murmured.
The rich satin dropped from her numb fingers as he lifted her chin with his other hand.
‘You are beautiful, Tallulah, you must not hide yourself from me.’ The words were gruff, and as commanding as always, but somehow also unbearably romantic, the hunger in his eyes making the hot spot between her thighs burn as he eased her arm down, to expose her fully to his gaze.
His thumb skimmed under a rouged nipple, sharpening the ache between her thighs.
‘Bellissima,’ he whispered, scooping the heavy flesh into his palm and bending to capture the tender peak with his lips.
She sobbed, grasping handfuls of his hair, her breath sawing out in ragged pants as he worked the engorged nipple—with his teeth, his tongue—sucking, stroking, nipping, tormenting… The heat rose and twisted, becoming desperate. He pressed the heel of his hand to her vulva, rubbed her through the sodden lace, then found her swollen flesh, to torture her there, too. One finger, then two, stretched her, stroked her, locating a devastating spot which made her buck against his hold, trying to ride that delicious torment, her body no longer her own.
He murmured something in Italian, his tone gruff.
She clung to him, the pants turning to broken sobs, as the storm built, burned, forcing her closer to the abyss. Her body quaked, but he kept her on that brutal edge, sucking her tender nipples in turn, holding her suspended, tormented, as his fingers drove deep, stretching her, possessing her, retreating to tease and circle her swollen clit but not taking her over.
‘Please, I need…’ she begged. Too close and yet too far.
‘Shh,bella, I have you,’ he soothed, his voice fierce with the same need tearing her apart.
Then he brushed his thumb over the swollen bundle of nerves. She cried out, breaking into a billion glittering shards of exquisite pain, furious pleasure.
She was still shivering, still shaking, the cloud of afterglow almost as brutal as the titanic orgasm, as he pushed her onto the bed.
She watched him—dazed, dizzy, disorientated—as he dragged off the briefs and freed the massive erection.
She lifted up on her elbows, the desire to stroke him, there, where he was so beautiful, as instinctive as it was unfamiliar. She’d had sex before, but it had never been like this—so stark, so wild, so elemental.
But when she reached for him, he snagged her wrist. ‘Do not touch me, Tallulah, I need to be inside you now.’
She swallowed, and nodded, the ache in her throat almost as vicious as the one between her thighs. Why did this feel like so much more than just sex?
‘Do I need a condom?’ he asked. ‘I am clean, I have never taken a woman without one—before you.’
