I cry out, my head going back, lights exploding behind my eyes. The slow stroke of his tongue everywhere but the place I want him to lick most of all is maddening. He’s feasting on me, tasting me like I’m a banquet set before him, but he’s not going to gorge. No, he’s going to take a bite from every dish and take his time savouring the flavour.
‘Look at me,’ he growls in a dark, rough voice.
I can’t help but obey, looking down into his fierce, quicksilver gaze as he spears his tongue into me. I shudder, another cry bursting from my throat. The sight of him there, with his long fingers gripping my thighs, is the mostly intensely erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
He licks me and nips me, exploring me, but never quite giving me what I want, and I’m panting, writhing on the desk, unable to stop from begging him. It should be humiliating to beg for anything from him, but in this moment I don’t care how I sound. I just want what he promised, which was to make me come.
‘Vincenzo,’ I pant. ‘Wolf…please…oh please.’
This time he answers, giving me the most delicate lick and caress, right on my clit, and the world explodes around me in a burst of colour and unbelievable pleasure.
The room echoes with the sounds of someone’s cries, and dimly I know they’re mine. I’m lying back on his desk now, shuddering with the aftershocks, in pieces yet whole at the same time.
He rises to his feet, standing between my spread thighs, arrogantly looking down at my naked body stretched out before him as he undoes his belt. He locks gazes with me, his eyes liquid mercury, and the heat in them makes me burn all over once again.
His movements are lazy as he unbuttons his trousers and pulls down the zip of his fly, but there is nothing lazy in the way he looks at me. I expect him to pull me to him, but he doesn’t. Instead, like the wolf he is, he leaps gracefully up onto the desk and looms over me on his hands and knees. He’s a predator about to feast on his prey, and I’m shivering with anticipation.
He leans down to take my mouth, his kiss electric, the taste of me on his lips, and I lift my hands, threading my fingers into his black hair, feeling the rough silk of it against my skin.
I arch up, wanting him, and he slides a hand beneath the small of my back, keeping me in position. Then his weight settles on me, and his hands are moving, and I feel the thick, blunt head of his cock pushing into me.
There is no pain this time, only the most incredible pleasure and he sinks deep inside me. I moan as his hand beneath my back slides further down, gripping my butt hard, and then he begins to move. It’s slow at first, agonisingly so, making me gasp and moan against him. I pull at his hair, find his mouth, then nip at him, biting at him so he goes harder, faster, but frustratingly, his kisses are as slow and sensual as the movement of his hips.
His lips burns at my throat then move lower, the scattered sparks of hot kisses raining over my breasts, his tongue lazily licking at my nipples. I’m gasping again, arching against him, begging and begging, but he only gives a dark, heated laugh against my skin and carries on driving me insane.
He slides his hands up my thighs, pulling my legs up and around his lean hips, sinking even deeper inside me, and there’s nothing I can do to resist the storm of pleasure building inside me. Nothing I can do but surrender to it.
So, I do, my nails digging into his powerful shoulders as he thrusts deeply, lazily into me. And only when I think I can’t bear it anymore, does he ease a finger down between us, timing a stroke over my clit with a deep thrust of his cock, and I’m lost as the storm breaks over me.
Dimly I feel him move faster, harder, and then I hear the harsh growl of my name in his ear, and I grip him tighter, holding him to me as the storm breaks in him as well.
Some time passes, I don’t know how long, but I’m curiously comfortable, despite the hard wood of the desk against my back and the weight of his hard muscled body pressing down on my front. I’ve still got my fingers twisted in his hair, and I’m stroking it, looking at the strands of silver threading through all that ink-black. They’re beautiful. As beautiful as he is.
After a moment, he lifts his head and looks down at me, his intense gaze searching mine. ‘You are a revelation, littlegattina,’ he murmurs. ‘I have never met a woman like you.’
He means it, I can see, and a warmth that has nothing to do with sex or physical chemistry fills me. I’ve never been any kind of revelation to anyone, let alone to a man like him, and I love the way he says it.
‘And I’ve never met a man like you.’ I shouldn’t give him this truth, I shouldn’t give him any part of me at all, and yet I find myself wanting to.
‘Is that a good thing?’ he asks, his voice wholly empty of the lazy, cynical amusement I’m used to hearing in it.
I stare up at him, meeting his silver gaze. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘It’s a very good thing.’
He smiles that sexy, genuine smile of his, that turns his mouth from cruel to beautiful in seconds flat. ‘Well, that’s true. I am very special.’
And for the first time since I met him, my own mouth curves in response, giving him back his own smile. ‘Not to mention, arrogant as hell,’ I say, teasing him a little.
‘That shouldn’t be a surprise,’ he says, his voice full of masculine satisfaction. ‘I have a lot to be arrogant about.’ He moves off the desk, doing his trousers back up and then, as I sit up, he scoops me up and into his arms. ‘Why don’t we continue this upstairs, hmmm?’
‘That’s the best idea I’ve heard from you yet,’ I say as he carries me from his office.
We spend all day in his large, four-poster bed, and he shows me just how much pleasure my body is capable of. Then he lets me experiment on him, telling me what he likes, and I’m thrilled when I have him growling rough demands, before roaring my name as he comes.
But it’s not until the late afternoon, when he turns in bed to take a sip of the champagne Maria brought up for us, along with some food for ‘sustenance’, and the sheet slips down, exposing his back. There are deep, jagged scars marring his smooth deep-olive skin. They’re twisted and angry-looking, as if someone has gouged great holes his flesh, and everything in me draws tight with horror.
I must have made some kind of involuntary sound, because he puts down his champagne glass and turns back to look at me, frowning. ‘What wrong?’
I’m cold all over, aware all of a sudden of where I am and exactly who he is. The Wolf of Sicily, head of the most infamous and powerful of the families. The man who’s ordered hundreds of deaths and forced into submission many other families. And I’m his wife. And I’ll be trapped in this cage for the rest of my life.
