She trembles but lets her arms fall to her sides, fingers curling into fists as I slide her jeans down her legs. She steps out of them automatically, a flush spreading from her face down her neck to the tops of her breasts.
My eyes track the path of that blush. I want to follow it with my tongue, tasting every inch of her heated skin. The small black panties match her bra—lacy and shapely. The cut makes it so some of her ass cheeks fall out, which is a fucking mouthwatering sight.
I reach behind her to unclasp her bra, my movements unhurried despite the pounding of my heart. Her breath hitchesas the fabric loosens, and I slide the straps down her arms, revealing full, heavy breasts tipped with rosy nipples that pebble in the cool air.
“Please,” she begs on a breathy whisper, but whether she’s begging me to stop or continue, I’m not sure. She might not even know since the words don’t match her tone.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties and slide them down, revealing a trimmed patch of red curls between her thighs. Her entire body is trembling with what I recognize as shame mixed with something else—something she might not even be aware of yet.
Stepping back, I take in the full view of her naked body. She’s magnificent—all soft curves and pale skin, a constellation of freckles scattered across her shoulders. Her breasts are full and heavy, the kind that would fill my hands perfectly and possibly still spill over.
Fuck!
Her waist curves in slightly before flaring out to generous hips marked with small silver stretch marks like badges of honor. I want to bite and lick each one. Badly. While I stand there admiring her, she tries to cover herself again. One arm across her breasts, the other hand cupping between her legs.
“I said don’t,” I growl, stepping forward again. “Let me see what’s mine.”
“I’m not yours,” she whispers, but she drops her arms, revealing herself to me once more.
I move toward her, and with each step I take forward, she takes one back until she hits the wall with a soft gasp. I close the distance between us.
My free hand hovers near her skin, not touching, just close enough that she must feel the heat radiating from my palm. My eyes travel down her body, drinking in details I’ll replay later.
“You shouldn’t be hiding your body anyway,” I tell her, my voice rough with desire. “It’s beautiful. Sexy as fuck.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right.” When I growl at her, hating she’s unable to see herself clearly, she rolls her eyes. “I know I’m not beautiful, Raffaele. If this is you trying to sweet-talk me into sleeping with you before we’re married, it won’t work.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to breathe slowly. Slow. Slower still. The way she talks about herself is a fucking crime. It makes me want to haul her over my knees and spank her ass until she can’t sit down for weeks.
“You still don’t believe you’re beautiful?” I rasp.
“I know I’m not,” she states.
Instead of arguing with her, I nod. “Okay. Let’s say you’re right, that you’re not beautiful… who decides that?”
“W-what?”
“Well, isn’t beauty in the eye of the beholder?” I challenge. “So if I find you beautiful, sexy, perfect… that’s up to me, isn’t it?”
She opens her mouth, probably to disagree. But I shake my head.
“Since you don’t want to use the clothes I’ve given you, you don’t need any.” I release her wrists and step back. “Anything I give you, you accept, or you go without,” I say, gripping her chin to make her look at me. “It’s that simple.”
She brings her arms down slowly, wrapping them around herself again. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and the vulnerability in her voice almost breaks my resolve.Almost.
“No reason to be sorry,” I reply, my expression deliberately cold. “This was your choice, and now you get to live with it.”
Chapter 22
Raffaele
Iwatch her standing before me, naked and vulnerable, her arms wrapped protectively around her body once more despite my command.
The flush spreads across her pale skin like watercolor on wet paper, highlighting every dip and curve I want to taste. She thinks she’s not beautiful. She’s about to learn how fucking wrong she is.
“I told you not to cover yourself,” I remind her, my voice deceptively soft.
Alina drops her arms slowly, but her eyes remain fixed on the floor, her red hair falling forward to partially shield her face. That won’t do. I need her to see what I see.
