Knowing what she did about him, understanding what he’d said, Allegra was still there. Begging for him. It went beyond sex. It went beyond need. This was elemental. It was fate. It was something stronger than either of them.
And he could not keep slamming the door on it.
She would be his,Dio io auti.She would be. And he could only pray to deserve her faith in him, to keep her safe. Not to break her or lose her, as he had so many others.
She slept late,and little wonder. He had exhausted her. Knowingly, she guessed. He had driven her to climax again, and again, and again, until she was breathless and spent, barely able to keep her eyes open, and then he’d carried her body to the bed and laid her down so reverently that she’d wanted to point out there was nothing dark or tormented in his soul. Not when such gentleness existed.
And yet that wasn’t true. She’d seen it. His torture and torment, the anger that had run through him. His protectiveness of her. She didn’t know how to tell him he’d already saved her from a fate she couldn’t describe. He wasn’t exactly her knight in shining armour; she refused to believe she needed saving. But he’d stood between her and something so much worse than Paolo, a threat she truly hadn’t been able to handle.
Stretching in the bed, she glanced to her right even when she knew she was alone. His side of the bed was empty. She stretched her fingers out and ran them over the sheet, trying to imagine being back in his villa and sleeping in separate rooms. And failing.
It brought a frown to her face. They were only a week and a half into their marriage and already she wanted to substantially shift the goal posts.
She wanted more, even within the limitations of what she knew was possible. And she wasn’t arguing with that. She understood why he would never commit, why he couldn’t be what she wanted and needed, but it didn’t stop her from craving more now. While she had him.
She pushed the sheet back with impatience, stepping out of bed and stalking, naked, towards the window. The coastline, in the late morning, was both beautiful, and in a state of movement. Or rather, they were moving.
She frowned, remembering his suggestion that they explore a town, her joking correction that they could have groceries brought aboard. She grabbed a robe and went in search of him, and clarification.
He was above deck, at the navigation wheel, gaze fixed on the coastline.
She hesitated a moment. Not from nervousness, but from the sheer force of awareness that hit her like a wall. It wasn’t just how he looked, but who he was, a strength that was conveyed by every single cell of him.
Did he sense her arrival? Surely he couldn’t have heard her. Yet he turned, before she could reach him, lips tugging in something close to a smile. “You’re up.”
She nodded, realising she had no idea of the time. “What time is it?”
“Almost lunch time.”
Her eyes flew wide. “You’re kidding?”
He arched a brow.
“I don’t think I’ve slept that late in…ever.”
Sheer masculine pride shone in his eyes. “You must have been tired.”
“Oh, completely worn out,” she murmured. Yet there was something about the expression on his face that irked her. Or rather, challenged her. The pride bordering on arrogance. The knowledge he possessed—and not wrongly—that he could drive her to distraction so easily.
She moved to stand behind him, as though just admiring the view, and then snaked her hands around his waist, innocently enough. Only she felt his harsh intake of breath and knew thatthe second she touched him, he felt the same spark in his bloodstream as she did in hers. His hands clenched; she saw it and knew. Understood.
Her hands moved lower, shaking slightly, at the daring of this. Of moving to touch. Of holding.
“Allegra,” he growled, but he didn’t stop her. He didn’t ask her to stop. “You shouldn’t?—,”
“Why not?” Her own voice was a purr. She barely recognised herself.
Her pulse was firing far too fast as she slipped her hands into the waistband of his shorts, and lower, to find his enormous, hard cock. She was rewarded with a harsh exhalation, a rough, jagged hawing of his breath as he tilted his head back and surrendered to this.
“You’re beautiful,” she said, and it was true. Though it might have seemed strange to describe a man like Luca that way, she thought it whenever she looked at him. A work of art, from head to toe.
“Allegra,” another growl, but this one more of a plea. She had no idea what she was doing, every touch and movement was instinct, but somehow, those instincts were confident. She ran her fingers from his tip to his base, and when he breathed harder, she kept doing what she was doing, the movements rhythmic and then gaining speed until he was reaching for her hands and pulling at them, turning to face her, his cheeks slashed with dark colour, his eyes glittering with wildness.
“Basta.Stop.”
She flushed to the roots of her hair, chastened. Had she done something wrong?
“No, no.” He closed his eyes, breathing rough. She realised she’d asked the question aloud. “You did everything right. Too right. Perfect. I have decent control, but I am not a machine.”
