She stopped, but only to unbuckle my belt and unzip me. I shoved my slacks down over my ass, so fucking hot for her I could barely think straight.
She pulled the dress back up around her waist and opened up her legs for me. Something shy flashed inside her gaze, but it didn’t linger. It hardened into something more sure, more wanting.
I held myself above her, my cock hard as it bobbed between us. I wanted to be inside her so badly I ached, but as I stared down at her, I faltered. I wanted everything I could get from her, but some stubborn part of me rebelled at the thought of taking what she’d saved all these years on the floor of a foyer in a house that would stop being hers in five months.
I’m a good Italian girl. I’ve been saving myself for marriage.
A marriage. Not a six-month deal.
She’d regret it tomorrow. And no matter how badly I wanted her—and God, I wanted her—I wanted to avoid hurting her even more.
I grabbed my cock and worked it, angling it at her inner thigh.
Five, six pumps was all it took. I came on her leg and the ruined dress in a burst of pleasure so intense it briefly blinded me. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressed my forehead to hers, and panted ragged breaths against her lips until the world came back.
When I pushed off her, I found her looking at me with furrowed brows. “Why didn’t you…” She trailed off. Swallowed.
“Your first time shouldn’t be wasted on me. Save it for your second husband.”
Her expression turned stony. She pushed at my chest until I rolled off her. “How thoughtful of you.” She sat up. Pulled the ruined dress to her chest. Then she got to her feet without another word and walked toward the stairs.
I stayed where I was and watched her go.
The house settled around me. Just the dark foyer and the sound of her footsteps on the stairs, and then nothing. I braced my elbows on my knees and dragged a hand through my hair.
She was angry with me. Fine. It was better that way. If I’d done what every cell in my body had pushed me to do, I would’ve woken up tomorrow with her looking at me like I’d taken something that wasn’t mine to take.
We’d stepped over a line tonight.
But that was as far as we’d go.
CHAPTER 32
FABIANA
When I wokeup the next morning, the first thing that greeted me was a feathered aquamarine dress in a puddle on the ground.
Shit.
It took a few seconds to convince myself that what had happened the night before wasn’t a dream. A shiver ran through me as the memories rushed back all at once, vivid and disorienting. I could still feel the scrape of Cosimo’s beard against my inner thighs, the grip of his hand around my neck, the slow, warm drag of his lips over my breast.
But he’d stopped. Stopped before we took it all the way.
I sat up in bed and reached for the glass of water on the nightstand.
I hadn’t asked him to stop. I hadn’t evenwantedhim to. I’d been ready last night. More than ready. I was twenty-five years old, married, and tired of being a virgin. I’d always said I wanted my first time to be with someone who knew the real me.
Cosimo did.
Actually, the man appeared to think he knew me better than I knew myself.
Save it for your second husband.
Irritation rolled through me. That wasn’t his decision to make.
But it told me something all the same. For all the thinking he’d apparently been doing about me, he still viewed me as temporary. When the time came, he was prepared to let me go.
I wished I could say the same with confidence. But I couldn’t.
