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Marco took a step into her, parting her thighs to bring them even closer and the rub of his aroused body against her own made every nerve ending scream.
But she couldn’t think, couldn’t think straight at all with his hands on her and his body touching hers and the scorching heat all around. Part of her brain still ordered her to pull away while another part overrode her protest, desperate for warmth—even more desperate for long denied gratification.
Her craving for contact won.
With a sigh she slid her hands across Marco’s chest, her body melting into his. Marco clasped her hips and pulled her forward, bringing her hips square against his. The sinewy pressure of his body was sinful. Payton shuddered as his warmth penetrated her silky pajama top and the thin silk pants, his hard contours familiar and yet shocking.
Marco shifted and lifting her arms, Payton wrapped them around his neck. She’d always been attracted to him but the desire had never been so physical, or intense. Her breasts ached, her blood raced, her lower belly practically pulsed and she pressed herself against him to satisfy the craving.
“God help me, but I want you even more now than before,” Marco muttered, drinking her in, drawing her as close as he could.
The waistband on his pajamas rubbed at her and he ran a hand down the length of her torso, his fingers tracing the ridge of bone in her hip before cupping her tummy.
Payton felt mindless, nerveless. She’s ignored her body for years but now it refused to be denied. She wanted Marco. She wanted Marco to touch her. She wanted to touch him, all of him. She wanted to be with him once more. Who knew what would happen when she returned to San Francisco. The future was dark, cloudy, impossible to read. All she had was the moment. All she had was right now.
And right now she wanted another kiss. Another caress…
She fit herself against him, blind to anything but the delicious feel of his arms and mouth. That night after the opera, the night they lost control, it had been potent, powerful, but nothing like this. This hunger felt hot and hard and razor sharp. This hunger was a tangible thing.
Marco’s lips parted hers and Payton welcomed the rasp of his tongue and its hard thrust inside her mouth. His tongue teased hers. She answered its quest. Blood throbbed in her lips, echoing the heavy pulse in her belly.
Clasping her hip, Marco pressed her against his arousal. Payton gasped, her body tightening, instinct overriding coherent thought. She could feel him in every nerve of her body.
“I want you,” he said, his breathing deep, hoarse.
“Yes.” She looked up at him, her brain slow, thoughts fuzzy. A lock of black hair fell across his forehead. Emotion glowed in his dark eyes.
He swallowed hard and touched her cheek. “We have to be careful.”
“Yes.” What had happened to her brain? It felt like scrambled eggs.
“Are you on anything for birth control?”
She exhaled and shook her head, her limbs trembling. God, she wanted him. She wanted to strip here and now and feel him inside her, feel his skin against hers, feel the warmth and energy and excitement. “No. Don’t you have a—” She gestured to his pocket. “A condom?”
“I don’t carry condoms in my wallet, and I haven’t anything here at the house.” He must have read her troubled expression. “Marilena and I weren’t kids. We didn’t make out in parked cars or in dark corners.”
His head dipped. He kissed the edge of her mouth, his lips sending fire throughout her middle all over again.
She swayed on her feet and reached up to clasp his shirt, trying to steady herself. “We can still make love,” she whispered. “We’ll just be careful. Just pull out before.”
He shook his head, the dark shock of hair on his brow making him look rakish, wild. “It’s too risky. We only made love once before—”
“It wasn’t once. We made love three times that night.”
His eyes glinted. “Yes, but it was just one night and all it took was one night with you and we conceived twins. We can’t take risks like that now, not with you facing chemo when you go home.”
He caught her face in his hands, lifted her face to his. “But just because I can’t be inside you doesn’t mean we can’t make love in other ways.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE inflection in his voice thrilled her and she gripped his shirt even tighter, needing to hold on for support. Beneath his shirt she felt the strong planes of his chest, his muscle dense and smooth.
One of Marco’s hands trailed beneath the waistband of her silk pajama pants, tracing an invisible line across her tense belly.
It felt as if he’d torched her, white and blue and gold flames licking at her skin, melting her on the inside. Her body ached with emptiness, her legs quivered as he pushed her silky pajama pants down to her ankles before stripping them off each ankle.
She was standing there in tiny lace panties and an oversized pajama shirt and yet she didn’t have a scrap of modesty left, her senses too heightened, her body too hot with wanting.
His fingertips caressed down a bare thigh and back up the inside. He was spreading the fire everywhere. Her mouth parted and dried as he stroked over her lace panty before his palm cupped her mound.
Mercy, she panted, have mercy on me. His fingers moved beneath the silk-trimmed panty and lightly caressed her, lightly running across the outer shape of her and Payton wanted to scream. It was exciting and yet completely unsatisfying. To have his hand so close to everything without really doing anything was as close to torture as Payton wanted to come.
“What’s wrong?” Marco’s lips brushed her cheek and then the curve of her ear. “You seem a little tense.”
“Don’t be mean.”
He lightly stroked her again, but again it was across her and very general. The pleasure was general and what one wanted when there, so close to hot points, was specifics.
She hauled herself against him, her camisole too tight across her breasts, the tiny beading grating her taut nipples. “More would be nice,” she managed, feeling carnal and hedonistic and not giving much of a damn anymore.
“How?”
She blushed. He knew perfectly well how. He’d done it before, he was very good with his hands, had quite the expert touch if she remembered correctly. “Touch me.”
“I am touching you.”
She could have sworn he was laughing a little. How unfair was that? “This isn’t the time,” she said, heat surging to her cheeks, making her feel impossibly hot. “There is a time to tease but it’s not now.”
Her head had tipped back giving him access to her neck and his lips slowly traveled across her skin, lighting silver sparklers as he went. “So tell me what you want. How should I be touching you?”
And then he did it. He slid a finger between her inner lips, stroked across the sensitized nerve before entering her.
Her legs nearly went out and she shuddered. The touch was intimate and yet exquisite. There were times she felt like a body, like pure energy in motion, and then there was now when she felt incredibly sexual and feminine. Marco knew how to make her feel like a woman. He was the only one who’d ever made her feel this way and it was intense. It was so delicious and addictive that she could almost imagine becoming a slave to desire. A slave to skin and passion.
He pushed into her, his fingers warm and slick. Payton’s legs wobbled, her ankles almost floppy in the high heels.
“I don’t think I can stand,” she choked as he caressed her deeper.
“Fine. You can sit.” He shifted and then lifting her up, placed her on the edge of her small elegant writing desk. “This is a better position for me anyway,” he added, parting his knees and crouching in front of her.
She sucked in a hoarse breath as she felt the tip of his tongue flick over her hot sensitive flesh and she had a very vivid picture of the famous Capri cocktail. One way or another, she thought, panting a little at the intense sensation, Marco had been determined she try the exotic, erotic Tongue in the Grotto.
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With his mouth he brought her to the pinnacle of pleasure, and her body quivered with such violent aftershocks she couldn’t move from the desk for quite some time, holding tightly on to Marco instead.
“I feel like Mount Vesuvius erupting,” she choked with embarrassed laughter against his neck. She’d never had such an intense sensual experience before.
He laughed, too, and swung her into his arms. “I think bed’s the place for you. It has to be more comfortable than your writing desk.”
Under the covers, she curled against him, her hand stroking his hard flat abdomen. She felt the muscles in his belly tighten at her light touch and as she stroked lower she heard his sharp inhale.
There were so many things they’d never done together and suddenly Payton wanted to try all of them. Marco had been wonderful giving her pleasure, now she wanted to do the same for him. But before she made any obvious move, she contented herself with just touching him, wrapped her hand around the rigid length of him and slowly but firmly stroking. From the sound of it, she’d found the right tempo but Payton wasn’t about to let him come too soon.
Sliding down his chest, she let her breasts tickle and tease until she’d disappeared beneath the covers. She used her mouth to discover him, the tip of her tongue to trace him.
His muffled groan of pleasure aroused her. She’d loved the way he touched her, and yet it was almost more gratifying being able to return the pleasure. Making love was powerful, and as she stroked him with her hand and mouth she felt a welling of love, perhaps appreciating for the first time the differences between them. If he weren’t Marco, and she weren’t Payton, none of this would be half as wonderful.
