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He fell back against the wall. Reached between them. Unzipped his fly. His erection sprang free, swollen and hot, and he drove into her.
She cried out and convulsed around him at the first stroke of his possession and he felt the tightening in his scrotum that meant he could have come right then, but he wasn’t done with her.
Not yet.
Claiming her. Her surrender was what this was all about.
Luca gritted his teeth, fought back the urge to come and drove into her again. And again. She was sobbing; her breath was hot on his throat and when he drove into her a final time, she screamed, sank her teeth into his shoulder and he shuddered and let go, let his own climax drain him of anger, of need, of everything but the feel of the woman in his arms.
They stood locked together, him still inside her, both of them gasping for air. His muscles were trembling; he could feel his heart pounding as adrenaline coursed through him.
Finally, his breathing slowed. The world righted itself.
Slowly, he let Cheyenne slide down the length of his body until she was standing.
Her arms were still around his neck.
She stirred and he thought she might try to pull away. No way would he have let that happen, but she didn’t make the attempt. Instead, she leaned into him and as he stroked his hand over her hair, he knew that whatever was happening between them could change his life, forever.
* * *
He smoothed down her kimono. Adjusted his jeans. Then he pressed a kiss to her hair.
She lifted her face to his and he kissed her mouth. She curved her hand around his jaw, loving the sexy roughness of his end-of-day stubble.
How long had they known each other? Two days? Two years?
A lifetime.
She smiled.
“What?” he said softly.
She shook her head, slid her hand to the nape of his neck, rose on her toes and kissed him.
“What a lovely way to end an evening,” she murmured.
He smiled. It was a wicked smile, filled with promises, and it made her pulse quicken.
“It’s not the end of anything,” he said, taking her hand and drawing her to the bed.
She sat on the edge of the mattress and held her hand out to him. He laced his fingers through hers, but didn’t sit down beside her.
She looked up at him. The moonlight was reflected in her eyes. How could she be lovelier each time he looked at her?
A smile curved her lips.
“What are you thinking, cara”
Her smile widened. Then, to his amusement, she giggled.
“You’re laughing?” he said, trying to sound stern. “Just what a man wants after he makes love to a woman.”
“It isn’t that. Well, not exactly. I’m thinking of Mrs. DeCenzo.”
“Who?”
“My neighbor.”
“Even better. We make love and you think of Mrs. DeCenzo.” Luca grinned as he sat next to her and curved his arm around her shoulders. “Would you mind explaining that?”
“She’s elderly. And she’s a widow.”
“And?”
“And, what happened is a woman’s fantasy. A man wanting her so much that he’ll storm castle walls, slay dragons, do anything to have her.” She blushed and buried her face against his shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Luca cupped her chin and raised her face to his.
“I am looking at you exactly as such a man would look at such a woman,” he said in a low voice, “because I am that man, cara, and you are that woman.”
He bent his head and kissed her mouth.
“Do you know how delicious you taste?” He kissed her again. “Coffee. With cream and sugar.”
“My dinner,” she said softly.
“Only that?”
“I didn’t have much of an appetite.”
He sighed and drew her against his side.
“Neither did I,” he said, remembering the plate of exceedingly expensive something-or-other he’d hardly touched. “Why no appetite?”
She gave him a smile that went straight to his groin.
“I kept thinking about you. About last night.”
“Yes.” His tone roughened. “As did I. It was an amazing night, dolcezza. I should have forced you to admit that instead of letting you leave me.”
“How would you have done that?” she asked, very softly, and he could feel the atmosphere in the room change.
A muscle knotted in his jaw.
“I could have tied you up again. Not just by your wrists, but by your ankles, too.”
“I’d have fought you.”
“I am bigger than you, cara. Which of us do you think would win such a struggle?”
“But—but you wouldn’t force me to do something I didn’t want.”
“No.” He tilted her chin up. “We are learning. Both of us. For instance, I would not have thought this thing you are wearing is sexy.”
Cheyenne slicked the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip.
“But?”
“But it is. It covers so much of you…” She caught her breath as he traced his index finger along the fabric that covered her nipples. “And yet, beneath it, you are naked. That makes it very sexy indeed.”
His touch was light. Still, she could feel her breasts lifting, her nipples budding. Her breathing quickened and she closed her eyes and let herself glide with the sensation.
“Look at me,” Luca said.
Cheyenne’s eyes flew open.
“That’s it, bellissima. Look at me as I pleasure you.”
A little sound whispered from her throat. He bent to her, caught the sound with his mouth.
“You were naked beneath your gown at the ball the other night.”
Both his hands were on her breasts now, his thumbs teasing the nipples. Hot wetness bloomed between her thighs. They’d just made love. How could she want him again?
“It—it suited the—it suited the…” She swallowed dryly. “Luca. I can’t think when—”
“And naked again, tonight.”
“Because I’d just come out of the—Oh God. Luca. Please…”
“What do you call this thing you are wearing, bellissima? A caftan?”
“Yes. I bought it in Morocco last year. We were doing a shoot and I went—I went shopping at a souk…” He bent forward and touched the tip of his tongue to first one nipple and then the other through the silk of the caftan. Cheyenne began to tremble. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he said calmly. “I am simply imagining you in that souk, trying on caftans.”
He sat back and traced a line from the valley between her breasts to her navel. Where would his hand stop? Where the caftan stopped? Where its long skirt was rucked up above her knees?
“Did you?” he said.
Her gaze flew to his. He wasn’t as calm as he sounded. There were crimson stripes along his high cheekbones and his eyes were almost black.
“Did I what?” she whispered.
“Did you try on this caftan before you bought it?”
There was an edge to his voice. A warning. Soft, but real.
“I—I’m sorry. I don’t—”
“It is a simple question bellissima. Did you try on the caftan?”
Her heart was pounding. His hand was at the hem of the caftan. What would he do next? Where would he touch her?
“No. I didn’t.”
“Because?”
“Because…” She bit back a moan. His hand was under the hem, stroking her thigh.
“Cara? You were explaining why you didn’t try on this caftan.”
“Because—because a souk isn’t that kind of place. There are rules…”
“Rules?” he whispered, as the back of his hand brushed lightly over the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. “What rules?”
“Not rules, exactly. Traditions. About modesty.”
His fingers stroked over her. Her lashes fluttered to her cheeks as heat flooded h
er veins. She gave a little moan of frustration when he withdrew his hand and leaned back, but he wasn’t done with her yet.
“Stand up.”
His voice was hoarse and hard. A tiny shiver of fear went through her.
“Cheyenne. Stand up.”
Slowly, she rose to her feet.
“Look at me. I told you that before. I want you watching me, do you understand?”
She nodded. She was weightless. Boneless. She was a cluster of nerve endings, a creature made of fire and need.
And what she needed was him.
“You’re wet,” he said in a smoky whisper. “Only from me touching you.”
“Yes.”
He put his hand over his fly. She could see the bulge of his erection under the straining denim.
“And I am hard, only from touching you.”
Sweet Jesus. Surely, her knees were going to buckle.
