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So quickly she didn’t even notice him move, he covered her hand with his. ‘No more,’ he growled. ‘I want to be inside you.’
She couldn’t resist wrapping an arm around his neck and kissing him, pressing herself against him as tightly as she could.
Hooking an arm around her waist, Francesco twisted her back down, sliding a knee between her legs to part them.
With expert deftness, he ripped the foil open with his teeth and rolled it on before manoeuvring himself so he was fully on top of her and between her parted thighs, his erection heavy against her.
He pressed his lips to hers and kissed her, his left hand burying back into her hair, his right sliding down her side and slipping between them.
She felt him guide the tip of his erection against her and then into her, and sucked in a breath. Francesco simply deepened the kiss, murmuring words of Sicilian endearment into her mouth. He brought his hand back up to stroke her face and thrust forward a little more, still kissing her, stroking her, nibbling at the sensitive skin of her neck, slowly, slowly inching his way inside her.
There was one moment of real discomfort that made her freeze, but then it was gone, her senses too full of Francesco and all the magical things he was doing to dwell on that one thing.
And then he was there, all the way inside her, stretching her, filling her massively, his groin pressed against her pubis, his chest crushing against her breasts.
‘Am I hurting you?’ he asked raggedly.
‘No. It feels...good.’ It felt more than good—it felt heavenly.
‘You feel so good,’ he groaned into her ear, withdrawing a little only to inch forward again.
His movements were slow but assured, allowing her to adjust to all these new feelings and sensations, building the tempo at an unhurried pace, only pulling back a few inches, keeping his groin pressing against her.
The sensations he’d created with his tongue began to bubble within her again but this time felt fuller, deeper, more condensed.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, her breaths shallow, she began to move with him, meeting his thrusts, which steadily lengthened. And all the while he kissed her, his hands roaming over the sides of her body, her face, her neck, her hair...everywhere.
She felt the tension increase within him, his groans deepening—such an erotic sound, confirmation that everything she was experiencing was shared, that it was real and not just a beautiful dream. The bubbling deep in her core thickened and swelled, triggering a mass of pulsations to ripple through her. Crying out, she clung to him, burying her face in his neck at the same moment Francesco gave his own cry and made one final thrust that seemed to last for ever.
CHAPTER NINE
FRANCESCO STRETCHED, LOOKED at his bedside clock, then turned back over to face the wall that was Hannah’s back. When they’d fallen into sleep she’d been cuddled into him, their limbs entwined.
The last time he’d had such a deep sleep had been his birthday ten months ago. That had been just two days before he’d discovered his mother’s diaries.
For the first time in ten months he’d fallen asleep without the demons that plagued him screwing with his thoughts.
Only the top of Hannah’s shoulder blades were uncovered and he resisted the urge to place a kiss on them. After disposing of the condom, he’d longed to make love to her again. He’d put his selfish desires to one side. She’d had a long week at work, little sleep the night before, and her body was bound to ache after making love for the first time. Instead he’d pulled her to him and listened to her fall into slumber. It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.
He rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, expelling a long breath.
If someone had told him just twenty-four hours ago that making love to Hannah Chapman would be the best experience of his life, he would have laughed. And not with any humour.
To know he was the first man to have slept with her made his chest fill. To know that he’d awoken those responses... It had been a revelation, a thing of beauty.
Francesco had never felt humble about anything in his life, yet it was the closest he could come to explaining the gratitude he felt towards her for choosing him.
Hannah hadn’t chosen him for his power or his wealth or his lifestyle—she’d chosen and trusted him for him.
To think he’d dismissed her when she’d blurted out that she wanted him to make love to her. She could have accepted that dismissal. Eventually she would have found another man she trusted enough...
