Page 138 of Lorenzo

I hold her gaze and begin to unbutton my shirt.

Her breathing changes, becomes more shallow.

She watches my hands as they move down the front of my shirt.

I pull the fabric from my trousers and remove it completely.

Her eyes move over my chest and stomach before returning to my face.

“Better?” I ask.

She does not answer, only watches my every move.

I unbuckle my belt.

Her hands fist in the dark comforter under her.

I push my trousers and briefs down and step out of them.

Her gaze drops, and her eyes widen slightly.

I must admit, I'm pleased with her reaction.

I straighten, and she looks back at my face. I see the desire there, the hunger. I also see a hint of vulnerability she does her best to hide.

I move toward the bed and push her gently back onto it when she rises to meet me.

She lets me.

That trust affects me more than it should.

Donatella Costa does not yield easily.

She chooses.

And she is choosing me.

I cover her body with my own, settling between her legs, which fall open to welcome me. Her sweater is still between us, a flimsy barrier against the skin-to-skin contact I suddenly crave.

My hands find the hem, and I pull it over her head, tossing it aside.

Her skin is soft and warm beneath my hands. Her nipples pebble in the cool air, hard and beckoning. I long to take one into my mouth and swirl my tongue around the taut peak, but I resist, choosing instead to go back nearly to the start.

I lower my head and take her mouth in a slow, drugging kiss.

She responds hesitantly at first, but then her arms come around my neck, and she pulls me closer, deepening the kiss, opening for me.

One of my hands moves from her hair, down her neck, across her collarbone, until I am cupping her breast.

I weigh its fullness in my palm, teasing the puckered nipple with my thumb.

She arches into my touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

“Lorenzo,” she whispers, her fingers tightening in my hair.

I love the way she says my name.

I break the kiss and look down at her.