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Panic rushed through her, heightening her emotions, making her pulse race even faster. She wanted him and was glad he would be her first, and yet she also worried she’d disappoint him. Should she tell him that she was still a virgin? Did a man want to know something like that? Or would it put too much pressure on him?
He placed her on the bed and her gown slid all the way down, in a pool of shimmering green and gold.
Giovanni’s gaze swept over her as she lay before him in her delicate lace bra and matching thong panties. His lashes dropped and his firm lips curved in appreciation. “The things I want to do to you,” he said, his voice low.
She exhaled breathlessly, heart pumping so hard she could barely think straight.
Gio joined her on the bed, stretching out over her, his weight braced on his elbows to keep from crushing her. Gazing down into her flushed face, he thought she’d never looked more beautiful. Her dark eyes shone and her soft mouth looked swollen and so incredibly kissable, so kissable that he lowered his head and took her mouth again.
“And Michael? What if he wakes?” Rachel gasped, as he shifted to her neck, kissing down the column to the rise of her collarbone.
He didn’t try to answer her immediately, too intent on claiming one lace-covered nipple, his teeth finding the sensitive tip and tugging ever so gently. She gasped again, her body shifting restlessly beneath his.
“Mrs. Fabbro is with him,” he answered at length, licking the taut peak, the damp lace imprinting on her tender skin. “She returned to the room after we left, and is sleeping in there with him tonight.”
“You didn’t say that earlier,” she choked, and then arched up as he covered the nipple, sucking again in firm tugs that had her panting, her hands going to his back, her nails pressing against him.
Gio welcomed her sighs of pleasure, just as he welcomed the edge of pleasure and pain as her nails bit into his back. He hadn’t wanted to be with anyone this past year. He hadn’t wanted intimacy or sex. He hadn’t felt desire... He hadn’t felt anything, but now he was feeling hunger, desire, need, and he was impatient to have her, impatient to bury himself in Rachel’s soft, wet heat.
“Are you on birth control?” he asked, lifting his head.
She shook her head.
“You’re not protected?” he repeated, struggling to hold back when all he wanted to do was bury himself inside her.
“No.” She drew an unsteady breath. “I’ve never needed it.”
“You leave it to your partner?”
“Yes. No. I mean—” She drew another quick breath, her breasts rising and falling, the dark pink nipples tight buds against the pale creamy skin. “I’m a virgin. I’ve never needed protection before.”
Giovanni stilled, stunned. Was she serious? She was twenty-eight years old, nearly twenty-nine. Were there twenty-nine-year-old virgins out there?
He felt her draw a breath, her rib cage rising and falling. Her voice was tremulous when she spoke. “I realize it’s a bit odd, and probably uncomfortable.” She inhaled sharply and exhaled, the sound half laugh, half sob. “It’s uncomfortable, even for me. I never meant to be this...but here I am. Sexless. Emotionless.” Her hand reached out, searching for
something to cover herself with.
He rose up, careful not to crush her. “You are not without emotions. You just lack experience. There is a difference.”
She said nothing. Her gaze was fixed on a point past his shoulder but he could see the shadows in her eyes, and then came the silent film of tears.
“What happened?” he asked, head dipping to kiss just beneath her jaw, and then another kiss to the tender skin of her throat. “Did someone hurt you? Who broke your heart?”
Her slim shoulder twisted. “No broken heart. I was just holding out for true love. It didn’t happen.”
“You’ve never been in love?”
“I think I’ve come close, but it always ended before I was convinced it was a forever love.”
He placed a kiss along her collarbone, and then lower. She shivered and sighed, as he cupped her breast. He eased his hand back and forth over the taut nipple. She inhaled with each stroke, her breathing increasingly shallow.
“And yet you’re so sensitive,” he murmured, stroking down, his hand caressing the length of her, from her full breast, over her flat stomach to reach the soft mound between her thighs.
“You make me sensitive,” she whispered huskily, squirming as he caressed her lightly through the lace panty, light deft touches that made her thighs clench.
“Or maybe you’ve never given someone the chance to please you.” He leaned over and kissed one of her pelvic bones. Her hips rocked against him. He kissed the other and her breath caught in her throat.
“If someone can’t please my brain,” she choked, “he’s not about to get close to my body.”
