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Marco stood behind her, holding her, still fully dressed. She could feel the faint roughness of his jacket. His trousers. She could feel his erection, hard and demanding at the juncture of her thighs.
Everything about the moment was exciting and erotic. That she was wearing so little and he was wearing so much, that she could feel all that masculine power pulsing against her…
She began to tremble.
“Do you like me to do this?” he whispered, his lips at her ear, the warmth of his breath like flame against her skin. “To touch you like this, inamorata?”
His hands cupped her breasts again. There was nothing to separate her warm skin from his caress. His thumbs moved over her nipples, the sensation sharp and exquisite. Could she come only from his touch there? From his teeth clamped lightly in the nape of her neck?
“Marco,” she sobbed, “oh God, Marco…”
What she needed, what he could give her, was in her voice. Marco clasped her shoulders. Turned her to him.
And felt a punch of hunger that almost stole away his breath.
She was beautiful. More than beautiful.
The fall of caramel hair. The pale gold skin. Her eyes, all pupil now, looking up at him through a curtain of spiky dark lashes. Her lush mouth, swollen from his kisses. The ripe breasts tipped by pale pink nipples. The slender waist, flat belly and long, long legs.
And yet, most beautiful all was the expression on her face.
Need. Desire. Passion. For him. Only for him.
Marco, the master of control, knew he was close to tumbling her to the floor, parting her thighs and embedding himself deep within her. He would take her again and again until she was beyond thought, beyond reason, beyond anything but wanting him and his possession.
No.
He wanted to give her more.
Slowly, he told himself, Dio, do not be a boy, be a man.
His eyes never left hers as he shrugged off his jacket. Toed off his shoes and socks. His hands went to his tie, fumbled with it and somehow, he got it undone. The buttons of his shirt were more difficult. By the time he reached his cufflinks, he was lost. On a low growl, he gave up, ripped them free and tore off his shirt.
Emily’s gaze dropped to his chest.
He watched her eyes widen.
And felt his ego expand.
He was not a vain man.
He was muscled and toned, but he had started life as a man who’d built his body naturally
through grueling physical work. Once that was behind him, he’d installed gyms in the homes he owned and put them to hard use.
For his health, he would have said had anyone asked, but now he knew, crazy as it sounded, it had been because he had waited his entire life for Emily’s eyes on him. For, Cristo, for that delicate swipe of her pink tongue over her rosebud lips as she looked at him.
Her eyes on him was a caress.
Slowly, very slowly because now that he was in control of himself he wanted to draw out every moment of what had become the perfect seduction of lovers for each other, he undid his belt. His trousers were unzipped from what had happened before but now he was contained within his boxers and when he kicked the trousers away, he knew that his erection tented the black silk fabric in a way that did nothing to hide his desire.
He watched her face.
He had been inside her.
But she hadn’t seen him.
He was big. He knew that. He’d never thought much about it although women had said things to him, appreciative things. But this was Emily. Would the size of him frighten her? Would it please her? Her response to him had been so passionate, and yet there was an innocence to her.
