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He was not going to turn away from that tonight.
The bed was only a few steps away.
He could take her to it, strip her naked, tear off his own clothes and bury himself in her. One deep thrust and she would be his.
Some still-functioning part of his brain told him he owed her much, much more.
She was innocent. A virgin. And she’d been told things about what happened between men and women that had terrified her.
He had to make what came next perfect. As perfect as her innocence.
“Chiara,” he said softly.
Slowly she opened her eyes. The pupils were enormous, deep and dark and filled with all the questions a man could ever want to be asked. With all his heart, Rafe hoped he had answers that would please her.
“Chiara,” he said again, and kissed her. Once. Twice, his lips brushing gently over hers, each time lingering just a little longer until she gave a sigh of pleasure and her lips parted.
“That’s the way,” he murmured. “Yes, sweetheart. Open for me. Taste me. Let me taste you.”
He could feel her hesitation. Then, slowly, she let him in.
The need to tumble her onto the bed swept through him with such power that he felt his muscle constrict. His big, powerful body shuddered.
“Raffaele?”
“It’s all right. I just—I want—” He framed her face between his hands, lifted it to him and kissed her, his mouth hot and open over hers, his tongue seeking the sweetness that awaited him.
Her taste filled him. Honey. Cream. Vanilla. And, mingled with it, the taste of a woman aroused.
He whispered her name. She moved closer. Her hands crept up his chest to his shoulders, and he lifted her into him. He felt the delicate weight of her breasts against the hard wall of his chest, felt the feminine convexity of her belly pressed against the taut flatness of his.
Felt his erection rise and swell until he groaned with the almost unbearable pleasure of it.
Chiara gasped. Clutched his shoulders. Said his name again, and he could hear shock, wonder, apprehension in the single whispered word.
He was like stone. And all of this was new to his wife.
He took his lips from hers. Held her by the shoulders. She whimpered, tried to move closer, and though it killed him to stop her, he did.
“Why—” Her voice was low and thready. “Why did you stop kissing me? Did I do it wrong? If I did—”
“No,” he said quickly. “God, no! There’s no right way or wrong way to kiss.” Another deep breath. “But I don’t want to hurry you, sweetheart, or frighten you.”
“I am not afraid of you,” she whispered. “It is the rest. The…the touching.”
“We can stop now,” he said, and wondered if a man who was a liar could still be a candidate for sainthood.
Her response was too soft to hear.
She looked up into his eyes. “I don’t want to stop. I want to know what it is men and women do together.”
“Not men and women,” he said gruffly. “Us. You and me.”
Her smile filled his heart. “Si. You and me, Raffaele. Show me, please.”
He brought her hand to his lips, pressed kisses to her fingertips, then brought her hand between them and laid it lightly over his erection. Her breath hissed between her teeth; her palm cupped the hard bulge in his jeans.
Rafe shuddered and Chiara snatched back her hand. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” he said gruffly, clasping her hand, putting it on him again. “No, you didn’t hurt me. I—” he swallowed hard “—I love what you just did. Touching me that way…Do you know what it means, that I’m hard like that?”
He watched her teeth worry her bottom lip. He longed to do that for her. Bite gently into that delicate flesh.
“It means—” Her voice was so low he had to bend to her to hear it. “It means you…you want to do things to me.”
Rafe swallowed an oath. “It means that I want to do things with you. To touch each other in ways that bring us both pleasure.”
She nodded, dipped her head so that her curls became a curtain that hid her from him.
“Do it, then,” she whispered.
Rafe took a long breath, expelled it slowly enough to give him time to think. Then he put his hand under Chiara’s chin and lifted her face to his.
“Hey,” he said gently, “this isn’t a visit to the dentist.” That bought him a smile, as he’d hoped it would. “Chiara. Sweetheart, we’re not going to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“That’s just it. I do not know what I want or do not want.” She lifted her hands to his chest.
Could she feel the race of his heart? “I only know that…that something happens when you kiss me, Raffaele. I feel…I feel—”
