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Another demand.
Then he pressed down hard, thrusting deep, and Julienne dissolved.
She heard a keening sound, but all she was conscious of were those thick, strong fingers inside of her—thrusting so wickedly, with such certainty and skill.
She sank from one peak only to find herself tossed up hard into another.
And all the while, Cristiano laughed.
Low, male, deeply satisfied.
But still, it was laughter. And Julienne wanted to hoard it. Gather it up and hold it close, for all those years she would have sworn to anyone who would listen that this man didn’t know how to laugh. That he never had. That he simply wasn’t made that way.
He pulled his fingers from the tight grip of her sex. Then, impossibly, he lifted them to his own mouth.
Julienne watched, torn somewhere between a sharp, hot longing and a crisp embarrassment as he licked his fingers clean.
“All this time.” His voice was a wondering rasp. “All this time you sat across tables and desks from me. You’ve walked in and out of my offices on five continents. And all this time, you have tasted like this.”
She felt as if she ought to apologize, though she couldn’t quite speak. And her heart felt fragile and fierce at once, there where it swelled behind her ribs. Cristiano peeled her away from the wall and her knees wobbled beneath her when she meant to stand.
Her reward for that was that dark laugh of his again, a rough, masculine music she thought she would hear inside her forever.
Then he picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder with an easy strength that reminded her of the ancient conquerors who surely lived in his blood.
He strode through the darkened rooms of his hotel suite and she saw glimpses of bright lights heralding the Monte Carlo nightlife through the windows, gleaming antiques strewn about the palatial living spaces, and with every step, the quiet whisper of five-star luxury.
And when he put her down, he tipped her over onto her belly. Julienne tried to orient herself in the dimness of a new room, taking longer than she should have to recognize that he’d bent her over the side of a tall bed. And she tried to take stock, she did—but her body was his now. Not hers.
Never again yours,a voice said in her so clearly she almost flinched at the sound.His always. His forever.
And she could no longer tell if she was shuddering because of that voice, or because of him. Or some wicked, ruthless combination of both.
She felt him behind her, crouched down with a hand on one ankle, and all she could manage to do was moan.
“These legs,” he said, in that same tone, like a dark incantation. “I worked so hard to keep myself from noticing these legs, Julienne. The temptation of them. And the shoes. Always the shoes, higher and higher by the year.”
And all she could think was,You weren’t invisible to him after all.
She almost felt herself shatter into pieces at that notion alone.
And then she was shivering all over, everywhere, as he slid his palms up the back of her legs. Not quite gently. Not quite softly. And the firm pressure was all about heat and want, making her delirious. Making her ripe and half-mad with that drumming desire.
It was only when he slid his hands down the length of her legs again that she realized he’d pushed up her skirt and left it bunched up at her waist.
She felt a wallop of that bright hot pulsing thing that had nearly knocked her over in the hall. It was mixed now with the image of what she must look like, bent over his bed in such a wanton display, with only the bright red thong she wore between them.
Julienne was breathing so hard now that it was all she could hear. That gasping thing not quite a breath, high and wild.
“Feel free to bite down on the linens,” Cristiano told her, dark and amused. “I won’t tell.”
She didn’t bite down. But she did grip the soft bedclothes beneath her, twisting the outrageously soft material into fists.
His fingers moved beneath her thong, almost absently, when she couldfeelthe intensity coming off of him in waves. She felt him peel it down her leg, then tug it from one ankle. But not the other, and she understood—with another wallop—that he’d left her thong there.
How must shelook...?
She was naked from the waist down, wearing only her impractical heels with her lacy red thong at one ankle. And she was making thatsound.And his shoulders were between her legs, tipping her forward even more and lifting her at the same time, so she was braced even more fully on the bed—
