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He smiled then, edgy and wrong, and had the distinct pleasure of watching goose bumps break out all over her body.
“Let me worry about that. All you need to worry about is how many times you scream my name.” He leaned closer and sampled the goose bumps on her neck, then smiled there, against her skin. “Remember it, please.Cristiano. Though in desperate circumstancesOh, Godis also acceptable.”
When all she did was pant a little, her eyes glazed over with heat when he angled himself back to look at her, he laughed.
And then he took by the hand this woman who he intended to purge tonight, one way or the other. He led her out of the alcove, back to the lobby elevators, and then spirited her away to the penthouse suite he’d taken on the very top floor.
Where he intended to keep her until dawn.
Using every last scrap of the dark.
Until they were both fully sated.
And perhaps, at last, truly saved from the mistakes he’d made ten years ago.
CHAPTER THREE
THISWASWHATshe’d wanted.
Julienne’s mouth felt beautifully tender. She pressed her fingertips against her lips as Cristiano ushered her into his hotel suite, sensation pulsing hot and raw from that point of contact all the way down to her toes.
She expected him to turn on the lights. Indulge in suitably urbane conversation, dry to match the cocktails. Or whatever it was men like him did in situations like these.
But instead, he kissed her again, barely getting the door closed before his mouth was on hers.
Dark. Hot.
So greedy it almost hurt.
And there was some part of her that couldn’t quite believe that a man so controlled, so deeply ascetic, could carry all this passion within him. Could have been carrying it deep inside him somewhere, all this time.
But she couldn’t care about that now. Not when his mouth was on hers and his hands roamed everywhere, finding her breasts and then taking possession of her nipples.
As if they were his.
As ifshewas his.
They were still in the entryway, though she hardly saw it. Or cared. She had the sense of more marble, more mirrors, and the pervasive sense of tremendous wealth—which was to say, nothing special in the Cassara world.
But his mouth was still on hers, beguiling her and bewildering her, and she stopped worrying about where they were. Only that he was with her.
Cristiano’s hands were restless, moving where they pleased. One dove beneath the waistband of her skirt to find the curve of her bottom. The other drifted to her waist, then up, pushing her bra out of his way to hold her naked breast in his palm.
All the while he kissed her, intoxicating her. Making her press into him. Making her wish she could crawl inside him.
She had never understood the worddemandingbefore. Not really.
Cristiano was overwhelming behind a desk. But here, unleashed...
He was like a hurricane.
He kissed her with a ferocity that should have terrified her. That might have, if it hadn’t been for the sensation that howled and shook through her with every stroke of his hand, his tongue. She felt strung out between his taste and his touch. The insistent fingers on her breast and then, below, the way he traced his way over her bottom. And kept going until he found his way to her front, and the furrow of her molten heat.
And then he was inside her, two fingers deep into the center of her need.
A wicked twist, and then more of that unreal dark laughter against her mouth as she bucked into him. And moaned.
“My name,” he murmured.
