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As if there was nothing left in all the world but him.
And then Rodolfo did something new, twisting his wrist and thrusting in a little bit deeper, and everything seemed to shudder to a dangerous halt. Then he did it again, and threw her straight over the edge into bliss.
Sheer, exultant bliss.
Natalie tumbled there, lost to herself and consumed by all that wondrous fire, for what seemed like a very long time.
When the world stopped spinning he was shifting her, lifting her up and into his arms. She had the vague thought that she should protest as he held her high against his chest so her head fell to his wide shoulder when she couldn’t hold it up, but his gaze was dark and hungry—still so very hungry—and she couldn’t seem to find her tongue to speak.
Rodolfo carried her to the long couch that stretched out before the great wall of windows with all of Rome winking and sparkling there on the other side, like some kind of dream. He laid her down carefully, as if she were infinitely precious to him, and it caught at her. It made the leftover fire still roaring inside of her bleed into...something else. Something that ached more than it should.
And that was the trouble, wasn’t it?
Natalie wanted this to be real. She wanted all of this to be real. She wanted to stay Valentina forever, so it wouldn’t matter what she did here becauseshewould live the consequences of it. She could marry Rodolfo herself. She could—
You could lose yourself in him,a voice that sounded too much like her mother’s, harsh and cold, snapped at her. It felt like a face full of cold water.And then you could be one more thing he throws away when he gets bored. This is a man who has toys, not relationships. How can you be so foolish as to imagine otherwise—no matter how good he is with his hands?
“I should have done this a long time ago,” he was saying, in a contemplative sort of way that suggested he was talking to himself more than her. But his gaze was so hot, so hungry. It made her shiver, deep inside, kindling the same fire she would have sworn was already burned out. “I think it would have made for a far better proposal of marriage, don’t you?”
“Rodolfo...” she began, but he was coming down over her on the couch. He held himself up on his arms and gazed down at her as he settled himself between her legs, fitting his body to hers in a way that made them both breathe a little bit harder. Audibly. And there was no pretending that wasn’t real. It made her foolish. “You may imagine you know who I am, but you don’t. You really don’t.”
“Quiet,princesita,” he said in a low sort of growl that made everything inside her, still reeling from what he’d done with his hands alone, bloom into a new, even more demanding sort of heat. He shifted so he could take her face between his hands, and that was better. Worse. Almost too intense. “I am going to taste you again. Then I will tell you who are, though I already know. You should know it, too.” He let his chest press against her, and dipped his chin so his mouth was less than a gasp away. Less than a breath.“Mine.”
And then he set his mouth to hers and the flames devoured her.
Again.
This time, Natalie didn’t need to be told to beg for him. There was no space between them, only heat and the intense pressure of the hardest part of him, flush against her scalding heat. There was no finesse, no strategy, no teasing. Only need.
And that hunger that rolled between them like so much summer thunder.
She didn’t know who undressed whom and she didn’t—couldn’t—care. She only knew that his mouth was a torment and a gift, both at the same time. His hands were like fire. He pulled down her bodice and feasted on the nipples he’d played with before, until Natalie was nothing but a writhing mess beneath him. Begging. Pleading. Somehow his shirt was open, and she was finally able to touch all those hard muscles she’d only imagined until now. And he was so much better than the pictures she’d seen. Hot and extraordinarily male and perfect andhere,right here, stretched out on top of her. It was her turn to use her mouth on him, tasting the heat and salt of him until his breath was as heavy as hers, and everything was part of the same shattering, impossible magic.
At some point she wondered if it was possible to survive this much pleasure. If anyone could live through it. If she would recognize herself when this was done—but that was swept away when he took her mouth again.
She loved his weight, crushing her down into the cushions. She loved it even more when he pulled her skirts out of the way and found her panties again. This time, he didn’t bother sneaking beneath them. This time he simply tugged, hard and sure, until they tore away in his hand.
And somehow that was so erotic it seemed to light her up inside. She could hardly breathe.
Rodolfo reached down and tore at his trousers, and when he shifted back into place Natalie felt him, broad and hard, nudging against her entrance. His gaze traveled over her body from the place they were joined to the skirt of the dress rucked up and twisted around her hips. Then higher, to where her breasts were plumped up above the dress’s bodice, her nipples still tight and swollen from his mouth. Only then did his gaze touch her face.
Suddenly, the world was nothing but that shuddering beat of her heart, so hard she thought he must surely feel it, and that stark, serious expression he wore. He dropped down to an elbow, bringing himself closer to her.
This was happening. This was real.
He was the kind of prince she’d never dared admit she dreamed about, so big and so beautiful it hurt to be this close to him. It hurt in a way dreams never did. It ached, low and deep, and everywhere else.
“Are you ready, princess?” he asked, and his voice was another caress, rough and wild.
Natalie wanted to say something arch. Witty. Something to cut through the intensity and make her feel in control again. Anything at all that might help make this less than it was. Anything that might contain or minimize all those howling, impossible things that flooded through her then.
But she couldn’t seem to open her mouth. She couldn’t seem to find a single word that might help her.
Her body knew what to do without her guidance or input. As if she’d been made for this, for him. She lifted her hips and pushed herself against him, impaling herself on his hardness, one slow and shuddering inch. Then another. He muttered something in what she thought was the Spanish he sometimes used, but Natalie was caught in his dark gaze, still fast on her face.
“What are you doing to me?” he murmured. He’d asked it before.
Like then, he didn’t wait for an answer. He didn’t give her any warning. He wrapped an arm around her hips, then hauled them high against him. And in the next instant, slammed himself in deep.
