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I clenched my jaw. "You're not interfering."
His shoulders sagged a little, and he turned just enough for me to see the angle of his cheekbone, the aquiline curve of his nose. I took a step toward him, then another, until I was close enough to put a hand onto his broad back. I felt his sharp intake of breath at the contact, saw how his muscles tensed.
"Turn around," I said.
He did, slowly, and as he moved, I reached up and took my sunglasses off.
He hissed softly, both hands coming up to frame my face. "River," he breathed, and the look he was giving me—why, oh why, did no one react the way I expected them to?
"The doctor said I looked perfectly healthy," I said faintly.
He turned my head this way and that, his thumbs stroking the delicate skin under my eyes. "Are you in pain?"
"N—no," I said.
"Can I—"
I nodded, closing my eyes, and I felt him touching me, his caresses butterfly-light over my eyelids. "Incredibile," he murmured. "How did it happen?"
I felt heat rising in my face. My body was responding to his touches, even though every rational part of me was screaming that this was not the reason I was here. "I don't know," I whispered, as his fingertips trailed lower, etching lines of fire across my throat. I opened my eyes, fully intending to tell him that I just needed to look at his books, and instead I kissed him.
If he was caught even the slightest bit off guard, I couldn't tell; he kissed me back at once. I reached up, grabbing a handful of his shirt to yank him toward me, and he made a sound against my mouth that was almost a growl. His hand was at my ribcage, bracing but not quite pressing, and I was abruptly furious that he wasn't demanding more, when more was what I craved.
I reached for his wrist and pulled, sliding his hand over my breast, moaning into his mouth when he tightened his fingers and rolled my nipple between them.
"Don't—" I said, and drew away long enough to wrench my shirt over my head, taking my bra with it.
I caught a glimpse of his face, then. Lips parted, eyes aflame—he looked as though he wanted to devour me whole. With one deft movement, he was lifting me, his hand sliding under the backs of my knees as his other arm supported my bare back. I wrapped my arm around him, hoisting myself higher so that I could tongue the corded line of his throat.
He groaned as he maneuvered me through the doorway of his bedroom and set me down on the bed. I reached for his belt and dragged him forward. The sound of smooth leather sliding through the metal buckle ignited my entire body, and the throbbing between my thighs intensified by magnitudes as I watched him unbutton his jeans and strip them off.
He was on me again in an instant, his mouth everywhere, setting my skin ablaze wherever it touched. He rolled onto one elbow, his hand dipping beneath the waistband of my leggings.
"Oh," I gasped, but his hand was moving away. I arched against him. "Luca—"
But he was tearing off his shirt, and then he was touching me again, his palm scorching my stomach as his hand slid lower. When I started to pull my leggings off, he stopped me.
"Wait," he murmured into my ear, and the desire in his voice flooded me anew.
He found the waistband of my underwear and tugged, the sudden friction making my breath catch in my throat. And then I felt him—those fine, strong fingers, stroking me through the soaked fabric, deep and rhythmic and just slow enough that I started to feel as though I actually had lost my mind.
"More," I gritted out, turning my face into the hard curve of his shoulder.
At once, he was peeling my leggings off, casting them aside. I felt the scrape of his stubble on my stomach, my hip, and then he was parting my thighs and lowering himself between them.
I tried to keep my eyes open, to watch the way his shoulders moved, the gleam of the light on his bronzed skin. But then his lips closed over me, and I felt the hot glide of his tongue, and I was lost. He matched every movement of my molten body, his hands never still on my skin as his mouth wrought pleasure like I'd never known. I was dimly aware of the sheets curled between my fists as I came and came again.
"Oh my God," I gasped, when at last I had to pull away.
He was watching me, his breath coming fast, a faint flush in his cheeks. "Too much?"
I seized his upper arms and hauled him toward me. "Not nearly enough," I growled, and rolled on top of him.
It was my turn to watch: the way his throat worked when I reached down to take him in my hand, the tightness of his jaw when I slid against him, the expression on his face that was almost pain. He groaned, his hands tightening on my hips, but he held himself still and trembling as I lowered myself, closing my eyes with the sweet burning stretch of him.
For a moment we were motionless, my hands splayed on his chest, his head thrown back, and then I could stop myself no longer. I arched above him, hearing the sound of my own voice, hearing the way it twined and tangled with his. Faster and faster we moved, until I fell silent, every atom in my body straining toward release. He gave a tight, strangled cry, and then I was pulsing around him, shuddering until my muscles went slack.
"Oh my God," I murmured again, once I could talk. My face was pressed into his neck, and his hands were on my back, gently stroking.
