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She nodded her head, wordlessly. Somehow fumbled her way through the good-nights they quickly made before heading for the exit, where Cristiano’s driver was waiting. Climbing into the back of the luxurious vehicle, she had barely registered the click of the door before he was reaching for her, the privacy panel shielding them from view.
Straddling his hard, sinewy thighs, she framed his face with her palms. Lowered her mouth to his. The kiss they shared was passionate and urgent. Long, leisurely slides of her mouth against his hard, sensual one, exchanging breath on heady murmurs that devolved into a more intimate exploration of each other involving a delicate slide of her tongue against his, then his against hers, his knowing expertise lighting her body on fire.
Unable or unwilling to call a halt to the passionate exchange, she dug her fingers into the knot of his tie, breaking the kiss for a moment of air while she stripped it off and tossed it on the seat of the car. Fingers stumbling over the buttons of his snow-white shirt, she managed to get it open, her mouth sliding down over his jaw to explore his salty, masculine skin, dusted with a light covering of coarse dark hair. Slid her hands over the magnificent definition of his muscles as they converged at the center of his hot, hard abdomen, not an ounce of additional flesh on him.
He was so masculine, so intoxicating to her senses, that her brain was overwhelmed. Overstimulated.Overcome. He muttered something in Italian, his palms cupping her bottom in the glittery dress. Dragging her closer, so she was straddling the hard jut of his erection. So she could feel every impressive inch of him imprinted beneath the fine material of his trousers, branding her, promising heaven.
Her hands dropped, fumbling with the button on his trousers. She wanted,neededhim inside her. Needed to feel him filling her with that awesome power of his. To finally consummate this wild thing between them. But he clamped his fingers over hers and dragged her hand away.
“Not here,” he rasped.
She yanked in a centering breath as he set her back on the seat, composed himself, his hands dealing with the buttons on his shirt, then depressed the privacy screen enough to tell the driver to step on it, before they lapsed into an anticipation-fueled silence that stoked her nerves to a fever pitch.
The villa was cast in a muted glow when they pulled up in the circular drive. Cristiano issued a curt thank-you to his driver, set his palm to her back and ushered her inside and up the magnificent staircase to the master suite.
With its warm Lombardy cotto stone floors, antique Venetian chandeliers and glorious views of the mountains beyond the open French doors, it was heavenly. She’d fallen in love with the space when they’d shot the television commercial, drawn to its sumptuous elegance and warmth. But now, with the elegant sconces on the wall casting a golden glow throughout the space, the harvest moon gleaming a glorious pink and orange through the open windows, she felt as if she didn’t have enough air in her lungs.
Or maybe it was Cristiano, his jacket discarded, in the dove-white shirt, open at the throat to reveal his deep olive skin, his hands tossing his gold cuff links on a dresser. He made her heart flutter in her chest.
“Take the dress off,” he murmured, his huskily issued command singeing her blood.
With anyone else, she might have hesitated, felt self-conscious. But not with Cristiano. She moved her shaking fingers to the side zipper of the dress, sliding it down, until it reached its mooring, his hot gaze following every movement. Sinking her fingers into the shimmery fabric, she pulled the dress up and over her head and threw it on a chair, standing in front of him, clad in a wispy cream thong and matching bra.
“Come here.” His deep midnight-blue gaze seared her skin. Heart slamming in her chest, her breath coming in short, uneven pulls of air, she closed the distance between them. Stopped when she was mere centimeters from him. He raised his hand, ran his thumb along the smooth skin beneath the clasp of her bra and unhooked it with an expertise that stoked the nerves raging inside her.
When he was done, he sat down on the edge of the massive king-size bed, caught her hand in his and drew her forward, until she was kneeling on the bed, straddling his hard thighs, his palm at her back steadying her. His slumberous gaze fixed on her pert, uplifted breasts, the hazy desire shimmering in his dark blue eyes igniting a confidence she sorely needed.
Closing her eyes, she absorbed the searing pleasure as he took one rosy peak inside his mouth and caressed her, bolts of sensation arcing from the sensitive tip to somewhere deep inside, lighting her on fire. It was so good, so intense, it made her moan, dig her fingernails into the skin at the nape of his neck and move needily against the hard ridge of him beneath his trousers, her thin panties little barrier as she rocked against him, each breathy movement pushing the tension between them higher.
His blue gaze tangled with hers as anticipation tore the air between them. Then he took the other throbbing peak inside the heat of his mouth, taking his time, making sure she felt all of it, making sure she was molten for him inside, ready to internally combust, before he rolled her beneath him, sank his fingers into the delicate strings of her panties and stripped them off of her, so she was bare beneath him. Vulnerable. Aching. Wanting.
She reached for him, attempting to relieve him of his clothes, because he still had far too many on, but his knees on the inside of her thighs spread her open instead, the extreme vulnerability of her position halting her protest in her throat. Dipping his head, he trailed his mouth and tongue from the dip of her belly button to the jut of her hip bone, then lower, until she could feel the warm heat of his breath on her aroused flesh seconds before he consumed her with one possessive lap of his tongue, his palm on her belly, holding her where he wanted her when she bucked up from the pleasure of it. Eyes on hers, his gaze hot, he murmured sexy Italian words to her while he consumed her, words she had no idea of the meaning of, except that she wanted more of what he was giving her.
Sinking her fingers into his thick, coarse hair, she held him there while he feasted on her, driving her higher with every expert caress designed to make her mad. Until she was shaking, quivering, her entire body poised on an earth-shattering precipice. Then he kicked her over it with ruthless precision, the hard lash of his tongue against the trembling, tender nub at the heart of her sending a violent wave of pleasure to every nerve ending in her body, in a release that seemed to go on forever.
Cristiano stripped off his clothes, his eyes never leaving the woman in his bed, her chestnut-colored hair a dark flame against the ivory sheets, her long, golden limbs splayed out, his for the taking. She watched as he shrugged the shirt off his broad shoulders, pushed his trousers and boxers over his hips, sheathed himself, then prowled back to the bed to join her.
He was hard, aching for her. He was fairly sure he’d never wanted anything this much in his life. He was also fairly sure she felt the same. Although she was doing her best to maintain her cool, those liquid ebony eyes of hers flashing with heat and humor as he set a knee on the bed and came down over her.
“I will say, that might have been worth the wait,” she murmured, her teeth lodging in her full bottom lip.
He slid a palm down the velvety surface of her thigh and urged it around his waist. Slid his other hand to the silky, slick flesh at the apex of her thighs, his thumb finding the tiny nub that gave her pleasure. A moan left her throat, her even white teeth sinking deeper into her lush lip at his slow, sensual caress, her ebony eyes darkening to black.
“Might?” he murmured softly, “I think we’re going to need a more resounding response on that one.”
Jensen would have told him just about anything if he’d keep touching her like he was, his teasing, circular caresses winding her up all over again, as if he hadn’t just given her one of the best orgasms of her life, still pulsing through her nerve endings. But then he slid his middle finger, slick from touching her, inside her pulsing flesh in a smooth, velvet stroke and she arched into the caress, another low moan escaping her mouth. A few deep, even plunges that felt like heaven, then that teasing circular motion of his thumb against her clitoris again, a ghostly sweet caress, and then a second finger sliding inside her, stretching her velvet heat.
“Cristiano...” she breathed, eyes on his. “Please.”
“Please, what?”
“Please—I need you. I need—”
He brought his mouth down to hers.“Tell me.”
“There is no...might. It’s so good. Please—”
He slid his palm under the satiny smooth skin of her buttocks. Raised her up so he could enter her on a swift, firm thrust. She gasped as he pushed his way inside her, filling her inch by inch with his thick, hard length, his hand at her hip controlling the movement with a sensual expertise that stole her breath. He was so big, sooverwhelming, her body had to adjust, softening with each lazy stroke to accommodate him, until finally, he was buried inside her and she was struggling for air.
