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“No.”
“No?”
The pale green bedroom walls felt as though they were about to close in. “I mean, not like this. Not a quickie. It won’t be right.”
“And what would be right? Romance? Candles? Soft music in the background?”
“You’re so angry.”
“I am.”
She trembled inwardly, not out of fear, but shock and pain. She didn’t want him angry with her, not like this, not when they’d once been so happy together. Maybe they only had two weeks, but those two weeks had been the happiest of her life and she wondered if they could maybe be happy again. If they could just sort out their past. If they could just figure out the future. How they’d do that, she didn’t know, but she had to have hope. Had to believe they could make a real marriage out of this, otherwise, how did one live in a loveless marriage? How did one live with so much? How would she survive the next seventeen years?
“I don’t want you angry, Vittorio. And I do want to fix this…make amends. I don’t know how yet, but will you at least let me try?”
For an endless stretch of time he said nothing. Then he reached out to her, his palm sliding down her neck, his fingers curving to fit her nape with his thumb at her earlobe. “And how would you do that?” he murmured huskily, stroking the hollow beneath her earlobe.
Her pulse leaped at his touch. She licked her lips as her mouth dried. “I would try to remind you that we can be good together. That we could be happy.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
His dark eyes held hers, the brown irises hot, glowing with tiny shards of amber and gold. “Does that include the bedroom?”
“Yes.”
“You’re offering me your body.”
“Yes,” she answered, her voice low.
His dark eyes flared with heat and immediate carnal desire. “And what will you do for me when I am in your bed?”
He was binding her heart with a chain. “Whatever it is you want your wife to do.”
Vitt’s hand slid down her neck to her collarbone and then over the middle of her chest, into the V between her breasts. “Anything I want?”
His hand was warm, so warm on her chest. Her breasts swelled, heavy, her nipples hardening. “You said I was to be obedient.”
“What a good wife you intend to be,” he taunted, clasping her jaw in both his hands, lifting her face to his. He held her face up, examining every inch as if she were a beautiful thing he’d bought at market and he was now eager to inspect his purchase. After an endless, scorching scrutiny, he dipped his head, covered her lips with his, and kissed her deeply. His tongue probed her mouth, tasting, savoring the softness and heat within.
Jillian shuddered, heat exploding in her middle, coursing through her veins.
His tongue stroked the inside of her lower lip, flaming nerve endings everywhere. His teeth, straight, white, nipped at her lip and heat flared from her womb to her limbs.
She was melting, dissolving in his hands.
And then he drew her tongue into his mouth and sucked the tip, the sucking sensation tight and rhythmic, reminding her of his body thrusting into hers, making her back arch, her hips tilt, her body shaping to his.
His hands slid up into her hair, his fingers dragging across her scalp. He was waking her, warming her, fanning the empty aching need.
And still he kissed her, his knee parting her thighs, pressing up against her sensitive flesh and she grew hot, wet, needy in response.
Jillian slid her hands up his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath her hands as she kissed him back, her skin hot and sensitive, her body taut with desire.
Long moments passed and then he lifted his head. He gazed down into her eyes a long moment and stroked her flushed, warm cheek. “I think I will claim what is mine.”
He unzipped her dress and peeled it off over her head before unhooking her bra and casting it on top of the discarded dress. Her panties followed along with her slim chocolate heels.
