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But first, I must express my gratitude to Antonio. Even if it means risking Rafael's wrath.
The hallway outside my chamber is hushed, the only sound the soft swish of my dress as I make my way on quiet feet toward Antonio's room in the palatial mansion. Nerves flutter low in my belly when I reach Antonio's door, the fear of upsetting Rafael warring with my need to see Antonio. I draw in a deep, steadying breath and push inside before I can lose my nerve.
The room is dim, illuminated only by a single lamp on the ornate mahogany bedside table. Antonio lies atop the navy duvet on his massive king bed, shirtless, his tanned olive skin glistening golden in the low light. The white bandage covering a good portion of his left bicep draws my eye immediately, a stark reminder of the blood he shed protecting me earlier today. Rafael is nowhere to be seen. Antonio looks so peaceful here, so vulnerable by himself. The urge to go to him is visceral.
His dark espresso gaze finds mine the moment I enter, and the look that passes between us makes my knees weaken.
"Clara," he says, voice a raspy caress that sends a delicious shiver down my spine.
I wet my suddenly dry lips, pulse racing. "Antonio."
His full lips curve into a crooked smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Though his words are casual, his eyes smolder with unspoken intent that makes my skin flush.
I approach slowly, perching tentatively on the edge of the massive bed. His earthy scent envelopes me now that I'm close—sandalwood and spice and something distinctly male. The heat radiating off his bare torso reaches out to me like a siren song, urging me to move closer still.
"I wanted to thank you," I manage to say, meeting his dark gaze directly, willing him to see the sincerity shining in my own. "For the painting. For protecting me today."
Something softens in his rugged expression. He lifts a hand to capture mine, his calloused thumb grazing over my knuckles in a way that sends little shivers up my arm. "Of course, Clara."
My breath catches at the touch, the first real acknowledgment of the connection simmering between us. I know I should pull my hand away, keep my distance from the heir to the mob I've been coerced to staying with. But I can't seem to move, hypnotized by the warmth in his eyes.
We talk then, words flowing as easily between us now as that first night in the moonlit garden. He asks about my dreams of opening my own gallery, of sharing my art with the world. I find myself opening up to him in ways I never expected to with a virtual stranger. But he doesn't feel like a stranger anymore. In return, Antonio tells me of his youth, of grappling with the crushing expectations placed on him as future head of the family empire, of the endless violence ingrained into the life he was born into but wants no part of.
As we speak, I edge nearer, lured by the heat and strength of his body. His voice washes over me, its deep timbre both comforting and electrifying at once. I lean into him, seeking the solid reassurance of his frame. His fingers trail up my arm, across my shoulder blades, tangling in my hair, like a man dying of thirst, drinking in an oasis.
Our faces drift closer as we share whispered confidences in the intimacy of the darkened room until only our mingled breaths separate us. When our lips finally meet, it's with the sweet relief of giving in to something fated. He tastes of red wine, rich and heady. The kiss begins gently, tentatively, then ignites into something more urgent, more desperate, as the suppressed longing surge to the surface.
Antonio's hands span my ribcage, sliding down to grip my waist, molding my curves to the hard contours of his body. I gasp into his mouth at the feel of him pressed against me. Strong yet gentle fingers trail fire across my skin as he explores, pushing the straps of my dress off my shoulders.
"You are so beautiful, tesoro," he murmurs against my throat. "An exquisite masterpiece."
His words undo me. I rake my nails down the thick muscles of his back and feel them tense. He claims my mouth again, more insistent now, his passion unleashed. My hands learn the topography of his body—the ridges of scars, the firm curves of biceps, the taut planes of his abdomen. My every nerve ending sizzles, alive and attuned to him in ways I've never experienced before.
I try to pull back, instinctively pulling away from his bandaged arm and worried about hurting him.
"Don't hold back on me, cara mia," he whispers in my ear as he kneads my breast with one hand and clutches my waist with the other.
His lips trail a blazing path down my throat, across my collarbone, over the swell of my breasts. He pulls the cups of my bra down, exposing my nipples, which harden in the cool air. He swirls his tongue around each one, teasing and sucking until I'm writhing beneath him, desperate for more.
"Patience," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. He moves lower, kissing and licking his way down my stomach to the edge of my panties.
His fingers slip lower, teasing, and I let out a soft moan. He teases me, working me until I'm trembling, until my hips are grinding against his hand in desperation. When he finally pushes into me, I gasp, gripping him tightly. It's almost too much.
He pauses, gazing up at me with fire burning in his eyes. "I want to taste you, Clara."
I gasp at his bold words, my core tightening with anticipation. I nod, giving him permission to go further.
He dips his head, leaning heavily on his uninjured side. His tongue darts out to lick me through the damp fabric. I arch against him, desperate for more.
"Please," I whimper, my hips rising to meet his mouth.
He hooks his fingers around the edge of my panties and pulls them down, revealing my glistening folds to the cool air. He gives me one more lingering look, then his mouth is on me, his tongue finding the bundle of nerves at my apex with unerring precision.
I moan as he sucks and licks, bringing me closer to the edge. He inserts a finger, then two, working them in and out of me as he teases me with his tongue. My body responds, tightening around him as I near my release.
"Come for me, tesoro," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against me. "Let me hear you."
I can't hold back any longer. My body convulses as the orgasm rips through me, sending waves of pleasure through my body.
