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“We have three toasts to get through, then one dance if you can manage.” I wanted to shake him senseless for appearing when he should be in bed, even though he had silenced all the wagging tongues with his appearance. Alessandro shrugged, pasted on a smile, and played his part.
“Will you lead?”
I knew damn well he meant the dance, but I nearly growled my assent. I would lead in everything.
The only time I saw his mask of politeness slip was when Rocco and Elisabetta approached us for the sake of appearances. Rocco looked like he had helped himself to way too much of my booze and Elisabetta looked like the snake she was. If she opened her mouth and a forked tongue appeared I wouldn’t be shocked. Rocco’s eyes gleamed and I felt Alessandro’s reluctance in his slower steps, but then they were in front of us.
“Congratulations,figlio mio.” I stared at Rocco, incensed that he had the gall to call Alessandro his son and for a momentmy fingers itched for my gun. I wouldn’t have to look at that self-satisfied smirk if a bullet ripped through his face. He said something to Alessandro, and it was only when I saw Rocco lean forward to grasp his shoulders, clearly intending to plant a kiss on each cheek, that I got my act together. There was no way his slimy lips were touching Alessandro. I wouldn’t let that poisonous scum anywhere near my husband, I didn’t care how it looked. But then Alessandro shocked me by taking a step forward into his embrace and murmuring thank you. Rocco was as stunned as I, so much so that he didn’t catch up soon enough to stop Alessandro from leaving his embrace just as quickly and missed the kisses altogether. He air-kissed Elisabetta, then beckoned to one of the hovering waiters and instructed him to open a bottle of Ruinart, as Signora Martino preferred it to the Dom Perignon.
Then we were greeting the next couple, and I was rapidly concluding that I might have underestimated my new husband.
And then it was time for our first dance.
I knew every single person was agog at how we would navigate this man on man. The music was obviously slow, and as I wrapped my arm around his waist ready to sway and basically hold him up, he suddenly spun away from me as the music changed.
The opening bars from Never be Enough started. I blinked. How could he possibly be standing? But Alessandro had even more in mind. The Italian waltz wasn’t the staid dance most people knew. The waltz was love…lust. I mentally and firmly redirected my thoughts as I watched, utterly enthralled, as Alessandro prowled toward me.
I knew this dance.
Even before my father had taught me to hold a gun, my mamma had taught me how to hold a partner.
It was clear Alessandro knew as well.
And this wasn’t some folk dance either. It was a lesson in dominance and submission. A give and take. An angel and his devil. I didn’t know whether the noise from the guests stopped because I simply tuned them out or because they were as enthralled as I. We didn’t dance, we stalked each other. Each clash of hands and bodies was as sudden and erotic as if we were engaged in another similar dance, just as primal and just as sensuous. Alessandro wasn’t simply dancing, hewasthe dance. It was only when I saw his skin pale when it should be flushed that I executed the last move, and the music and I stopped as one. Alessandro bent provocatively in my arms.
For a second, everyone was as breathless as I, until I righted him gently and all the guests started clapping and cheering. The music segued into the regular version of the same dance, and other couples stepped out. I met Gianni’s eyes and he nodded at the unspoken message. I was done.
I ignored everyone as I steered him to the elevator. “I don’t know how you are still on your feet,” I murmured as an attendant called the elevator.
He paused a long second and looked me up and down, almost as slowly as he had when we danced. “Really?” he whispered, leaning forward, his breath tickling my neck and sending delicious tremors to heat my skin. “Then maybe it’s time I wasn’t.”
11
Alessandro
Ididn’t know if I was playing a dangerous game, but a few seconds after he’d kicked the door to my room closed, the outfit I was sure had cost enough to feed a dozen needy families for a year lay in a pool of ripped buttons and torn fabric on the floor. His eyes trailed over my bare chest, tracking down to the tiny pair of red briefs with an obvious damp patch on the front. He growled his appreciation as he slipped his hands inside, then in one move ripped them clean off.
“I think you just wasted a few hundred dollars,” I whispered.
His smile was wicked. “No waste. More an investment.” He hadn’t let the scraps of satin drop and clutched them in his hand and, while spearing me with a smoldering look, brought them to his nose and inhaled. It was a good thing he had me pinned to the wall. My legs were as useless as any other method of supporting my body at this point.
“Your smell makes me so hard,” he murmured, then dropped them to the floor and slid an index finger through the barely-there trail of hair and toward my cock. “Next time, I want younaked.” I knew he didn’t mean clothes, but I made some non-committal half moan, not because I was defiant, but because his finger had rendered my brain cells incapable of cognitive thought. I reached out to touch the buttons of his crisp white shirt.
“Not yet,” he murmured, bending and swooping me into his arms in one smooth motion. He nuzzled my neck and laid me on the bed. “You had a bad day.”
I groaned, trying to feign indifference, but truth was, even though I was tired, my head wasn’t swimming with the effects of the drug. This was all Dario Banetti. He parted my legs just before he bent down over me, then stilled. “You’re leaking. I can see your pretty cock all swollen and needy. Wanting me.” He said it like he was surprised, but really?
“What do you expect, husband?” I tried the phrase out, experimentally.
I saw a flash of something I couldn’t name in his deep-black eyes, but then my own were helpless not to close as I arched into the first touch of his lips against me. His tongue slid down my neck and over my nipples, as if he was sampling an appetizer, but then he trailed lower to my sac, and deepened the movement, sucking one in like I was the main course.
My back arched again in pleasure, wanting more but already teetering on the edge of release as he swallowed me down. I moaned deliriously. He lifted his head, lips parting with a delicious sucking noise, eyes flashing. “What do you need? I can finish you here...”
“No,” I pulled at his arm, suddenly wanting him inside me more than I wanted my next breath. His smile was as sinful as what he was doing to my body, and he quickly stripped.
“If it’s been a while it will hurt.”
For a moment, I wondered if I should be worried at the sound of satisfaction in his voice, but I didn’t care. He would knowabout my lack of experience soon enough. But I brushed that thought away. This was my wedding night.
