Page 32 of Untouchable Queen
The words are like a jolt of adrenaline straight to my heart. My cock throbs, stiffening until it nearly hits my abdomen in its excitement, and nothing on God’s green earth could stop me from giving her what she wants.
Running my tongue between her slick folds one last time, I lower Tatiana’s hips to the bed. Then I straighten, shoving my pants down my hips in one fluid motion. Her bra hits the floor a second later, and as I fall on top of her, the feel of our bare skin pressed together, the heat of her body, and the brush of her hard nipples across my chest all drive me wild.
“God, you’re so perfect,” I murmur against her lips, and as I press inside her, I know that this is why Tatiana and I are meant for each other.
We might have impossible hurdles to overcome, but when she’s wrapped in my arms and I’m buried inside her, nothing else matters.
This is what I live for.
17
TATIANA
“You look beautiful,” Lucian says, his voice hoarse with arousal as his eyes rake down my body.
The dresses Gabriella packed for me are far more casual than the ones I’m used to wearing around New York—and far more revealing. I can’t say I hate them—even if I’m showing more skin than I’m used to. But in the Italian heat, I suspect I’ll appreciate the thin straps of my pink floral mini dress, and seeing as the cut doesn’t allow a bra, I’m taking full advantage of the freedom. I’ve piled my hair on top of my head in a messy bun and finished the look off with some delicate gold jewelry and strappy sandals because Lucian’s taking me into town to explore.
He doesn’t even seem to notice that I skipped makeup all together today, and it’s kind of nice to know he thinks I’m beautiful even without it—not that I should care. But since we’re here in Italy and after everything that got said yesterday, I feel strangely more inclined to take advantage of this vacation. I think I’m ready to let go of what waits for me back home—the responsibility, the grief, the conflict—and actually take the time to understand what it is that Lucian and I have.
Clearly, it’s not nothing. It’s strange to realize that after telling him I hate him. Then discovering that, even if I do—and that fact continues to be less black and white with each passing day—I don’tjusthate him. I also want him. I miss him when he’s not there. And as much as I want to deny it, I enjoy the playful energy he adds to my life. Sometimes, it feels like all I know how to be is serious. I have so much responsibility resting on my shoulders, I don’t entirely know what elsetobe. But Lucian unlocks a more adventurous side of me. He makes me smile—even when he’s driving me crazy. And while we’re here, I want to figure out why that is.
“You ready?” he asks, offering me his elbow.
“Yep.” I slip on a pair of oversized sunglasses, and take his arm, letting him lead me out the front door.
Stairs follow the side of our apartment, leading down to a winding cobblestone road, and I’m amazed by the angle with which it weaves down the side of the steep hill.
“Is this where your family is from?” I ask, the realization hitting me that this could be the reason he’s brought me to Italy in the first place.
“No, we’re from Sicily. But Positano is not so far, and I’ve vacationed here many times in my life.”
Lucian glances at me, his lips curving into a soft smile, and I find myself smiling as well—now that I’m not trying to find fault with anything and everything that comes out of his mouth. His proud features have a natural kind of arrogance that somehow make Lucian more attractive, more masculine. But his Roman nose and angular jaw also make his face more refined, elegant even. And he carries himself with a classy kind of swagger that’s both understated and confident.
“Is this your favorite place to vacation?” I ask, turning my attention back to the winding street and the buildings that line it.
Several cafes sit along the narrow roadway, and cars drive between them and the outdoor seating nestled in little alcoves along the railing. The organization of it is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, but then, I imagine it takes a certain amount of creativity to build an entire town on the side of what amounts to a mountainous cliff.
“One of them,” he admits.
The scent of freshly baked pastries and coffee wafts from one cafe, and if I weren’t already full from the breakfast our private chef made for us this morning, I would be tempted to follow my nose inside. Instead, I keep walking with Lucian, doing my best to ignore Dominic and Lucian’s two other men who follow several paces behind. They’re discrete enough, but I’m not used to having strangers watch my back, and I miss the familiarity of my guards.
I can tell the moment we hit the shopping area of the tiny town. Frilly summer dresses and macrame wraps catch my eye from where they hang on the brightly painted open doors of tiny clothing shops. I’ve always loved fashion, and my feet slow without permission as a backless black halter top dress catches my eye.
“Try it on,” Lucian suggests, his hand finding the small of my back as he urges me toward the shop.
“Buongiorno,” the curly-haired shopkeeper greets me with a broad smile as soon as I step across the threshold. “How can I help you today?”
It’s the same thing in every shop I step into—the welcoming people happy to help me find whatever I need. The whole town has this casual comfort about it. Like no one’s in a hurry—no one’s pressed for money or time.
And by the time we reach the more narrow walkway down to the beach, Dominic is loaded down with several shopping bagsof summer dresses, including the black backless maxi dress that first caught my eye.
“This is my favorite part,” Lucian says, leaning toward me as if it’s a secret.
Bright purple flowers hang over the high walls on either side of the path, filling the air with a sweet perfume. And beneath their shade along one side of the road are numerous tables of handmade jewelry and art. One table in particular stands out to me, and my hand slips from the crook of Lucian’s elbow as I turn to study the delicate jewelry.
“Are these shells?” I ask, brushing my finger across one curving, circular pendant.
“Si, signora,” the wizened old woman says from her chair. Her tanned skin is more like leather than anything else, and a colorful silk wrap keeps her frizzy gray hair back from her thin face, but she smiles at me with a coy intelligence. “All collected and hand painted by myself.”
