Page 42 of Hidden Heir, Italian Wife

It started out slow, but deepened by degrees, as though he was reassuring her. As though he was rewarding her.

She flowered under that sweetness. It had been a fraught evening, from attending the party, feeling judged there, then learning more about him and how he had felt about their time in Como.

Now a white haze was filling her brain, taking over any awareness but the drugging sensation of long, lazy kisses. Arousal was detonating through her, and she started to bring her arms up only to discover her wrists were bound.

He lifted his head, eyes gleaming with lust and amused gratification.

He hooked his finger into the silk that bound her, leading her toward the bedroom.

Butterflies filled her stomach as her mind exploded with possibilities, trying to anticipate what he would ask of her. What he might do to her.

As they neared the door to the bedroom, however, he turned her toward the wall, lifting her joined arms toward the U of a tulip-shaped wall sconce. He hooked her bound wrists into it and her stomach plummeted into uncertainty.

“What, um…”

“You’re going to have to be very careful, Briellabella,” he said as he stood behind her, trailing his seductive touch along her trembling arms and the backs of her shoulders. “Don’t move too much or you might knock that off the wall. Then we would have some embarrassing explanations to make, wouldn’t we?”

“You’re not serious,” she said on a shaken breath, trying to look over her shoulder at him.

“Do you want me to release you?” His tickling caress was sweeping across the top of her spine. His lips nuzzled at her nape, nearly taking out her knees. “Because what I really want to do,bellezza, isreleaseyou.”

“What if…” They were in the hall. “What if someone walks in?”

“Does that possibility excite you?” The zip of her gown lowered, relaxing across her chest. “Close your eyes and pretend I’m a bellboy if you want to.”

“Who are you pretendingIam?” she asked with a sharp look over her shoulder again.

He chuckled.

“There is only one woman I want,bella. The alluring, elusive Bree I met in Como.” His hand went into her hair, dragging her head back so he could scrape his teeth against the side of her throat while his other hand delved into the front of her gown. “I want to chain her in a dungeon and keep for myself the rest of my life.”

He pinched her nipple just hard enough to make her jolt, but then he soothed her, rolling and teasing and sending rivulets of arousal from breast to belly to sink hotly into her loins.

“I’m glad you’re wearing such tall shoes. I can have you right here. I want that very badly. Do you feel that?” His hand rode down to the notch of her thighs. He cupped her mound, using the pressure to push her backside into the erection behind his fly.

“Be careful,” she gasped. “You’ll stain the dress.”

“We both will.” He rocked his hand, making her shudder with erotic joy, trapped in such a blatant way. “I’m going to make love to you right here. I want you to know that it’s safe to give yourself to me anywhere, anytime. To let me take control. And when you do, you’ll like it.”

Was it, though? Because despite being literally tethered to the wall, she felt adrift. As though pieces of her were falling away. Shields maybe.

She wanted to catch them back, but her arms were bound and her skirt was coming up. He ran his hands over her buttocks and hips and thighs, praising her in Italian while sliding her panties down her thighs. She didn’t understand all of it, but she understood a cherishing touch and words likebellaandseducenteandla mia donna.

My woman.

When he guided her to step out of them and his hot touch began to explore between her thighs, she leaned into the wall, turning her face against the cool wallpaper, closing her eyes as longing filled her, waiting for his caress to find the molten center of her.

Finally, he claimed her folds and the peak of her pleasure with a long reaching touch, making her shake. Making her sob with yearning.

More erotic words warmed her ear. “You’re as aroused as I am. I don’t want to stop touching you, but I want to be inside all this heat,bella.”

“Yes,” she moaned. “Please.”

His touch left her and she could have wept, but he was opening his trousers. The fabric brushed her skin. The satin of her skirt draped her thighs as he nudged her shoes apart and stood between them.

A distant part of her had a moment of clarity, realizing how flagrant this was. He’d barely kissed her! But the broad dome of his sex was seeking her entrance, pressing. He was filling her and she groaned in ragged abandon at how good it felt.

His breath hissed in and he gripped her hips. More Italian. Earthy noises of his hips slapping her buttocks.

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