Page 8 of Hidden Heir, Italian Wife

She stretched against him. “You’re a man of your word, aren’t you?”

“I try to be. Why?” Had she heard his inner thoughts and wondered about his personal code of ethics?

“That was the best sex of my life. As promised. Thank you.” She shifted to sprawl herself across his chest, breasts sitting warmly against his rib cage. Her pretty mouth, bruised by their kisses, held a smug smile, but shadows flickered behind the screen of her lashes.

She was remembering sex with someone else, feeling disloyal for comparing.

Jealousy bit him. It was completely misguided. That other man was already out of her life. Jax would be soon as well.

There would be others, though. She was far too passionate to deny herself, and he was inordinately resentful of those future lovers she would take.

He rolled her beneath him. “Best sofar.”

“Oh?” Her eyes flared with excitement. “I thought all those texts meant you have places to be.”

“They can wait.” They couldn’t, but he brushed aside the veil of obligation that tried to descend on him and used the superior strength in his thighs to open hers. He settled his thickening erection where she was molten and silky, then kissed her until she was buttery soft beneath him. Until she whimpered and rocked her hips, seeking stimulation in the apex of her thighs.

He moved his lips into her throat and slid down so he could graze his stubble in the valley between her breasts.

“Come back,” she pleaded, clasping at his shoulders, but he caught her hands and trapped them against the mattress while he detoured to kiss all the most beguiling places—her beige nipples and the scented underside of her breast. The place where her ribs ended and the tremble of her belly began. Her navel and the point of her hip and the musky thicket of her bush.

When he was half off the bed, her thighs clenching his ears and her fingers in his hair, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

He could have stayed there forever, making her shudder and gasp and sob with need, but even though she was utterly his in this moment, that primal need to possess her forever wouldn’t abate.

Rather than take her over the edge, he slipped on the other condom from his wallet and loomed over her, catching at his control even as he was draping her thighs over his arms, grasping her hips and driving into her.

“Too hard?” he asked through clenched teeth, body singing with the need to claim.

“I like it,” she gasped. “It makes me feel sexy.” Her soft hands drifted over his shoulders then down to his hips. Her nails scored his buttocks, urging him on.

“You are.” He thrust heavily. “Too sexy.” Another thrust. Deeper. “Dangerous.”

Because he wanted to keep her.

He didn’t say it. His capacity for speech dried up. Their noises became animalistic as he made love to her the way he was aching to, driving her into spasms of pleasure, then shifting to arch her over his arm while he buried his mouth in her neck. He rolled so she was straddled across his hips and tumbled her onto her back again, riding her through one orgasm after another, keeping her at the heights of arousal with the pump of his hips and his mouth on her breast and his hands caressing every inch of her.

She matched him every step of the way, flushed and incoherent with lust, nipping at his lips and lifting her hips to meet his, grasping at him in desperation. Mews of need filled his ears.

They wrecked the bed, but that wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to wreck her for future lovers, so she only thought of him for the rest of her life. It was a primitive compulsion. Atavistic.

When her cries of anguished joy rose and his own need for release pressed like a branding iron, he was both fiercely triumphant and incensed that the end had arrived.

He dropped her onto her back and drove into her, trying to forge a link that would chain her to him for the rest of their lives. For all of eternity.

Jagged, ecstatic cries left her as she convulsed beneath him.

His final thrust into the contractions of her sheath was so intense, so pure, so abruptly exquisite, it tore a shout of exaltation from him.

Time stopped. He was held in that paroxysm of painfully sweet pulses. The fiery throbs bathed him in heat, the sensation acute and lasting for what seemed like hours. Days. A lifetime. Until he was hollow and defeated.

With a final shudder, he let his arms fold. He was so weak with gratification, he barely kept from crushing her.

It was only when his erection relaxed and slipped free that he realized the condom had split.

***

“The condom broke.”

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