Page 16 of The Sicilian Billionaire's Neglected Wife
“Have you ever—” He didn’t need to finish the question. Her innocence was written all over her face, in the way she trembled under his touch.
“N-No.” The whispered confession made his blood surge hot and possessive. Her accent, which was usually hidden, slipped through on that single word. “Never.”
Virgin. Nineteen years old and untouched, waiting for him to claim what was his.
The compound was silent around them. His father’s wing dark on the other side of the property. Even the guards would be changing shifts now, giving them perfect privacy for what was about to happen.
His hands framed her face, thumbs stroking over the soft skin of her cheekbones. She leaned into his touch like she was starved for it, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Her eyes closed then opened again to stare up at him with naked adoration.
Something dark and satisfied settled in his chest.
“I’m going to take you,” he said, his voice low and rough with promise. The words came out in that tone he used at the track, absolute certainty, and no room for doubt.
Her breath caught, but she nodded. “Yes.”
And then, softer...
“P-Please.”
He kissed her then, not soft or tentative, but with the full force of months of suppressed want. She opened for him immediately, sighing into his mouth like she’d been waiting for this her entire life. The taste of her went straight to his head, and when her tongue met his, inexpert but eager, heat shot straight through his body.
She melted against him, all soft curves and trembling responses, her hands clutching at his shoulders like she was afraid she might fall. The silk of her negligee was nothing between them. He could feel every line of her body, every shiver that ran through her as he deepened the kiss.
When he lifted her, she weighed nothing. She pressed her face against his throat as he carried her to the bed, and he could feel her lips moving against his skin. Not speaking, just pressing kisses there like she couldn’t help herself, her pulse hammering against his chest.
He laid her down among the rose petals she’d scattered. Her hair fanned out across the pillowcases, and she looked like something from a painting. All dark hair and flushed skin and eyes that tracked his every movement with desperate hunger.
She pressed her lips against his throat, and he could feel her tremble. The emotion radiating from her was so intense he could practically hear the words she wasn’t saying. They were written in every kiss she pressed to his skin, every touch of her inexperienced hands, every soft sound she made as he undressed her with deliberate care.
That should have sent him running. Should have triggered every self-preservation instinct he’d spent years perfecting since his mother’s death, when he’d learned that feeling too much was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Instead, it made him more determined to claim what was his.
Because she was his now. His wife, his responsibility, his to protect and possess. The papers were signed, the judge had pronounced them married, and she was in his bed looking at him like he’d hung the stars.
He undressed her with the same precision he used to adjust engine components. Each reveal drew a sound from her, gasps and whimpers and his name falling from her lips like a prayer. By the time he had her naked, she was trembling so hard the bed vibrated.
“So beautiful,” he whispered against her throat.
She was already flushed from chest to hairline when he traced the curve of her breast. She gasped and arched into his touch, the tips of her breasts already hard and begging for attention.
“P-Please...”
Goosebumps rose on her skin despite the warm night air. When he stripped off his own clothes—dress shirt and pants discarded with the same efficiency he used with racing suits—her eyes went wide, fixing on his body with fascination and apprehension.
“Aivan...” Her voice was breathless, uncertain as she took in his size. Those dark eyes traveled down his body and widened further. “I don’t know if...”
“You’ll take me,” he said with complete confidence, settling between her thighs. The heat of her against him nearly undid his control. “All of me.”
“Look at me,” he commanded when her eyes closed.
Her eyes opened, locked with his, and the naked adoration blazing there hit him like a downshift at two hundred kilometers per hour.
She didn’t need to say the words. He could read them in every line of her face, every catch of her breath. It was written in the way she touched him with trembling hands, the way she opened for him without reservation, the way she surrendered everything without holding back. Those three words she wanted to say but didn’t burned in her gaze with the intensity of a thousand suns.
I love you.
The knowledge should have made him pull back. Should have reminded him this was a business arrangement, that emotions were dangerous, that his mother’s death had taught him the price of caring too much.
Instead, he positioned himself at her entrance, feeling her body tense with anticipation and nerves. “Breathe,” he commanded, and she obeyed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to relax muscles gone rigid with virginal fear.
