Page 22 of The Tycoon's Shock Heir

They were sixteen now, she thought suddenly. Sixteen—almost adults themselves—and still no sign that she was ever going to get along with them. The awful thing was she just didn’t feel anything for them. It was terrible to admit it, even if only to herself. Was it because they didn’t look like her? They had their mother’s blonde hair, George’s sturdy build, while she was dark, slight...

She looked out across the river, at the moonless sky, the endless inky horizon. Somewhere out there she had family who looked like her. Uncles, aunts, cousins. Brothers, sisters. People with features like hers, minds like hers. Maybe dancers like her...

Her mind conjured up her favourite daydream. She was dancing on some foreign stage—the performance of her life. A man stood in the audience—her father. He called her name, pushed forward to see her, She shielded her eyes and then she saw him. ‘Father,’ she cried...

Her heart leapt into her throat and her eyes burned. Beside her, Matteo moved closer and she tensed. For a moment she was still lost on that dark stage, searching for that face.

‘You must have been a very gifted child,’ said Matteo through her dream.

She felt his fingers cradle the back of her head. She let her head rest there, grateful for the warmth, the strength, the masculine grasp. She didn’t fight it. Emotions were surfacing tonight that she’d kept buried for a long, long time. Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was the soft touch of his fingers on her skin, being held close...

She turned in his arms. Another kiss—gentle, soft. The slide of his tongue dipping into her mouth. She accepted it gratefully, eagerly. He pressed closer, his arms encircling her at the wall.

‘Something like that,’ she said on a sigh, relieved to be pulled from her memories as her head fell back and the ache between her legs grew hotter and heavier.

‘I really can’t wait to see you dance,’ whispered Matteo as he hooked his other arm around her and drew her into his sensual world.

He placed tiny little kisses on her neck, which had her extending her head to give him more access. She sighed and shifted against him and he pulled her closer, his hands holding her possessively. She relaxed against his broad, strong chest and felt the urgent ridge of his desire. His kisses travelled to her ear and she shivered as a huge spasm of desire ricocheted through her.

‘Matteo, please...’ she moaned.

‘You like this, don’t you?’ he murmured. ‘Your secret exogenous zone. And we still have all the others to find too, before dawn.’

He kissed her again, nibbled and suckled at the edge of her earlobe, licked and kissed and nuzzled her neck. She was tired of holding back. Tired of striving so hard for so long and there being nothing to show for it. She was tired of feeling hungry for life, of starving herself of pleasure, fun. She’d worked so hard to get here and the exhaustion of keeping it together was lapping inside her now like the relentless dragging of the tide.

Her own private rules—training and abstinence, working until her body was exhausted to be the best, to please—had been her whole life as far back as she could remember, with little time to relax because it was too terrifying to stop.

She deserved this night. She needed it.

Under her dress her nipples throbbed in tight buds and she felt almost unbearably aroused. She pressed even closer to his body, the full skirt of her dress swishing noisily as she ached to feel his lips on her mouth and his hands on her body.

He held her head in his hands, kissing her mouth until it opened, his tongue plundering deeply inside. She kissed him back and pressed herself closer, desperate to free herself from all this red froth, to step out of it naked and feel his hands on her body.

She wanted to feel the way she knew he could make her feel.

‘The bet’s off. Take me to bed,’ she breathed.

The words spilled from her mouth into the hot heavy air between them and he stopped. She looked up into those chestnut eyes, willing him to take control now that she had relented. Willing him to do what she trusted him to do—give her the oblivion she sought.

She reached up and traced her finger around his mouth, feeling the graze of stubble, the soft pad of his lips, then she slid her fingers inside his wet mouth. Her head fell back as he sucked her fingers.

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