Page 56 of The Italian's Pregnant Enemy (A Diamond in the Rough)

She looked at him, her eyes dewy, full of questions.

“Get on your knees, Lyssia. Kneel before me.”

At first he thought she would argue. And that would be its own kind of pleasure.

But she didn’t. Instead, she went down in front of him. He moved his hands to his belt, undid his slacks. It freed his arousal. She leaned in, her lips brushing against the sensitive head of him.

“Take me in your mouth,” he said.

She didn’t argue. Finally, Lyssia obeyed him. Beautifully. Sweetly. She wrapped her hand around the thick base of his shaft and took him into her mouth. Sucking him slowly.

Then she began to lick him like he was her favorite sweet.

Over and over again she took him like that. And he gripped her hair, steadying himself. Steadying them both.

He thrust his hips upward as she moved over him.

A swilling supplicant, naked before him.

She seemed bound and determined to take his pleasure that way.

“No,” he said.

He lifted her, and brought her down onto his lap, bringing the heart of her to the blunt head of his arousal. He lowered her slowly onto him, until she was fully seated with him deep inside.

She let her head fall back, the sound of need emanating from her throat. She was wet. Unbearably so. Gloriously turned on by what had just happened between them.

She braced herself on his shoulders and she began to move. Rocking back and forth, and up and down over his length.

He had given the order, but she held him in thrall now.

“Lyssia,” he growled.

And he lost himself. In the feel of her. The tight clasp of her body. That warm, wet heat.

All that glory.

Like he had never known.

They would marry for their child. For the public. For her father. But this, this was for them. When she had asked him what he would do if he tired of her he had lied. Because he would never tire of her. She was his. Utterly and completely. He had never had anything that belonged to him quite like this.

He had everything that he wanted that money could buy. That much was true.

But there was not a single person he could lay claim to.

He made connections, and he made them with ease. He had not connected with Lyssia using charm. He had not used his powers of assimilation. He had not given her only what she wanted to see. Their connection, from the beginning had been more real. The antagonism of it all more honest.

And that made this more.

He had charmed her into bed.

They had not played a game to get to this moment. What happened between them had been real. It had been undeniable.

It still was.

She brought herself down on him again and again. He didn’t want it to end. He wanted to delay the moment of inevitable release for as long as possible. He wanted her. Only her. Always and ever her.

He moved his hand between their bodies, stroked the source of her pleasure there. Then captured it between his fingers and squeezed. She unraveled. Her pleasure a victory that he needed badly to win. Because finally, then and only then, did he surrender to his own need. Did he give himself over to the untamed thing inside of him.

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