The Italian's Final Redemption - Jackie Ashenden Page 0,38

was kind.

He was nothing of the sort, but that was something else that he wasn’t going to tell her. So he stayed silent instead as he came to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him as he went through the doorway. Then he carried her over to the big white bed and laid her down on it, before stepping back and stripping off his clothes.

She watched him, her glittering hazel eyes alive with curiosity and fascination and hunger, and when he was naked she reached for him in instinctive welcome.

That stole his breath, made his heart feel heavy in his chest. There was an affectionate, caring, and generous spirit beneath her wariness, and he was uncovering it, bit by bit.

You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve her trust. You’ll betray her like you betray everyone.

Vincenzo shoved that thought from his head as he reached for the protection in the bedside drawer. And locked it away as he prepared himself. Then he moved onto the bed with her, easing her onto her back and settling between her thighs. She made a small, throaty, satisfied sound as he did so, her body arching beneath his, pressing herself harder against him. Her hands were on his shoulders, stroking, as if she couldn’t get enough of touching him.

‘You’re beautiful, too,’ she murmured as he eased himself against the soft, damp heat between her thighs.

But he didn’t want words now, not with her silky skin against his and the light, feminine musk of her scent intoxicating his senses, making the need hammer in his head so loudly that he could barely hear a thing. So he bent his head and took her lovely mouth, tasting the sweet fire that he was beginning to suspect lay at the heart of her. And she didn’t protest, kissing him back, all shy inexperience and untutored hunger.

That sweetness felt unbearable to him all of a sudden, as did her inexperience. He didn’t want any reminder of how vulnerable she was, or how alone and unprotected she’d been all her life. How she’d only ever been in the power of a man who’d hurt her. Scared her.

It made him feel things he didn’t want to feel, emotions that he had no place for in his heart. He didn’t want to protect her, care for her, keep her safe. All he wanted was to be inside her and this hunger for her sated.

He kissed her harder, with more demand, stroking down her body to the wetness that lay between her legs, his fingers circling the sensitive little bud. She gasped, trembling, her nails scraping over his skin. And that was better. That was much better than softness and vulnerability, better than the tightness in his chest and the ache in his heart.

So he kissed her harder still, deeper, nipping at her, biting at her until she moaned and her nails scratched him as she quivered and shifted restlessly beneath him. He was relentless, making her come against his hand, her breathing wild and ragged, and only then did he finally allow himself his own pleasure.

He wanted to thrust hard, show her that, though she might think him beautiful, he had no mercy to give her. That if she persisted in being soft with him, there would be nothing but pain in store for her. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The thought of her pain in amongst this pleasure anathema to him.

So he pushed inside her slowly, carefully, watching her pretty face, searching for any signs of discomfort in the wide, dark eyes that looked up into his. She groaned, her gaze going even wider as he pushed deeper, but he saw no pain in it. Only a kind of wonder. As if he was a secret she’d always wanted to know, a secret that in the discovering was even better than she’d thought.

She was so hot. Slick. Perfect.

His brain blanked and for a moment he couldn’t think of anything but her. Anything but the heat of her and the pleasure that was unfolding inside him, many-faceted and complex. Fascinating. Demanding.

He pushed his hands beneath her hips, tilting her, enabling him to go deeper, and she cried out, her hold on his shoulders almost painful. But she wasn’t hurting, he could see that. She was as much in the grip of this pleasure as he was.

‘Oh, Vincenzo,’ she gasped, shuddering. ‘Please, oh, please...’

And he moved, harder, deeper, his hands gripping her hips, losing himself in the tide of