A Dark Sicilian Secret(39)

Jillian shuddered, heat exploding in her middle, coursing through her veins.

His tongue stroked the inside of her lower lip, flaming nerve endings everywhere. His teeth, straight, white, nipped at her lip and heat flared from her womb to her limbs.

She was melting, dissolving in his hands.

And then he drew her tongue into his mouth and sucked the tip, the sucking sensation tight and rhythmic, reminding her of his body thrusting into hers, making her back arch, her hips tilt, her body shaping to his.

His hands slid up into her hair, his fingers dragging across her scalp. He was waking her, warming her, fanning the empty aching need.

And still he kissed her, his knee parting her thighs, pressing up against her sensitive flesh and she grew hot, wet, needy in response.

Jillian slid her hands up his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath her hands as she kissed him back, her skin hot and sensitive, her body taut with desire.

Long moments passed and then he lifted his head. He gazed down into her eyes a long moment and stroked her flushed, warm cheek. “I think I will claim what is mine.”

He unzipped her dress and peeled it off over her head before unhooking her bra and casting it on top of the discarded dress. Her panties followed along with her slim chocolate heels.

Once he had her naked, he dropped her not all that gently onto the enormous bed. With his dark gaze fixed on her, he shed his own clothes and then joined her on the bed, pushing her back to straddle her hips.

This time there was no foreplay. This was a lesson in ownership, a display of possession. He possessed her, too, stretching her out beneath him, his hands holding her wrists down above her head, his chest crushing her full breasts, his strong thighs holding her slim thighs apart as he entered her, and then filled her, driving deep into her body, again and again.

She was warm and slick, his shaft thick and hard, and he stroked her relentlessly, creating a maddening friction that was so pleasurable it almost caused pain.

With each of his thrusts she tightened her inner muscles around him, wanting to hold him, wanting to keep him with her in an attempt to meet that wonderful and yet terrible need he created.

As he filled her, her head spun, and her senses swam with the dizzying pleasure of it all. Making love to him had always made her emotions feel wildly out of control. Today was no different. She craved him. She hated him. She needed him. She wanted him. She wanted him like she’d never wanted anyone or anything. And when together like this, skin against skin, warmth to warmth, heartbeat to heartbeat, she didn’t think she could possibly ever want anything more.

This was intimacy, and closeness, connection as she’d never known it. Together like this, she felt whole. Comforted. Cherished. The lovemaking was such perfection it made her eyes sting and her heart ache. She never wanted it to end. Not even tonight.

Long before she was ready, her body betrayed her, nerves and muscles coiling into an explosive physical climax that triggered his. She sighed as he released into her, her body still sensitive and shuddering with pleasure. How could sex be so right with him when everything else was so wrong?

For a moment she allowed herself to relax into him, savoring the feel of his hard, lean body. And then he withdrew.

As always, she felt bereft.

As always her heart ached, wanting, needing more.

He turned onto his side, pulled her up against him, his arm over her chest holding her close to him. She let him, too, because when they were together like this, she did need him. She needed him more than she’d ever needed anyone. Her life had been lonely. Her father’s problems had eclipsed everyone else’s needs. When Vittorio loved—even if only with his body—she felt good. And safe. Safer than she felt with anyone else.

But sex, even slow and leisurely, didn’t last forever. It always ended. And the afterglow always ended. And then she was swamped with all the overwhelming emotions again.

Emptiness. Pain. Hopelessness. Sadness.

And so when he wrapped his arm around her, his forearm warm and snug against her breast, she unsteadily exhaled and inhaled and exhaled again to keep the tears from falling.

How could she mistrust him and yet need him so much?

How could he make her feel so vulnerable? No one else made her feel this way. Why did he?

Lying in the bedroom’s semidarkness, with the last lingering rays of sunlight fading from the sky, Vittorio felt Jill’s chest rise and fall, a silent hiccup of emotion that she never acknowledged, and always refused to discuss. Suppressing a sigh, he drew her small frame closer to him, her soft round breasts pressed to his arm.