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She wasn’t cold at all anymore. But she was still shaking. And it wasn’t from fear.
“I will make you beg for me,” he said, his voice a dark whisper that wrapped itself around her mind.
She angled her head slightly, pushing down every bit of insecurity. She hated this man. This beautiful, horrible man. And she didn’t care what he thought about her. She didn’t care what he thought of her body. What he thought of her soul.
He was her enemy and after today she would never see him again.
For some reason that realization sent a shock wave through her. Confidence, pleasure, a rolling feeling of satisfaction that she couldn’t have explained if she wanted to.
She leaned in, her lips a breath away from his. “Not if I make you beg for me first.”
His lip curled and he leaned in, tracing the line of her jaw with his forefinger. “Do you think you could make me beg?”
“Can you walk away?” she asked, taking the roughness in his formerly smooth and cultured voice as evidence of the effect she was having on him. “Right now, could you leave this room?”
“I am not finished with you yet,” he ground out.
She forced a smile to curve the corner of her mouth. “I guess that says it all. You’re the one who can’t walk away. And I don’t even have prison to threaten you with.”
He gripped her chin tight, and she stared him down. His dark eyes were blazing and she was certain hers matched. Then he slid his thumb across the edge of her lower lip.
And closed the distance between them.
The fire in her stomach ignited, sending flames roaring through her. It was no longer contained, no longer content to merely burn in the hearth. And she realized her fatal mistake too late. She might have taken his control, but hers was gone, too. Whatever this heat was had taken over everything, threatening to reduce all that she was to ash.
She’d never been kissed like this. Had never been held close to a man like this, his arms so tight around her, his body hard and muscular against hers.
This was the last thing she had expected. For him to kiss her as if he was a man dying of thirst and she was an oasis. She had expected him to be cool. She had expected him to hurt her, humiliate her. She hadn’t expected him to make her want.
Make her feel.
Wanting him was almost scarier than the alternative. Because she was only here for one reason, for him to extract the debt she owed from her body. She meant nothing to him beyond that. In fact, he hated her. Saw her as an enemy.
She had a feeling that right at that moment, neither of them had the control. She wasn’t even sure if they were fighting for it. If each brush of his lips against hers was a press for more dominance, or if they’d both given up altogether.
She was forgetting. Forgetting everything but his lips against hers.
He shifted, cupped her face, tilting his head and deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers. The delicious friction sent a shiver through her. It shocked her, sent a wave of pleasure through her and, for a moment, she could only process how good it felt.
How could he touch an enemy like this? How could he hate her and taste her so deeply? With such care?
No one else ever had. Only this man. This man who despised her.
That should make her want to run, but she didn’t. She stayed. Rooted to the spot. Anchored to him.
When they parted, he was breathing hard, his fingers going to the knot of his tie, loosening it with startling efficiency, before casting into the ground. “Yes, you are a very good girl indeed,” he said, his voice ragged.
He pulled her back to him, kissing her again. She wanted to fight him. Wanted to fight this. The way it felt as if he was stripping her bare without ever touching the silken undergarments that covered her skin.
But she couldn’t. She felt so small, but she didn’t feel weak. She felt protected. And as things started to crumble and fall inside her; as the walls, the anger, the fear, started to crack, in the deep, empty well that lived inside of her, an insatiable and hungry thing that had craved this simply opened up and allowed itself to be filled.
Oh, it hadn’t been sex she desired specifically. But touch, attention. To have someone look at her as though she mattered. As though it had to be her standing there in front of them and no one else.
To have someone pay attention to what she wanted, what she liked. To have someone lavish pleasure on her. Because that was the only way she could think of it. She was entirely bathed in sensation, the singular focus of this large, powerful man.
He wasn’t handling her roughly, not with anger. He was in supreme, complete control and he was exercising that control to make her feel...good.
It wasn’t what she had expected and it made her feel vulnerable. Strange.
No one had ever wanted her. No one had ever needed her.
And even if it was naive, she felt in this moment that Rocco needed her. And it made her want to give in to him. It made her want to give him everything.
He hates you. And you are trading your body to keep yourself out of jail.
You can’t do this.
She could still leave. She could walk out the door and damn the consequences. He wouldn’t physically stop her. She was confident in that.
But you don’t want to.
No. Because she’d never had the courage to touch a man like this. To kiss a man like this. And now there was nothing holding her back. Nothing stopping her. Why not have this? Why not have him? She pressed her palms to the hard muscle of his chest, and leaned in deeper for the kiss.
Rocco growled, tightening his hold on her waist, and backing them both across the room, and to the bed.
Yes.
This wasn’t about money, or jail, or freedom or fear. This wasn’t about control. Not now. This was about him. About everything she’d spent her life too afraid to grab. She was so tired of it. So tired of herself. Of being a ghost that no one could touch or connect with because she was hiding her past.
He was touching her. And he knew her past. He knew it and hated it and he still wanted her. That meant it didn’t matter what she did now. Didn’t matter that she was a virgin who had no clue what she was doing.
She slid her hands to his shoulders, and down his back, exploring the feel of him, the sheer breadth of him. So different to her. To her body.
He moved one hand to her thigh, lifting her leg and bringing it around his own, opening her center to him. He pressed himself against her, the hard length of his arousal making contact with the source of her desire, sending a shot of pleasure through her body.
It was happening so fast, and yet she found not fast enough. She couldn’t think anymore, couldn’t reason. Couldn’t work out why she had been so afraid of this being the outcome. Because this wasn’t scary. And it didn’t hurt.
It felt wonderful.
And everything melted away. Who she was. Who he was.
He wasn’t a mark. And she wasn’t a con artist.
He was a man. And she was a woman.
And they wanted.
He tore his mouth from hers, kissing the line along her collarbone, to the edge of the lace bra that she knew had cost more than a month of her wages. He traced the scalloped edge of the delicate garment with the tip of his tongue, and she shook, sliding her fingers through his hair, holding him tightly to her.
“You are delicious,” he said, forcing one of the lace cups down, exposing the entirety of her breast to him. Then he lowered his head, taking her nipple into his mouth and sucking deeply. “Delicious,” he said, turning his focus to the other breast and repeating the motion.
He slid a thumb over one of the tightened buds, his eyes rapt on her body, watching as it tightened further while he teased her. He pinched her gently and she gasped, arching against him, bringing the heart of her body into contact with his hardness again.
“I did not anticipate wanting you so much,” he said. “You are so responsive.”
Was she? She wanted to ask him if she was especially responsive, but she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but feel.
“Responsive,” he said, kissing the valley between her breasts, “and very delicious. I mentioned that, but it must be said again. And I must taste you again.” He moved lower, kissing her stomach, and lower still, his lips hovering above the waistband of her panties.
He couldn’t mean to...he wouldn’t. Because somewhere in the back of her mind she thought that this was a selfless act. One that would mean giving to her, and revenge wasn’t selfless. Revenge wouldn’t allow him to give that.
But then he was pulling those expensive panties down her legs and forcing her thighs apart, opening her to him. And he looked. More than looked, he stopped, frozen for a moment, and gazed as though she was a work of art in a museum, and he was poring over her every detail.
She could hardly breathe, her heart beating so hard she thought it might burst through her chest.
Then he leaned in, his eyes never leaving hers, his tongue trailing a line along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Then he moved close to...to...
A burst of insecurity broke over her. “I don’t...you don’t have to...”
He growled and pushed his hands beneath her bottom, tugging her close to his mouth, his eyes still on hers. “I will have whatever I like.”
He closed the distance between them then, laving the sensitive bundle of nerves with the flat of his tongue. And she stopped pushing at him. Instead, her fingers curled into claws, dug into his skin. For a moment she was afraid she was hurting him, but he let out that low, feral growl again and pulled her more tightly against his mouth, tasting her even deeper, and that thought, along with every other thought she’d ever had, fled from her mind.
She found herself flexing her hips in time with his tongue, pushing herself closer to the edge of climax. She’d never done this with a man before, but she was familiar enough with how her body worked. Though, it was different when someone else had so much of the control. Wilder. More exciting.
He shifted, and she felt his finger slide through her slick flesh, testing the entrance to her body. She tensed, unsure of what to expect next. He pressed into her, the sensation unfamiliar, but not at all painful.
She let out the breath she’d just brought in, and relaxed into the new rhythm, into the feeling of being filled by him. Pleasure started building again, harder, faster. And then it broke over her, a wave that pushed her out to sea, tumbling her in the surf before bringing her up short, spent, and breathless.
She forgot everything. Why she was here. That he was a stranger. That he was her enemy.
How could he be a stranger when he had just touched her more intimately than anyone else ever had? How could he be an enemy when he had taken greater care for her pleasure, her needs and her comfort than anyone else in her life ever had?
And for a moment, just for a moment, he moved up so their bodies were aligned, and he held her in his strong arms, against his solid chest, so that she could rest her head against him and feel the raging of his beating heart, and she felt...she felt home.
Safe.
Cared for.
More for him, more in his arms than she’d ever felt before.
He moved his hand down between her thighs, then leaned in, kissing her neck as he teased her clitoris with his fingers, arousing her again, much more quickly after her orgasm than she would have imagined possible.
She wanted to beg. But somewhere in her mind she remembered him saying she would. And so she bit her lip to hold it back.
Then he lowered his forehead against hers, sweat beading on his skin. She could feel his arousal pressed against her inner thigh, so close. So close to what she knew they both wanted.
“Per favore.” He whispered the broken words in Italian, and his need was the final bit of fuel on the flame.
She released her hold on what was left of her control.
“Yes,” she said, her voice a sob. “Please. Please take me.” She was desperate, and she didn’t care if he knew it. And it wasn’t just for pleasure, but for a connection. For an answer to the deep, unending emptiness inside her she hadn’t been aware of until this moment.
“You want this?” he whispered, the words frayed. “You want me inside you?”
“Yes,” she moaned, arching against him.
He kissed her lips before moving away from her, opening the drawer of the nightstand by the bed and producing a little square packet.
A condom.
Oh yes, they weren’t done. This was it. She was going to lose her virginity now. To him. And she couldn’t even muster any fear. No shame. No doubt. Because she just wanted. More of what he’d given her only moments ago, more of being skin to skin with him. More of his lips against hers, his body in hers. She wanted more.
She wanted it all.
He worked the buckle on his dress pants and shoved them partway down his lean hips before positioning himself over her, and tearing open the condom. He was still almost entirely dressed, and she saw nothing but the deft movements of his hand as he rolled the condom over himself.
But when he moved to her entrance, she felt the blunt head of him, stretching her, tearing the thin barrier she’d never before given much thought about. She tensed, squeezing her eyes shut tight as the burning pain reached its peak, then dissipated slowly after he’d buried himself to the hilt.
She gritted her teeth, fought to keep from crying out, but she wasn’t successful. A whimper escaped her lips and she shivered beneath him as pain laced its way around all the beautiful pleasure she’d felt only a moment before.
He swore, violent, rough against her ear, and pushed himself up, dark eyes blazing into hers. But he said nothing.
Instead he angled his face and kissed her, long and deep, as he withdrew slowly from her body before sliding back home. It didn’t hurt at all that time, and as he established a steady rhythm to his thrusts, discomfort faded to a kind of neutral fullness, and from there grew, expanding to a deep, pulsing pleasure that was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.
She arched against him, as she’d done when he’d gone down on her, meeting his every thrust, the motion sending little sparks of heat through her, a familiar tightness coiling low in her stomach.
She felt him start to shake, felt the control in his movements start to slip. A groan escaped his lips, and he bucked hard against her, freezing above her, pushing them both over the edge to oblivion.
When she came back to herself, she was lying on her back, starting at an unfamiliar ceiling, with his warm, protective weight covering her. As if she was something precious.
Except...he wasn’t protective. And she wasn’t precious.
She was nothing more than a criminal, who had tried to make good for a while and failed. And he was...he was...
She tried to push away the reality that was crowding in. Tried to ignore the truth she would have to face eventually. She didn’t want to. Not now. Not while pleasure was still buzzing through her. Not while she still felt so good.
The power she’d felt only a few moments before was slipping through her grip like sand through an hourglass and there was no way for her to turn it back over and start again.
Then he was up, moving away from her, turning and walking into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
And she could only lie where she was, still staring at that ceiling. At the way the molding formed different tiers and textures. She listened to the sounds of the streets outside filtering up, audible even through the closed windows.
Life was moving out there, and yet, in here, in this room, in this moment, she was frozen.
The bathroom door opened and Rocco reappeared, his shirt buttoned, his pants redone. Except for the lack of tie, he looked exactly as he had done when he’d first walked into the restaurant. As though nothing had happened. As though past minutes hadn’t existed.
They might have just shared cake and coffee, instead of their bodies.
