The Prince's Love-Child (The Royal House of Cacciatore 2)

‘Yes, strip,’ he ordered curtly. ‘Strip for me now.’

Lucy let out a sigh as her thumb and finger rubbed at the lapel of her jacket, caressing the material as sensuously as if it was skin. In a way, it was almost a relief to be able to play this game—for the game detracted from reality, and the reality was that Lucy suspected she was falling in love. Dangerous. Oh, so dangerous.

At least while she was acting the sultry siren she was able to stop herself from running over to him and cupping his hard, handsome face between her hands with a sense of wonder, then smothering it with tiny heartfelt kisses, telling him over and over that he made her heart sing and her senses come to vibrant and stinging life.

But that was not what he wanted from her. A man didn’t have to spell it out for you that he was happy with just a casual affair, and Lucy was perceptive enough to have worked it out for herself in any case. And because she wanted to stay in the game she followed the rules that he had set. Did that make her weak? Or simply responsive?

Guido saw her hesitation and groaned, fighting back the urge to have her join him on the bed.

‘Strip.’ His voice rang out, the word a single, clipped command.

His voice was hard, she thought, but his eyes were as she had never seen them before—on fire with need and desire, and she had to steel herself against that look, to stop herself from melting. She slipped the jacket from her shoulders and hung it neatly over the back of a chair.

‘Oh, Lucy,’ he murmured.

She surveyed him steadily. ‘Am I going too slowly for you, Guido?’

He heard the challenge in her voice. Say yes and she would take even longer! He shook his head, not daring—not able—to speak.

She began to undo the buttons of her crisp white shirt and saw him run his tongue over his lips as the garment joined her jacket. Slowly she unzipped the slim navy skirt and let it fall to the ground, so that it pooled by her feet. She stepped out of it. She heard his sharp inrush of breath as she stood before him, wearing just her bra and panties, stockings, suspender-belt and high navy shoes.

She undid the lace brassière and as it fell to the floor she began to touch her breasts, capturing his eyes with hers.

‘Come here,’ he whispered.

She shook her head. ‘Not yet. Take your shirt off.’

His throat was dry as he peeled off the layer of ice-blue silk and threw it at her feet.

‘Now your trousers,’ she instructed softly. ‘Take them off.’

His heart was crashing against his ribcage. ‘Why don’t you do it?’ he murmured.

‘Because I want you to.’

‘Oh, do you?’ he drawled.

He was aware that she was treating him as no woman had ever treated him before—and, rather more disturbingly, that he was allowing her to. But the sexual tension which was escalating second by frantic second was just too good and too powerful to resist.

In his highly aroused state he carefully slid off his trousers and briefs, watching with a certain mocking triumph as her eyes widened, her lips forming a pouting and moist little circle when she saw just how turned on he was.

‘Oh, Guido,’ she whispered, on a thready note of wonder.

Her fingertips moved from where they had been circling over her nipple to press between the juncture of her legs and her head fell back. She closed her eyes, and for a moment Guido wondered if she was just going to pleasure herself in front of him. And—in spite of his aching desire for her—wouldn’t that be unbearably erotic to watch?

Driven on by an overwhelming need, he stroked his hand over himself as greedily as a schoolboy, and looked up to find her staring at him. Their eyes met in a moment of complete and silent understanding.

‘Okay, Lucy,’ he said unsteadily. ‘You’ve played your little stripper game. That’s enough. I want you here. Right now.’

His command was raw enough to make her forget the harsh note in his voice as he had said stripper. Her hands were trembling as she pulled her panties down and tossed them aside, and half-ran across the room towards him. And then she straddled him, easing herself down onto his hardness, squealing with delight as he filled her.

She thrust forward with her hips, as if she was riding bareback. But he rolled her straight over onto her back, assuming the position of mastery.

‘Now,’ he groaned, as he drove into her, over and over, each sweet, savage thrust sending her careering close to the edge. ‘Now!’

He bent his head to kiss her. The touch of his lips seemed to set fire to the touch-paper embedded deep in her heart and unstoppable flames began to flicker through her veins. She gave a broken little cry, but she bit down on it. She wanted to tell him that only he could make her feel this way. But for Guido this was simply good sex, and everyone knew that men could get good sex from any number of women.

And then the release washed over her—great powerful waves of it which rocked her to the very core, obliterating everything except the sheer wonder of the moment. Lucy clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder as he began to tense inside her, and to feel him beginning to orgasm only magnified her own pleasure.