Hold You Against Me (Stripped 4)

His tongue swipes across my lip, sending sparks through my body. I shiver, and he does it again.

It feels like I’m on fire from the inside out, flames of need licking my body on the inside, the heat and pressure of him on the outside. And the worst part is how I want to give in, to let him scorch me. I would never be the same again. I would never recover, but God, how sweet the pain.

Want and need war within me, and I let out a sigh. He uses the opportunity to slip inside my mouth, to spread me wider for his invasion. I imagine him saying, It gives me the right to use your mouth. I should hate him, but somehow it only makes me hotter.

He explores my secret places with terrible patience. I’m the one straining for more, faster, deeper. His tongue slides against mine, a sensual swipe that makes me moan. On the next glide his body rocks into me—only once. Once is enough. Now I know how it will be when we’re together, his body moving against me, invading me, a rhythm I’ll never forget.

My breasts feel heavier than they’ve ever been, the fabric constraining them too tight and harsh. The cami is thick around my breasts, but even so my nipples harden and press against the restraints. It might as well be lace holding me, whisper thin but textured. When Giovanni’s body shifts in front of me, the fabric of his suit rubs against them. My breath catches, and without meaning to, I roll my body, pressing my breasts into him.

He groans into my mouth. “Christ, bella. What you do to me.”

At least I’m not the only one breaking apart. I’m floating, flying. I’m breathing hard, but he is too. It’s like we’ve run a marathon instead of kissing for a moment. He’s too close, too large. Too sensual. I have no defenses against him, especially when his thumb slides under the hem of my cami, a lone and soft slide against my bare skin.

A shudder racks my body. “Gio, I don’t know—I feel strange.”

His laugh is unsteady. “You need to go.”

“I…what?”

He turns just enough to rest his palm on the wall beside my head. His other hand falls away from my hip. I feel the loss acutely, the air almost freezing in comparison to his touch. “You need to take your dog and leave this room.”

My body aches for something only he can give me. I lean toward him instinctively, knowing he can assuage me. It actually hurts, these knots he’s tied inside.

“Go,” he says roughly. “Unless you want me to fuck you on this rug right now. Leave.”

The word fuck jars me out of whatever trance I’ve been in.

Oh God, no. No no no. This is all wrong. Why did I let him touch me like that? Except that’s not the question I need to be asking. Why did I like it so much?

And even fully aware, I still want him to touch me again.

The only thing stopping me is the room. The rug. The office and all the things I’ve never told a living soul. I’m not about to start by telling my captor, even if

he does make my body yearn.

It takes me longer than I want to coax the dog out from behind the globe. The entire time, Giovanni stands against the wall, silent and still. I wrap a shivering Lupo in my arms and hurry up the stairs, where Romero waits outside the door to lock me inside.

Chapter Thirteen

I think about the way his lips felt against mine—hot and sweet, sensual and somehow comforting. Sharp desire mixed with an ethereal relaxation. I could have stayed like that for hours, for days. I could have kissed him forever.

Which is really messed up, all things considered.

It’s also messed up that I regret not letting Maria help with my hair. What should it matter whether I’m pretty? I’m a prisoner here, no matter how good the food or how sexy my captor.

Only with Amy’s help could I ever do anything fancy with my hair. It’s too thick and unruly, tied up in wavy knots no matter how recently I’ve brushed it. Princess hair, that’s what Honor called it. The kind Rapunzel let down from her window. I’m looking out my window now, but there’s no prince at the bottom.

A knock comes at the door.

I turn and pad across the room barefoot. It felt strange to wear heels alone in my room, but it feels stranger to open the door to Giovanni like this—intimate. The air in the room evaporates when I see him in his tux, so dignified and solemn. He’s dressed the opposite of when I knew him before, in well-washed jeans and plain T-shirts. Except he reminds me more of that boy in this moment than since I first woke up in that limo. He looks both expectant and resigned, as if he knows something bad will happen but he’s determined to withstand it. Back then I thought the horrible thing was his family or maybe mine. Now I’m not so sure what tests him. Maybe it’s me.

His dark gaze lingers over my body. I saw myself in the mirror so I know what he sees. Ample curves wrapped in gold so formfitting it could have been painted onto me. It looks like the individual shimmering beads adorn my skin. It’s ridiculously sexy but, considering that most of my skin is covered, classy too. I feel like a complete stranger.

His voice is stiff. “You look…beautiful.”

I make a face. “You don’t have to say that.”

He gives a rough laugh, a little unsteady. “Jesus, Clara.”