Hold You Against Me (Stripped 4)

He flips off the lamp, casting the room in pale shadows. “It’s late,” he says gently, heading for the door. “You need to rest.”

And I know suddenly that I can’t let him walk away. Can’t stand to lose him.

Not Giovanni, the boy who grinned with abandon. He’s already lost. Now there’s only a man of intensity and passion, of determination and fierce loyalty. My husband.

“Gio.”

He pauses at the door without turning to face me. “Sleep.”

I cross the room and circle him, taking in the dark gleam of his eyes and the bronze skin revealed by his shirt. Moving a finger down his chest, I revel in the raised muscles that slow my path. When my finger touches the empty belt loop, he grasps my elbow in a taut grip.

“Clara. You don’t have to do anything.”

I keep my eyes on him as I fumble with the button. He makes a low sound as my fingers brush hardness underneath. The placket strains against his erection. With careful deliberation, I slide down the zipper and push the soft cotton briefs down. He makes quick work of his shirt, unbuttoning it and shrugging it to the floor.

We’re both naked now, both clasped in moonlight. Both of us vulnerable.

Standing in front of him, I run a finger through the coarse patch of hair beneath his flat belly. Then I touch something achingly hot and smooth. He shudders but makes no move to stop me. His shaft pulses with life, as strong as a heartbeat. I trail my finger down the length and around his girth.

Then I touch my fingertip to the cool damp on the tip.

He sucks in a breath. “God, bella.”

I fall to my knees, knowing another way I might please him.

He catches me with a hoarse sound and returns me to standing. “If you kiss me there, I won’t be able to hold back, and I want to be inside you when I come.”

A flush subsumes my cheeks, as hot as the hard flesh of his erection. “Oh.”

With a knowing look, he takes my hand. When he lays me down on the cool sheets, I stretch out. His body reaches over me, large and dark and powerful. He plants soft kisses on my eyelids, my nose, my chin. Wordlessly I spread my legs for him.

He notches himself against my sex, heat against heat, wet against wet. I hover on the precipice of something both carnal and divine, knowing that the next few moments will change me forever.

His hands are gentle as they gather mine above my head, my wrists held loosely in the cage of his fingers. “Is this okay?” he asks softly.

I know he’s thinking about earlier, wondering if it was the restraint that upset me. But that was something else. The feel of being spread open to him, unable to stop the press of him, the push, excites me. My hips roll against him, more proof that I want this. “Gio, please. I need more.”

He enters me in slow inches, a stretch I feel deep inside. I gasp as he reaches farther, and he pauses. His head lowers to kiss my chest, my breasts. He sucks my nipple until a sharp pleasure-pain lashes my core, and I relax enough to let him in.

It feels like he’s impossibly deep. “How much more?” I ask, trembling.

He slides his free hand down my stomach to the slippery skin. Gently he teases my clit until I sigh in pleasure. It still feels full, but if he keeps touching me like that…

“About halfway,” he says, his voice like falling rocks.

Oh God. I hadn’t seen before how his muscles ripple, hadn’t seen how hard he’s working to hold himself back. He wants to thrust all the way in, I can tell, but that would rip me apart. Halfway? How is that possible? A laugh of incredulity and wonder rends the air.

Then he laughs too, soft and bemused. “Your body, Clara. It haunts me.”

“Turnabout is fair play,” I say, voice tight. My whole body feels tight, stretched to the limit. I’m not sure I can fit any more of him in. His hips are narrower than his shoulders, but even so my hips have to open wide to accommodate him. My arms are above my head. And inside, I’m incredibly full.

His fingers work at my clit in lazy circles. He swoops down to kiss my lips, his tongue matching the rhythm of his hand, the short pulses of his erection. The orgasm comes upon me like tendrils of ivy on ancient ston

e, slow and inexorable, taking over until I’m caught in its grip. Tremors shake me from the inside out, grasping at him, pulling him deeper.

He groans softly. “I’m not sure I’ll survive you, bella.”

“Let go,” I whisper, but I’m the one who has to let go. To relax into his hold, conform around his body. It feels a little like splitting apart, like breaking and being re-formed in some new way.