Nicolo: The Powerful Sicilian

A canopied bed, draped in endless, drifting layers of pale pink silk.

Nicolo let her slide down the length of his body to stand on her feet. She caught her breath at the feel of his erection. He took her hand; she thought he was going to put it against his fly. Instead, he brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

There was something so sweet, so touching, in the simple gesture that it made her throat constrict.

He turned away. Closed the door. When he looked at her again, his expression was unreadable. She waited for him to reach for her, to touch her, but he did nothing, he only stood still, watching her through narrowed eyes. She understood.

He had done his part.

The car. The villa. The flowers. The fire on the hearth. It was all very romantic, but now it was her turn. She wasn’t ready but that wasn’t his problem, she thought, and she took a deep breath, raised her arms, reached for the tiny loops and hooks that were at the back of her gown’s halter neck.

“No.”

Her eyes flew to his. He moved toward her, caught her wrists, brought her hands to her sides.

“I want to undress you,” he said in a husky whisper.

Could a man say anything more wonderful to his lover? Alessia’s heart lifted. Her lips curved in a smile.

“It is what I want, too,” she said softly, and Nick drew her to him and kissed her, his mouth moving slowly against hers, very slowly. Going slowly was what he wanted for her. Still, he might be pushing too hard, too fast… And then she groaned, rose to him, opened her mouth to his…

And he stopped thinking.

How could a man think when a woman’s taste was so sweet? When she felt so soft, so right? The press of her breasts against his chest. The warmth of her arms around his neck. And those sexy high heels meant that her hips were against his.

He slid one hand down her back. Felt the silken texture of her skin. Cupped her bottom, lifted her into him, and she sighed his name against his lips.

“Nicolo.”

Just that, nothing more, and yet he felt as if his heart might leap from his chest.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he murmured, and he turned her in his arms, swept her long fall of golden hair aside and fumbled for the loops and buttons at the gown’s halter neck, knowing those tiny bits of gold and cotton were all that kept her from him.

His fingers felt big. Clumsy. Undoing the buttons seemed to take forever….

And then, at last, they were undone.

The bodice of the gown slipped down.

She caught it and held it against her. Nick didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he bent his head and put his lips to the tender skin he had uncovered just at the nape of her neck. A soft kiss. Another. The faint nip of his teeth and she moaned. Her head fell forward; her hair tumbled over her shoulders. Nick trailed the tip of his tongue along her sweet, heated flesh, then kissed his way down her spine.

Alessia’s moans became soft whimpers of pleasure and when he could take no more, he cupped her shoulders and turned her toward him.

Her head lifted. Her eyes met his and he felt his heart turn over. Everything a man could possibly dream was in her eyes, desire and need and something more, something that made him murmur her name, lift her to him and take her mouth with growing hunger.

She kissed him back, her teeth closing lightly on his bottom lip.

Adrenaline flooded his blood.

He took control of the kiss. Deepened it, until she was clinging to him. His lips moved to her jaw, her throat, her shoulder. She gasped, shuddered, her hands drove into his hair and the bodice of the gown, now forgotten, fell away.

“Alessia.” His voice was hoarse. “Mia bella Alessia…”

His hands shook as he hooked his thumbs into the gown’s deep V at the base of her spine and slowly eased it down. The silk whispered over her hips. Her buttocks. Her thighs. Nick groaned and let it slip from his hands to become a soft circlet of gold around those sexy stilettos.

“Nicolo,” she whispered.

“Yes, baby.”