Nicolo: The Powerful Sicilian

“Nicolo. Please.”

The word was a sob. A plea. Nick felt his heart thud. He knew what she was asking, knew, too, that he was as close to finishing this before it really began as he had ever been in his life. He could feel everything within him tightening, coalescing, centering low in his belly as he looked at her glittering eyes, her kiss-stung lips, the black lace thong between her thighs.

A shudder went through his big body.

He wanted to tear the thong from her, bare her to his hands, his eyes, take her again and again and again….

Instead, he took a harsh breath, wove his fingers through hers. Helped her step free of the gown. Let go of her hands, reached for the thin silk band of the lace thong, drew it down and down and down…

And looked at her. Just looked at her.

The sight almost stopped his heart.

His princess had the face of a Botticelli angel. The body of a Venus. Small, rounded, up-tilted breasts crowned with nipples the color of the palest of pink roses. A narrow waist rising from curved hips. Endless legs, topped by a cluster of honey-colored curls. She was exquisite, a man’s most perfect dream….

A man’s most perfect desire.

Her breathing was quick and shallow. Her eyes were feverish, the pupils deep and dark. She started to raise her arms to cover herself, but Nick caught her wrists and brought her hands gently to her sides.

“You are beautiful,” he said. “More beautiful than I could ever have imagined.”

Her lips curved and he leaned toward her, brought his mouth to hers, kissed her and kissed her until she murmured his name, again and again.

“Yes,” he whispered, “yes, sweetheart, yes…”

Nick watched her face as he raised his hands and cupped her breasts. Her breath hissed at his touch. God, oh, God, the softness of her breasts against his palms. The delicate weight. His thumbs rolled over her nipples.

She cried out; she trembled, her hands dug into his shoulders.

“Do you like that?” he said hoarsely, his eyes locked on her face. “Tell me what you like, sweetheart,” he whispered, and he dipped his head, licked one lovely furled tip, then sucked it into his mouth.

Alessia’s knees buckled and Nick swept her into his arms and took her to the bed. A bed that might have been designed with his princess in mind.

The silky coverings were as soft as her skin, the blues as vivid as her eyes. She lay back and her hair fell over the pillows like spun gold.

His heartbeat skittered.

She was more than beautiful. She was exquisite.

Her arms rose, reached for him. He obliged, came down on the bed beside her, kissed her, then ran his hand lightly over her from throat to breast to belly. She caught his hand. Lifted it to her lips and kissed his fingers. Touched the tip of her pink tongue to his palm.

A groan tore from his throat.

He wanted to look at her forever. He wanted to caress her, to spend an eternity exploring her…

He wanted to tear off his clothes and bury himself inside her.

“Please, Nicolo,” she said brokenly. “Per favore, Nicolo mio…”

Ah, dear God, he was going to explode.

He could feel it happening. The heat, gathering low in his belly. His scrotum tightening, his aroused sex now so hard, so swollen it was almost painful.

He wanted to end her torment and his but somehow he held back. He had to make this last. Last forever. Even now, his brain barely functioning, he understood that such a thing was impossible and yet, he wanted to find a way to make it be true….

And, suddenly, his mind achieved a terrible clarity. For all his careful planning, he had forgotten one thing.

Condoms.