He abruptly focused on her face. Tears were coursing down her cheeks.
Dio santo!
“Lucy,” he gasped. “You’re crying!”
If he’d hurt her—
She shook her head. “You’ve won.” Her voice trembled. “I’m yours forever.”
Forever? The word shocked him. It was too perilously close to his own traitorous thoughts. He quickly shook his head. “No, cara, no. You’ve always known that our marriage is just—”
She stopped him by putting a finger against his lips. “I know.”
Lucy, his forever? Ridiculous thought! He wanted to satiate himself with her, that was all. A three-month affair. Six months. A year or two at most. And while they were together, they could pretend to be in love. Pretend to be a family. He would have her every night. And if a condom broke, if he accidentally got her pregnant…
Pregnant.
The thought of Lucy pregnant with his child finally made him lose the last of his control.
Taking her finger into his mouth, he sucked it. He kissed up her bare arm to her neck. He lowered his body against hers and kissed her lips. She returned the kiss passionately, no longer trying to fight, and he entwined her tongue with his own. He stroked his hands down her body, caressing her belly, her backside and finally her hips. She swayed against him with a whimper.
“Sì, cara, sì,” he said hoarsely. Feeling like he was going to explode, he pressed himself between her legs, trying to go slow, trying to resist the urge to shove forward and impale her with a single deep thrust.
But she put her hands on his chest, holding him back. Her eyes pierced his.
“Maximo,” she whispered, “everyone I’ve ever loved has lied to me. If you’re keeping anything from me, tell me now. Before I lose myself completely…”
Stroking her hair, he looked deeply into her eyes and lied to her. “Proprio niente, cara. There’s nothing.”
She smiled back at him for a brief instant, and joy filled her soft brown eyes. Then she gasped, arching her back as he pushed into her. She moaned, turning her head from side to side as he gripped her hips in his hands, penetrating her inch by inch. He sucked in his breath at the force of his pleasure. He’d never felt anything remotely like this. Shocked, he drew back, then thrust into her again. And again. And again, with increasing roughness.
Growling aloud, he held her hips tight, riding her hard until their bodies were hot with sweat. Her body began to coil with new tension beneath his touch.
“Don’t…” she muttered, biting her tender pink lip. Her eyes were closed as she gave a shuddering intake of breath. “Don’t stop. Please…oh God, please…”
Her dark hair was twisted and tangled around her naked shoulders. Every time he thrust into her, her breasts bounced softly. Her slender white hands gripped his hips now, unknowingly controlling his rhythm. She finally screamed, bucking her hips, and he thrust into her with a final explosive shout. He nearly blacked out from the pleasure as he poured his seed into her.
He collapsed next to her on the bed with a hoarse, exhausted sigh. Lying next to her on the bed, he held her. He tenderly kissed his wife’s sweaty forehead. “Goddess,” he whispered. “Donna molto bella. You’re mine.”
But even as he murmured the words, he knew that if she ever found out the truth this would all come to a crashing end.
It was a new world.
Lucy had never known that sex could be like this.
This—this intoxicating drug was why people made such fools of themselves for the sake of desire. She understood it now.
Her husband’s skills exceeded even his Casanova legend. He was better than Heathcliff—better than Mr. Darcy. What he could do with his hands. What he could do with his tongue…
She blushed. Hours later, lying naked yet again in his arms, she ran her fingers along the edge of his strong, masculine hand, his dark-haired forearm. They’d made love three times today now. Twice before his aunt had returned with Chloe. They’d taken a brief break to have dinner—both of them had been starving, and he’d cooked for them as she played with her daughter—then they’d put Chloe to bed in her crib.
And Maximo had picked up Lucy in his arms and tossed her into the master bedroom next door.
She should have been exhausted. Spent. And yet she was strangely wired—too energized to even think of sleeping. She couldn’t stop looking at him. She pressed her head against his shoulder, looking up at the sharp edge of his cheekbone, his masculine beauty.
Moonlight pooled on the foot of the bed, lining her dark sleeping prince with silver.
Sex without love. Was it possible?