The Italian's Pregnant Mistress

‘Stay still,’ he ordered, massaging it into her hair. With her back to him, his imagination provided all the necessary details of her nudity, turning him on even as his fingers worked their magic on her scalp. He rinsed her hair, then took the soap and very thoroughly began soaping her, sliding his hands along her shoulders and then over her breasts.

‘I don’t want to do a rushed job of this,’ he murmured into her ear, as she arched back against him, ‘so you’ll have to keep as still as possible.’

Francesca allowed the luxurious sensuality of the moment wash over her, just like the warm darts of the shower were washing over her body. When he was touching her like this there was no room in her head for thought and that was fine because thinking wasn’t something she wanted to do. It was something she couldn’t afford to do. She gasped as his fingers played with her nipples before travelling down across her belly, then between her legs, which she parted as his fingers probed places that made her want to squirm.

‘You’re moving,’ he warned.

‘And you’re impossible.’ She spun around, laughing, dripping, wanting him so much that it hurt. Her body felt alive and fired up and, without bothering to switch off the shower, he took her. She barely noticed the discomfort of the marble wall against her back as he thrust into her and they came together, a powerful explosion that had him panting and propping himself up, eyes shut, his body shuddering from the aftermath of his orgasm.

The last thing Francesca felt she needed was the bother of getting dressed and setting foot outside the heated cocoon they had created for themselves, but dress she did, blow-drying her hair until it gleamed. The only make-up she had was in her bag, and amounted to no more than some mascara and lipstick, but when she looked back at her reflection it was glowing. A woman in love and living dangerously. Not a good combination.

She caught him looking at her in the mirror and smiled, asked him about the restaurant, teased him that too much rich food would have him putting on weight and enjoyed the sound of him laughing back with her. Keeping it light all the time.

They strolled to the restaurant, which turned out to be an Italian and a very good one.

Looking at her across the table, he was amazed to find himself getting turned on by her, by the habit she had of resting her chin in her hand and frowning slightly, as though every piece of conversation was being given the utmost consideration. Even when the topic of conversation happened to be work, a subject guaranteed to turn off the most ardent female and therefore one he had never felt the slightest inclination to discuss. Francesca, though, made a good listener. She offered opinions, which, he had to admit, were not entirely frivolous, and teased him out of his seriousness by telling him one or two amusing anecdotes about her own job and the near disasters they had had over the years.

Nearly two and a half hours later, Angelo was prepared to admit that he felt relaxed. Relaxation, he reasoned, was not an intrusion into the ground rules he had laid down. Sex was one thing, but it had to be interspersed with something else. Obviously, not as a rule, but occasionally they might surface sufficiently to go out for a meal and at such times conversation was fine.

Perfectly satisfied with how the day had progressed—in fact, how life seemed to be progressing at the moment—he instinctively began walking back to his townhouse. Lord knew, but the blood was already surging through his veins at the prospect of ravishing her again. After a couple of steps he realised that she wasn’t next to him. In fact, spinning round on his heel, he saw that she was standing on the kerb, hand outstretched to hail a passing cab.

‘What are you doing?’ he demanded, waving away the taxi that had slowed down for the fare.

‘Going home.’ Francesca looked at his darkly scowling face and smiled. ‘It’s late and I’m going to have to get up early to catch up on all the things I should have done today but didn’t get around to.’

Angelo looked at her through narrowed eyes, weighing up whether to try and entice her back to his house. He knew he could. Instead, he nodded and smiled. All told, it wouldn’t be a good idea to have her back anyway. It was late and he had no intention of her sleeping over.