Sleepless in Manhattan (From Manhattan with Love 1)

There was a faint streak of color on her cheeks.

Self-conscious, she lifted her hand to her chest. “Does my scar bother you? You’re staring.”

“That’s because I’ve stopped myself looking for so long I have a lot of time to make up.” He lowered his forehead to hers. “You’re beautiful, tesoro.”

“You spoke Italian. You never do that.”

“I’m doing it now.” He kissed her. Gently, on the shoulder blade, then lower to the straining peak of her breast. As he circled it with his tongue, he heard her moan and felt her fingers slide into his hair again. He drew her into his mouth, teased her with slow, lazy flicks of his tongue savoring the smooth texture of her skin. His head was spinning with a desire so intense it unbalanced him. But it wasn’t enough. None of it was enough. He wanted more. He wanted all of it. All of her.

She gave a faint moan and then there was no more holding back.

Their mouths collided, fierce, hungry with need.

He scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom, leaving their clothes littered across his apartment. He lowered her gently onto the bed and came down on top of her, feeling her arch into him.

Paige.

Her eyes darkened and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes clouded with anticipation. “Now. Please.”

“Soon.” He kissed his way down her body, lingering, tasting, breathing her in until she was writhing under his hands and mouth. Pleasure slid through him, thick and throbbing, but he held it back, made himself wait as he explored every part of her. He pushed her legs apart, traced the inside of her thigh with his tongue, taking his time.

Impatiently she shifted her hips but he kept her pinned with his hands as he toyed with her, learned what drove her wild, what drew a gasp and what made her moan. He absorbed every quiver and cry, every squirm and sob, drawing out the delicate threads of her response.

Finally, when she was begging him, when he couldn’t deny himself any longer, he shifted over her again and reached for a condom from the nightstand.

She took it from him, fumbling in her haste, and he covered her hand with his and took over.

Her cheeks were a soft flame, her hair a dark, tumbled mass on his pillow where she’d shifted impatiently.

“Look at me.” He paused on the edge of that final intimacy, not because he was uncertain but because he wanted to take his time. He’d been waiting too long for this to rush it.

He entered her gently, but still he heard her breath catch and felt the sharp dig of her fingers in his biceps.

He made himself pause, forced himself to stay still and wait while her body grew accustomed to him. It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, but he reminded himself that this was Paige. Paige. He lowered his head to kiss her again, felt her relax and shift against him and surged deeper, entering her by slow degrees, coaxing her to take more of him until finally they were so deeply joined that every movement her body made was transmitted to his.

He stayed still for a moment, breathing in the soft scent of her and the feel of her hands stroking her skin.

The heat was incredible, the connection intimate and deeply personal. In that moment there were no boundaries between them, and he knew she sensed it, too, because she stroked her hand over his head and whispered his name against his mouth, her gaze locked on his.

In her eyes he saw desire, and he saw trust.

She trusted him.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No!” She brushed a kiss over his mouth. “It’s just that you’re—well, you know—”

“I’ll take it slowly.” And he did, even though it was almost killing him to do so. Enveloped by the smooth slickness of her, he started to move, gently at first, his slow rhythm creating a delicious friction that brought an agonized groan to the back of her throat.

He locked his fingers into hers and drew her hands above her head, holding them there as he kissed her deeply.

Her thighs widened and she wrapped her legs around his back, lifting her hips to urge him deeper. He released his hold on her hands and immediately felt her touch on his body, first his shoulders, then his back, then lower as she urged him on. Through the mists of desire he heard her say his name, over and over again, and that part of him that kept him safe, that protected him from feelings he didn’t want to experience, suddenly unraveled. The feel of her, the taste of her, the scent of her ripped apart every layer he’d put between himself and the world. Exposed and vulnerable he thrust deep and felt the first flutters of her body ripple down his shaft. Her orgasm closed around him, triggering his own release. As he swallowed her cries with his mouth he knew that no matter what price he had to pay for this, it would be worth it.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Love is like chocolate. It seems like a great idea at the time but you often regret it later.

—Frankie