Public Wife, Private Mistress

She closed her eyes and moved against his hand, past hearing, past reacting to anything except the sensations that he was creating throughout her totally responsive body.

And when she opened her eyes again he was looking at her. thick dark lashes shielding his expression as he witnessed her total unrestrained surrender to his mas­terly touch.

When it came, her climax was so intense that she dug her nails into his shoulders and cried out his name so sharply that he lowered his head and kissed her deeply, taking the sobs and gasps into his mouth, smothering the sound. It went on and on and his fingers stayed deep inside her, drawing every last ounce of response from her quivering body.

When the last pulses of her sexual peak died away he lifted his head, but still didn't move his hand, his eyes slightly mocking as he surveyed her hectically flushed cheeks and her parted lips.

'You always were the most sexually responsive woman I ever went to bed with.' he said thickly, not even bothering to conceal his own arousal. 'Perhaps it was no wonder you had an affair. You were always so desperate for it and I obviously left you alone for too long.'

It was a cruel comment, particularly as she wasn't mentally or physically equipped to respond. The inten­sity of her climax had left her slightly stunned and weakened, but still her body craved more and she dared not move because to move would have been to invite a further caress from his long, clever fingers.

'Did he do that for you?' His voice was hard and his fingers suddenly moved with a skill that made her gasp and arch her back. 'Did he know what turns you on? And were there others, or just him?'

She closed her eyes and shifted her hips, trying to move away from him. but he pinned her to the bed with his superior body weight, his power over her unques­tionable.

'Rico, no!' Her own voice was little more than a groan. 'You don't mean this. You don't want this, and neither do I.'

'I think we've just proved what you want.' he said silkily, lowering his mouth to her breast and tormenting one nipple with a skilled flick of his tongue. 'Now it's time to clarify what / want. And that, my dear wife, is you.'

She tried to push him away, tried to argue, but his fingers were still deep inside her and the deliberate drag of his tongue over her breast sent shock waves pulsing right through her overexcited body.

Finally she managed to speak. 'You don't want me—'

'No?' His tone was ironic and he moved slightly so that she could feel the press of his erection against her leg. 'Irritating though it is, unfortunately the brain and the body don't always work together.'

'You think I've slept with other men—'

'As I sa

id, brain and body don't always work to­gether. Knowing you're a slut doesn't seem to cure my problem.' His voice was rough and he stared down into her dazed eyes with a grim sense of purpose. 'And at the moment I don't really care about your past. I just have to get past the fact that other guys have enjoyed what used to be mine exclusively. I'm not that great at sharing but I'm working on it.'

Wounded beyond belief, she shot the insult right back. 'And if I'm a slut, what does that make you?'

'Desperate?' He rolled her beneath him with a thick­ened groan, his mouth coming down on hers with a force that prevented further speech on either part. Sexual excitement, held at boiling point for far too long, erupted with a dangerous force, devouring both of them, sweeping them along in its greedy path.

This time there was no slow build.

No gradual seduction.

The seduction had begun from the moment he'd ar­rived at her cottage and the time for slow had passed.

He didn't hesitate. Didn't give her time to prepare for what he was about to do. He just slid a hand under her bottom, tilted her to his satisfaction and took her with a hard, almost brutal thrust that drew a cry of shock and ecstasy from her parted lips. He was so big— she'd for­gotten how big —and for a moment she had to force herself to relax, reminding herself that her body could accommodate this man. Had done so on many occa­sions.

He paused, a sheen of sweat on his bronzed skin, then he muttered something in Italian and thrust deeper still, fiercely, like a man driven by something other than sim­ple lust. It was shockingly basic. Sex at its most primitive. Totally overwhelmed by the physical reality of his possession, Stasia dug her nails into the muscles of his shoulders and wrapped her legs around him, welcoming the demands of his body.

'Whoever you have been with before, you are mine now.' He thrust again, as if staking his claim, and his voice held a triumphant, possessive note but she was past reacting to anything except the physical sensations consuming her body. She arched towards him, offering more, her movement the instinctive response of a fe­male to a virile, potent male.

'Rico—' she breathed his name, lifted her mouth to­wards his in blatant invitation and he hesitated for just a flicker of time before lowering his head. And then he took. He took her mouth in a hot, drugging kiss from which there was no escape. He took her body on a breathtaking, sensual ride. But most of all he took her heart, so that when their shared climax finally exploded she held him close, drowning in the knowledge that she'd never stopped loving this man.

He could hurt her, he could infuriate and anger her more than any other person she knew, and yet still she couldn't stop loving him.

She closed her eyes and held him, feeling the thud of his heart, the slick heat of his skin and the warmth of his breath against the sensitive skin of her neck.

He didn't move.

His weight should have troubled her, but it didn't. Instead it was comforting. It was too long since she'd lain beneath him and she closed her eyes and held him, wondering how she was ever going to move forward in her life when this was the only place she ever wanted to be.

The only man she ever wanted to be with.