Raffaele: Taming His Tempestuous Virgin

“Tell me.”

Her face colored. “I feel things. Sensations. In…in parts of me…” A laugh that was close to a sob caught in her throat. “I cannot talk about it. Talking about my body is—”

She gasped as he cupped her breast, gave a little cry, almost pulled back, but he slid an arm around her, held her while his fingers moved gently, unerringly over her nipple. He could feel it budding even through the harsh, unyielding cotton of her dress. She moaned. Her lashes drooped, became inky-black crescents against her cheeks.

“Do you feel something when I do this?” he said hoarsely.

She looked up at him, her face striped with color. “Yes. Oh Dio, yes. Like that. Just like—”

“Where do you feel it?”

“There. Where you are touching me. And…and elsewhere. Lower than my breasts, Raffaele. I feel it—”

She cried out as he ran his hand down her body, to the juncture of her thighs. He had touched her there before but all of that had gone too quickly. None of what would happen now would be quick. He would bring her slowly, slowly to pleasure, and never mind his own desires.

This first time, only her needs, her pleasure, her fulfillment mattered.

“Here?” he said thickly. “What do you feel, baby?”

“I feel—I feel—heat. A tingle. It is what happens during a storm, when you stand outside and the lightning strikes on the hills and you can almost feel the electricity in your bones. Do you know what I mean, Raffaele?”

He knew. It was how he felt now, as if a storm of incredible magnitude were building inside him, the tension almost more than he could tolerate.

He answered the whispered question by urging her thighs apart, just enough so he could cup her over the stiff fabric of her dress. She gasped, her eyes wild. “I feel as if…as if I am melting.

There. Where your hand is.”

He could feel his muscles trembling. Her innocence was enough to send him to the edge of control, but he would not let that happen.

“Your body is readying itself for me, sweetheart. For us.”

He moved his hand and she gasped again, then buried her face against his shoulder. “I never knew—”

“No,” Rafe said with a little laugh, “neither did I.” It was true. He’d been with a lot of women and enjoyed them all, but this, what was happening now, what he was feeling now…

“I think I am burning up,” she whispered.

So was he. When she returned tomorrow morning, Mrs. O’Hara might well find this bedroom in ashes.

“I think—” He cleared his throat. “Why don’t we get some of this clothing out of the way?”

“Is it time for me to…to undress?”

“Leave that to me,” he said huskily.

Did everything she owned have a thousand buttons? Did the buttons always have to be so small, especially when his fingers were so big and clumsy? It took forever to undo the first button. The second. The third…

The dress began falling open, revealing her to him, and he forgot about buttons, buttonholes, the size of his fingers. He skimmed the back of his hand down her throat, then followed the same path with light kisses. Her pulse, in the tender hollow where her neck met her collarbones, danced beneath his mouth and he exulted at the feel of it.

At last the buttons were all undone. Rafe freed her of the dress and let it fall to her feet.

Her bra, her panties were white cotton, just as they’d been that first time. Except he hadn’t undressed her then, he’d torn the dress from her body.

All the more reason to do this with the greatest care. He would touch her as if she were made of the most delicate crystal.

He would. He would—but the curve of her breasts above that modest bra was lush. And, God, he could see the dark outline of her nipples…

Rafe bent his head and closed his mouth around the tip of one cotton-covered breast. Chiara’s cry of pleasure almost tore him apart.

On a low growl, he scooped her into his arms, carried her to the bed and laid her down. He kicked off his mocs, yanked his sweater over his head and tossed it aside. Chiara’s gaze flew over him, as hot and urgent as a caress. He came down on the bed beside her and kissed her, his mouth drinking the honey from hers, his hands learning her body.

Her bra closed in the front, and he sent up a silent thank-you to whatever god had sent him that gift. She didn’t try to stop him as he undid the clasp but when the bra came away, her hands fluttered up to cover her breasts.

He shook his head, gently caught her wrists and brought her hands to her sides.

“Let me see you,” he whispered. “I need to see you, Chiara.”

She lay back. She was breathing hard. He could feel her eyes on him as he looked at her.