Ah, she was beautiful. More beautiful than he had imagined. Her breasts were round, with dusty pink crests already peaking as they begged for the heat of his mouth.
He brought his gaze to her face, watched her eyes as he cupped one breast, groaning as he felt the perfect weight of it in his hand. Her pupils widened, then seemed to swallow her irises as he moved his thumb over the tip.
“Raffaele…”
Her voice was shaky. He stroked her nipple again, then captured it between his thumb and index finger, gently caressed it.
Chiara moaned.
“Do you like that?” he said thickly.
A sob broke in her throat. She moaned again as he increased the pressure of his caress, lowered his head, closed his lips around the straining nipple and drew it deep into the heat of his mouth.
She said something in Italian. He didn’t understand the words, but the arching of her body, the feel of her hand clasping the nape of his neck as he sucked on her beaded flesh, told him all he needed to know.
He drew back. She made a sweet sound of protest.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.
“No,” he said fiercely. “Never.”
It took only seconds to unzip his jeans, get rid of them and his shorts. He saw her eyes flash to his genitals, then widen and fly to his face.
He’d never considered what a woman might feel the first time she saw a fully aroused male.
Now he did. Could it be frightening? Maybe, especially if the woman was completely innocent.
And if the guy was big.
He was.
He’d always taken a kind of arrogant male pride in his size. Now he realized that what might make an experienced woman smile with anticipation could make his Chiara feel terror.
He took her hand. Brought it to his lips, pressed a kiss into the palm. “Don’t be afraid,” he said softly. “This is just another part of me.” He kissed her hand again, then slowly brought it to his erection. She hesitated and then he felt the first, cool brush of her fingers.
It took all the determination he possessed not to throw back his head and groan.
“See?” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. Slowly her hand closed around his turgid length. Rafe bit his lip.
“You are so hard here,” she said in wonder. “And yet, so soft.”
“Not soft,” he said, trying for a little levity. “Not—”
Ah. She moved her hand. Up. Down. Up…
He caught her wrist. “Don’t,” he said gruffly. “Or this will end too quickly.” He pressed a light kiss to her mouth. “Besides,” he whispered, “this isn’t fair.”
“It isn’t?”
He smiled. “I’m naked. You’re not.”
He kissed her again, deeper, longer, and as he did, he slid her panties off. Then he traced the path they’d taken with his hand. The lovely indentation of her waist. The curve of her hip.
The delicate curls that guarded her feminine heart.
Her fingers clamped on his.
“I won’t hurt you, Chiara,” he said softly.
Slowly she took her hand away.
Rafe stroked those curls. Soothed her with soft words. Softer kisses. She was silken under his touch, warm and, yes, wet. Wet for him.
He drew back and looked at her. His throat constricted.
Naked, she was everything he had imagined. She was an El Greco painting come to life, Praxiteles’s Aphrodite made all the more exquisite because she was flesh and blood, not cold marble.
“Chiara,” he whispered, and he moved down her body and pressed his lips to that sweet, female delta.
Her hands flew to his shoulders. “No! You must not—”
He caught her wrists and went on kissing her. Gradually, her hands relaxed in his grasp. Her breathing quickened. And when he gently parted her delicate folds, she sobbed his name.
“It is too much,” she said brokenly. “Too much…”
He knew it wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted to see her fly into the sky, then fly into it again…with him.
“Open your legs for me,” he said in a voice so rough it didn’t seem his own.
“I can’t,” she said breathlessly. “People do not—”
“Open your legs, baby. For me.”
Slowly she did as he’d asked. He touched her with reverence, parted her again, groaned when he saw the tender bud of her clitoris.
“Chiara,” he said softly, and he put his mouth against her.
Wild little cries burst from her throat. She began to weep. He froze but then he felt her hands in his hair, holding him to her instead of pushing him away. As if he would ever take his mouth from her, he thought in wonder. From her taste. Her scent. She was everything a man could ever want or dream.
She was his.
He slipped his hands under her, lifted her higher into the passionate intimacy of his kiss. He felt her shudder and then she screamed his name and he knew she had glimpsed the burning rays of the sun.