Resisting the Sicilian Playboy

‘Do you see what you do to me?’ he groaned as she began to move over him.

Being on top gave her the same sensation of being completely in power, completely in control of their pleasure. This alone was enough to topple her over the edge. She moved her hips forward and back, moaning when he grabbed her hips greedily and began to urge her on even faster.

‘Don’t stop,’ he murmured, running his hands over her bottom and up her back, kissing a fevered path along her neck with lips that seemed to be made of molten lava.

Dara felt her orgasm building once more, and she felt the frantic beating of his heart that signalled his own. She slowed her pace, feeling him starting to lose control. One final sweep of her hips had them both tumbling over the edge and she collapsed on top of him as the tremors racked her body.

* * *

Dara woke to an unknown sound intruding on her dreams. It took her a moment to take in her unfamiliar surroundings, and then she looked to find she was alone in the large bed.

The sheets were tangled from the events of the night before. They had made love countless times throughout the night. Leo’s appetite was insatiable. The gauze curtains around the queen-size bed swayed in the breeze—she could smell oranges and salt from the surf.

She felt wickedly satisfied and smiled, giving her hips a little wiggle as she got out of bed to look out of the windows at the waves crashing against the cliffs below the castle turrets. She wouldn’t let herself regret last night. She felt happy and attractive and sensual again, and that was nothing to be ashamed of. He had given her a wonderful gift without even realising it.

As she opened the bedroom door the smell of acrid smoke burnt her nostrils and she instinctively launched into a run, bare feet clipping down the marble tiles. She reached the kitchen just in time to see Leo drop a steaming pot of coffee into the sink with a guttural oath.

‘Is everything okay?’ she asked, taking in the coffee grounds spilled across the counter and down onto the floor. It was as though a small child had decided to play chef.

‘No, everything is not okay. This is the second time it’s burnt,’ he growled. ‘Apparently Maria doesn’t work until noon. What’s the point in hiring a housekeeper if she’s not here for breakfast?’

His brow furrowed as he emptied the contents of the pot down the drain and peered inside the lid.

Dara stepped up beside him and peered in herself. The bottom of the steel pot was coated with a layer of thick burnt coffee grounds. He had put the coffee and the water in the wrong compartments.

‘Have you ever made your own coffee?’

His frown deepened. ‘It can’t be that difficult, surely?’

‘You really are a pampered playboy.’ She chuckled, taking the ruined pot and setting it to steep in cold water.

‘You seem very well rested this morning.’ He smiled, stepping behind her.

‘I don’t see how. We didn’t sleep very much.’

She tried to remain casual, unsure of what the protocol was this morning. Would he expect her to leave straight away after breakfast? There was no real need for her to stay any longer—she could arrange the renovations over the phone easily.

She felt very insecure all of a sudden.

‘I’ve never been accused of being pampered before.’ He laughed, turning her around and kissing her mouth deeply. He moaned in approval, running his hands past her waist to caress her bottom. ‘Good morning...’ He smiled.

‘Good morning to you too.’ Dara felt a little less tense, but was still unsure of her place here.

She watched as he moved to sit down lazily at the breakfast bar.

‘I wouldn’t get too comfortable there—I’m going to show you how to make coffee. I’m not doing it for you.’

She showed him step by step how to fill the base of the pot with fresh water and pack the coffee tight into the basket above. With a look of thoroughly male triumph he breathed in the aroma as dark liquid began to rise into the top chamber.

Dara busied herself readying a tray of food and plates to take out onto the terrace, where they sat at the outdoor breakfast table, a large canopy shielding them from the morning sun.

Leo set down two cups of steaming coffee onto the table.

‘Congratulations. You have just become self-sufficient.’ She feigned applause as he stacked his plate with some of delicious brioche.

‘I have always been self-sufficient,’ he argued, taking a bite of his food. ‘I simply prefer to pay people to serve me my morning coffee.’