Surrendering to the Vengeful Italian

He could feel her breath on his shoulder, and the tantalising scent of warm, sleepy woman enveloped him. He scrunched his eyes closed, the rush of blood to his groin turning him hard against his will.

He wanted her.

Even with his gut in turmoil, tears drying on his cheeks, he wanted her.

He heard a rustling behind him and then her arms were slipping around his middle, her slender fingers splaying over his abs. Her heavy breasts pushed into his back, her hips against his buttocks, and his desire surged with the realisation that she’d shed her pyjamas and was now, like him, completely naked.

He groaned. ‘Helena...’

‘Shh.’ She ducked under his arm and took his face in her hands.

When he drew breath to speak again she tugged his head down and silenced him with a long, drugging kiss.

Her taste exploded in his mouth, hot and sweet and undeniably erotic. He shuddered, closed his arms around her and surrendered to the burning need only she could assuage. The solace only she could offer. He hoisted her up and her legs hooked around his waist, their mouths continuing to meld and devour—until he started for the bedroom.

She wrenched her mouth away. ‘No,’ she whispered, lowering her legs, pulling him back to the French doors. She sank to her knees at his feet. ‘Here. Take me here.’

He stared down at her, his blood pounding, his heart pumping so hard he feared it might punch from his chest.

This woman stripped him bare. Of his pride. His anger. His guilt. Everything but this deep, compelling need for her.

‘Why?’ he said, his throat raw.

She reached for his hands and dragged him down to the carpet, pushed him onto his back. ‘To replace your bad memories with new ones,’ she said, and mounted him so quickly he almost came the moment her slippery heat encased him.

He dug his heels into the carpet, seized her hips in an urgent bid to slow her. He wasn’t wearing protection and she was hot and slick, her internal muscles a tight velvet sheath pulsing around him.

The sensation was exquisite.

‘Condom...’ he rasped.

‘I’m on the pill.’ She grabbed his wrists, guided his hands to her breasts and arched her back, taking him deeper. Her dark curls tumbled around her shoulders and her features were illuminated as another bright bolt of lightning tore the sky.

Leo stared up, captivated by the sight of her riding him, by the bold, sensual grind of her pelvis driving him to the brink faster than he’d have liked. Thunder rolled down from the heavens, loud and near, a boom so powerful it slammed into his body with an almighty thud.

‘Come with me,’ he ground out, grasping her waist, forcing her to still so he could satisfy his need to drive up into her.

‘I... I’m close.’ Her body flexed, her thighs squeezing his sides, a taut O of ecstasy shaping her mouth. ‘Oh, yes... Now, Leo... Now...’

He plunged upward, penetrating deep, and she screamed at the same instant another flash lit up the sky. Her cry of release was all he needed and he let himself go, his orgasm thundering through him in a climax so intense it bordered the line between pleasure and pain and racked his entire body with a series of long, powerful shudders.

With a whimper Helena slumped onto his chest. She buried her face in his shoulder, made a soft mewling sound against his skin, and he stroked his hands up and down the graceful lines of her back.

He didn’t deserve her compassion—didn’t deserve her—but she fe

lt so good nestled in his arms he didn’t want to let her go.

He cradled her close.

He would let her go. It was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. And the sooner he did, the better.

* * *

Helena navigated the bedroom on autopilot as she packed up her things. The painkillers she’d forced down earlier hadn’t worked and her temples throbbed, her eyes gritty from the crying jag she’d indulged in. Silly to have allowed emotion to overwhelm her simply because she’d woken to find Leo’s side of the bed empty and cold. He’d left a note, at least. A bold, handwritten scrawl advising her that he’d gone to a meeting and would be back by noon.

She looked around for her pyjamas, frowned when she couldn’t see them, then remembered and went through to the lounge.

Yes—there. On the floor by the sofa, where she had discarded them so brazenly in the night.