The Marriage He Must Keep

“I have nothing to wear,” she admitted.

* * *

Lunch and dinner were fairly horrible affairs and the entire day turned into one of the longest of Octavia’s life. She spoke to her mother briefly, which did not lighten things up.

“We didn’t expect you to be back this soon. I suppose we’re expected to attend this birthday celebration? You’ll have to make our excuses.”

Apparently her grandson’s birth and her daughter returning home after nearly eight months away was not inducement enough to leave the villa for a night.

Aside from Alessandro’s grandfather, who was as quiet and visibly troubled as Sandro had said, everyone in the castello was quite unfriendly. They stopped speaking if Octavia came into a room and closed doors when she happened to pass. It was her first year at boarding school all over again.

Sandro was pulled into private conversations himself, leaving her to navigate things alone. It was exhausting and she was having serious second thoughts about all of this when she finally crawled into bed. How, exactly, did she think she was improving her circumstance by clashing with his family?

She fell into a troubled sleep and woke to feel Sandro settle behind her, carefully spooning his hot body behind hers and splaying his hand on her hip.

A racy excitement glittered through her, making her roll to face him and force a tiny space of distance before she embarrassed herself.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered.

“Coming to bed.”

It was too dark to read his face, but he’d said they would sleep together once they came back to Italy. That had been the last word on the subject and it had been weeks ago. She wasn’t sure she was ready.

Her body was, though. His hand went to her waist, drawing her close and in a way that was part muscle memory, her back arched and her hips wriggled so she slithered into place perfectly against his front. She shuddered with a kind of mental release as her body melted against his. It had been so long since she’d been snuggled up to his naked chest and felt his hairy legs abrade her own as he surrounded her in his strength.

She couldn’t help but sigh in homecoming as she reacquainted herself with the delicious sensations of warmth and smooth skin, hard muscle and masculine scent. The dark room and soft bed gave her a safe place to forget her worries and take comfort from physical contact.

“Cara,” he protested, hands moving restlessly on her, urging her to stillness. “I’m trying not to—” His breath hissed out against her cheek and he swore under his breath. “Too late.”

He was hard. She could feel his erection thrusting against her abdomen, straining the silk that was trying to contain him.

“You never wear anything to bed,” she murmured as she discovered his shorts.

“This way I can get up with Lorenzo. Stop,” he growled, catching at her wrist. He didn’t pull her hand away, however, just went very still as she traced his shape through the silk. As she rediscovered his thick length and moved the silk against the sensitive tip, he jerked against her hand. “That feels good. But you should stop.” The last was a tight statement that didn’t sound very sincere.

Yearning trickled through her. She longed to rediscover all the wonderful textures and scents on his body, the places that made him groan and shudder. The only time she had ever felt his equal was when she pleasured him in bed. That’s why it had destroyed her to think of his seeking other women. She was supposed to be the special one, the only woman who could do this to him, make him shake and shatter.

He was a straining muscle from head to toe right now, making her believe he’d been honest with her and hadn’t had any sort of release since they’d made love months ago.

“Bella, stop,” he said in a rasp. “I’m going to come.”

“I want you to,” she said with a feeling in her chest like a purr. She was velvet on the inside, sensuality welling up to fill her for the first time in too long. Kissing his chest, she snaked her hand beneath his waistband, making an approving noise as she reacquainted herself with the smooth, naked shape of him, thick and taut and hard. He said something, but she only nuzzled until she found his nipple. “Do you want my mouth here?” she asked. She circled the tight bead with her tongue before sucking it wetly. “Or here?” She took firm hold of the hot, iron-hard shape of him, caressing him the way he liked, squeezing and slowly pumping.

He bit out a very dirty word, crushed her hand through the silk and thrust within her tight grip. The silk shifted against her wrist and he swelled and hardened, so fiery against her palm he burned her skin. His hand tangled in her hair and he bit out another word, her name, and lost control with a shudder, noises of satisfaction escaping him while his abdomen shuddered and lava soaked her fist.