Everything about what he was doing, the way he was overwhelming her but giving her this outlet for the fury inside her, excited her. She’d spent the bulk of her life seeking approval and for once she was casting away any desire for it. Something in her was pushing forth from its shell, saying This is who I am.
And Sandro wasn’t backing off. She made noises of frustration, fought for dominance even though she was beneath him, squeezed her legs on his waist and pulled his hair. She scraped her teeth on his lips and he only lifted his head and laughed.
“You are wild tonight,” he said with lusty appreciation and peeled her hands from his hair to pin them over her head. Then he shifted so he could touch between her legs. “You’ve soaked them.” He moved the strip of silk aside and traced her wet center, not quite giving her what she needed.
“I want you inside me,” she demanded in a voice both raspy and direct. Commanding in a way she’d never been.
“The condoms are all the way over there, cara.” He dipped one finger, letting her clasp him, which was only a tease, making her whimper. “But if you ask me nicely, I’ll lick you.”
“You’re being a bastard,” she told him.
“Close enough.” He grasped her panties at her hip, giving them a yank to snap them, then released her hands and slid down the bed.
She didn’t fight. In fact she groaned in abandonment as he pleasured her. It had been too long since he’d done this and he was very, very good at it. Inhibition disappeared as she said things and he did things and the energy building in her coiled to unbearable tightness. With her heels in his back and her hand in his hair, she let go with a scream that she muted with her wrist, completely lost to the moment.
She came back to a state of lassitude that was buttery and sweet.
He dragged himself to his feet and stood to strip, gaze raking her sprawling body. She was nude but for the bra that was askew across her chest. His expression tightened to stark possession and inexorable intent. He reached into the drawer of the night table without looking away from her.
She teased him, crooking her knee, letting her fingertips run up the inside of her thigh to where he couldn’t seem to remove his attention.
And there, for just a second, she saw his composure start to fracture. A shudder ran through him and he dropped the condom.
“Roll over,” he ordered.
“Make me,” she invited.
His stomach muscles tightened as though she’d punched him. He flared his nostrils and did it, upper lip shiny with sweat, hands shaking as he rolled her over and arranged her on her knees before he scooped up the condom and knelt behind her, one hand staying heavy on her lower back as if he wanted to be sure she would stay there.
It was a power position for him, but she felt as if she held a lot of it as he knelt behind her, gripped her hips and entered her. She groaned unreservedly and held nothing back as she relinquished herself to their raw lovemaking.
It was glorious and it affected him.
She heard it in his voice and felt it in his grip on her hips, hearing it in his curse as he fought his release. He was trying to wait for her, but it was a struggle and she loved it. She met the buck of his hips and said, “Don’t stop. Keep going. It’s so good, so good.”
“Now,” he growled, reaching to stroke and incite her. “Come with me. Now.”
His release arrived a panting breath before hers in a guttural, almost defeated cry and a rush of heat that was as heart-poundingly satisfying as the orgasm that rocked through her like a blast wave.
As he folded over her and crushed her into the mattress, she smiled.
CHAPTER TEN
THE LIMO DROPPED them in front of the grand entrance to a mansion on the outskirts of Valencia, Spain—just about the last place Alessandro had ever wanted to show his face.
As their host and hostess greeted them, Bree was directed to take Lorenzo to an upper floor on the condition, Sorcha said, that they take the correct baby with them when they left. She wore a shimmery green gown that set off her blond hair and smiled with as much joy as Octavia did.
Sandro found a pained smile of his own. It went unseen as Sorcha hugged his wife as though they were reunited twins, leaving him to introduce himself to Cesar. It was a thankfully brief handshake since guests were arriving in a steady stream. They were invited to move inside and partake of the food, dancing and the silent auction tent.
Sandro let Octavia lead, since this was her idea, and wondered again why he had agreed to come here.
Well, he knew why he had agreed. She had come into his office a week ago, set her hip on his desk, let the slit in her wrap skirt fall open and batted her lashes.
He had leaned back in his chair, far too experienced with women to fall for any sort of sexual manipulation, not that he said so, but he had admired the effort. He was partial to those thighs of hers and when she adjusted the fall of floral fabric so he could see her hip was bare of underthings, she’d had his full attention.