Never Say No to a Caffarelli (Those Scandalous Caffarellis 1)

Poppy looked up into his deep, dark eyes. He was standing very close; close enough to smell the citrus base of his aftershave and the hint of late-in-the-day male sweat that was equally intoxicating. ‘I don’t need babysitting.’

A corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. ‘So says the pint-sized girl who’s wearing pink teddy-bear pyjamas, and hippopotamus slippers on her feet.’ One of his hands moved from her shoulder to cup the nape of her neck. ‘Which should be enough to stop me doing this.’

She swallowed. ‘Doing...what?’

His mouth came down towards hers. ‘I think you know what.’

‘I thought you said you didn’t want to...?’

He pressed a soft-as-air kiss to her lips. It barely touched her but it set every nerve longing for more. ‘I want to,’ he said in a rough, sexy tone. ‘I want to very much. I’ve thought of nothing but you the whole time I was in London. How you taste, how you smell, how you feel.’

Poppy’s breath hitched on something sharp in her chest as his mouth came back down to hers. The kiss was longer this time and deeper. She felt the first brush-stroke of his tongue against her mouth and her spine liquefied. She opened to him on a little whimper of approval, her hands winding up around his neck, her body pressing closer to the hard warmth of his.

His tongue played with hers, cajoling it into a dance that was brazenly erotic. He moulded her to him, his hands pressing against her bottom to hold her against his aroused body. He felt so thick and strong pulsing there against her neediness. The empty, achy feeling inside her was almost unbearable, especially when the answer to it was so temptingly close.

He broke the kiss to move his lips down to the side of her neck where a thousand nerves were trembling in anticipation. ‘You should tell me to stop before this gets out of hand.’

‘What if I don’t want you to stop?’ She angled her neck to give him better access.

He framed her face in his hands, looking deep into her passi

on-glazed eyes. ‘I could hurt you.’

Her heart kicked against her ribcage at the concern in his gaze. ‘I’m sure you won’t.’

He leaned his forehead against hers, his warm breath mingling intimately with hers. ‘This is crazy...’ He drew in a breath as if to steady himself. ‘Everything about this is crazy.’

‘I feel a little crazy around you,’ Poppy confessed as she planted a soft, teasing kiss to his mouth.

He kissed her back, a light play of his lips upon hers, pressing, nibbling, caressing. ‘Do you have any idea how out of my depth I’m feeling right now?’

She gave him a wry look. ‘Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be feeling?’

He cupped her face in his hands again. ‘How do you feel?’

Poppy shivered as his dark eyes centred on her mouth. ‘Nervous, excited... A little worried I might disappoint you...’

His gaze held hers with a look that was surprisingly tender. ‘You have no need to be worrying about that. This first time is all about you. I don’t want you to feel concerned about anything else but your needs.’

Poppy touched his lower lip with the tip of her finger. ‘I do know what an orgasm is. I’ve had them...you know...? By myself...’

His eyes darkened. ‘Do you want to show me what works for you or would you prefer me to discover it for myself?’

Poppy felt a hot blush storm into her cheeks. ‘I think I’d feel more comfortable with you discovering it...’

His thumbs stroked her cheeks in a slow and gentle caress. ‘Making love with someone for the first time is all about discovering what works and what doesn’t. I want you to tell me if you want to stop at any point. If you don’t feel comfortable then we can call a halt. You’re the one in control, OK?’

Poppy wondered if she could have chosen a better first lover. He seemed so concerned for her, so adamant that she was not to be pressured or frightened or pushed out of her depth. For someone with such a racy reputation, he was showing a softer, gentler side that was powerfully seductive. She wanted to melt into his hard male body, to lose herself in his sensual expertise.

She didn’t want to think about the dozens of women who had been with him before. In a strange way, it felt as if it was the first time for both of them. She felt it in the slight hesitancy of his touch, the way his hands moved over her in almost reverent discovery. Like how he explored her breasts, as if they were the most precious, sensitive globes he had ever touched.

She shuddered as he slid his hand under her pyjama top, shaping her, the warm cup of his palm making every hair on her head tingle at the roots. He brushed the pad of his thumb over her tight nipple and a shower of sensation cascaded down her spine. A hot spurt of longing fired between her legs and she pressed herself closer, wanting more of him, wanting his skin on her skin without the frustrating barrier of their clothes.

His mouth covered hers in a searing kiss; it burned and sizzled every nerve-ending until she was breathless. He pushed aside her pyjama top as if it was nothing more than a scrap of tissue paper, his hand cupping and shaping her possessively as his mouth bewitched hers. She felt the drag of desire deep and low in her belly, the slow but delicious ache that tugged and pulled, drawing her towards him like a magnet. Her loins pulsed and ached with the need for more. She pressed herself even closer, her insides melting as she felt the hard, insistent press of his body against her.

He brought his mouth to her breast in a hot, moist caress that made her quake with desperate need. His tongue laved her tightly budded nipple, playing with it, teasing it, tantalising it until she was whimpering in soft little gasps of want.

‘Not here,’ he said. ‘We need a bed.’