The Girl That Love Forgot

“Then before you make any decisions about leaving tomorrow,” he whispered, “listen to the rest of the argument in my favor….”

Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her with all the emotion he could not express in words.

He felt her hands try at first to push him away. But he held on to her forcefully, kissing her passionately, until her hands grew still, then gripped his shoulders as a sigh of pleasure escaped her.

Her lips were sweet magic, luring him with the promise that he could be the man she needed, if only for a while. A few weeks. A few months. A year?

Her small hands reached beneath his black shirt, stroking his bare chest. Teasing him.

With a growl, he turned on her and ripped her white shirt open, popping off the buttons. He pushed her against the bedroom wall.

Kissing down her neck, he stroked her breasts until her head fell back with a gasp of pleasure. He unhooked her bra and dropped it to the floor, licking the valley between her breasts as if they were covered with sticky sweet jam.

But Annabelle was no longer a shy, timid virgin. She loved this game and reached for his shirt, yanking it up over his head. He pushed against her, his bare chest to her breasts, hungry to feel her heat, her warmth, her softness. He nipped at her neck, sucking and biting her until he knew he’d left his mark. He felt her nails in his back as he kissed her mouth, hard and deep. He felt her teeth bite his lower lip and he gasped. He nearly exploded right then and there.

His innocent mistress had become a fiery, fearless temptress.

Moving his hands down her naked belly, he undid her belt. Her oversize jeans dropped to the floor. Kicking them aside, he ripped off her panties.

He needed her. Right now. He barely got his jeans unzipped and grabbed a condom and he was roughly inside her, shoving her against the wall, plunging deep as she wrapped her legs around his hips with a hot gasp. She was so wet, three thrusts and she gasped out her climax in the same instant that he pumped deep inside her with a shout.

Afterward, they were so spent they collapsed onto the bed. There, he held her, stroking her without words in the early-evening shadows. He kissed her softly, gently, stroking her cheek as he gazed down at her. He could not get enough of looking at her face.

But within minutes, he was hard for her again. This time, after taking her like an animal, he intended to go slowly. Rolling Annabelle gently back against the soft pillows, Stefano slowly kissed down her neck, her breasts, all the way down her belly and thighs and knees to the hollows of her feet. He kissed and sucked and stroked every inch of her body with his lips and fingertips until she shook all over, begging wordlessly for him to take her.

Moments earlier, he’d done so with rapid, explosive violence. Now, he moved slowly, torturing her with an hour of teasing and touching and suckling. Only when she begged for release from her agony did he finally show mercy. But even then, he tortured her. He gradually thrust inside her, impaling her inch by inch, until she wept with need.

Then … he slammed inside her. Hard. Fast. Her fulfillment came almost instantly and she arched her back in a sharp cry like the sun bursting through dark clouds.

That was the moment. The best moment. Stefano watched her luminous face, and knew if he lost her, he would lose the sun.

He would convince her to stay. He would find a way.

Hours later, as the pale light of dawn crept through the blinds of his bedroom window, Annabelle woke up smiling from a delicious dream. Except it wasn’t a dream.

She was still in Stefano’s arms, lying against his naked body as he slept. She exhaled, exhausted to her toes. Sore. And yet so happy. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy.

They’d made love three times last night. Or was it four? She counted.

One. Shocking. Rough. Hard and brutal against the wall.

Two. She shivered. He’d tortured her with his sensual hands for hours, it seemed, before he’d finally thrust inside her.

Then, putting on robes, they’d snuck down to the kitchen for sandwiches, giggling like children trying to stay quiet and failing miserably before they returned to his bedroom with a tray.

After the brief repast of sandwiches and wine and strawberries in bed, they’d slept in each other’s arms before she’d been woken by the touch of his hand.

Three. He’d kissed her, deep and hot, then as she’d moaned with pleasure he’d rolled her over to take her from behind, plunging inside her, wrapping his hands around her body to hold her breasts as he thrust inside her like a stallion covering a mare. He was so deep inside her, touching her womb, stretching her to the hilt, she’d exploded almost at once.

Sweaty and sticky, they’d fallen back against the twisted cotton sheets. Laughing at the way their bodies seemed to stick together, they’d decided to take a shower.

Inside the enormous glass shower of his en suite bathroom, they’d washed each other’s hair, scrubbing each other’s bodies until they were pink with heat and fragrant with soap.

He’d lightly massaged her shoulders and she’d closed her eyes, leaning back against him with a sigh as the hot steam surrounded them. Then abruptly, he’d turned her to face him.

Four. He’d fallen to his knees before her. Lifting one of her knees over his shoulder beneath the warm spray of water, he’d licked and suckled between her legs until she’d had a fourth explosion of shattering pleasure.

Afterward, she’d been exhausted, utterly spent. He’d tenderly toweled her off and carried her back into his bed, cradled in his arms.