He leans in closer, our breaths mingling, a tease of a kiss yet to happen. The air thickens around us and I can’t explain what passes between us in those next few seconds, but it’s as if we speak a million words and say nothing. What I find in the depth of that silence is the truth I cannot run from. I’m connected to this man. I’m connected in a deep, powerful way, in a way that I never believed possible.
I crave him, every part of me craves him, but still, he does not kiss me. His hand slides over my body, under my backside, and his cock nestles thickly between my thighs.
His big body perched on his elbows, he presses inside me, stretching me, filling me. A deep thrust buries him to the hilt, and I moan with the feel of him, with the sensations lighting my nerve endings on fire.
“God, woman,” he murmurs, and his voice is a low timbre, tight, a tremble in its depths.
And then finally, finally, he kisses me. His lips meet mine, his tongue stroking long, the taste of him all spice and man, etched with demand. He begins to move, a slow dance and sway, and when his lips part mine, he’s watching me, his expression drawn tight with desire, and something else I cannot name, something that’s like a sweet floral blossom, tender and sweet.
In contrast, he thrusts hard, his hand squeezing my backside, the mood shifting between us. His lips find my nipple, teeth scraping roughly. My next moan is swallowed by his kiss, and then we’re bucking with each other, desperate to the point we might as well climb under each other’s skin. I’m right there, almost over the edge, and I grab his hair, and not gently. He scrapes my neck with his teeth and I pant out, “Kace,” so very close to tumbling over the edge.
A low, raw, hungry growl rumbles from his perfect chest, and his hand slides over my hair, tilting my head back, delivering my mouth to his. “You are mine, Aria. Say it.”
I’m lost in the claiming of my body and the demand of his, lost in the moment, in the man. “Yes,” I say. “Yes.”
He lifts my hips, thrusts into me, once, again, driving, thrusting. The world fades, the room disappears. I could be floating in the air, and all I would know is his body pressed to my body. He doesn’t stop and thank God for it. The power of him consumes me. He owns me and I should care, but I don’t. Nor can I hold back any longer. My body spasms around him, sex clenching his cock.
He moans, the muscles of his shoulders and back tensing, and then he’s shuddering, with his release. We spiral together and then sink into the mattress and each other. Kace rolls to his side and takes me with him. Our limbs are tangled together, our bodies warm and sated. He didn’t spank me but did so much more. He made me see a part of me I’d never seen, a part with needs and wants, beyond survival.
The part of me that is still to my core Aria Stradivari, my father’s daughter. And Gio was right. My father would never hide, nor would he approve of me hiding.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Kace and I share his clothes.
We’re now sitting on his bed, me in his T-shirt, him in his pants, while we eat tacos and talk about his upcoming charity events. I’ve just stuffed a taco in my mouth when Kace suddenly says, “You do have a perfectly sweet, spankable backside.”
I all but choke as I try to swallow and Kace hands me the large drink we’re sharing. I recover to Kace’s mischief-filled stare.
“You did that on purpose. Why would you say something like that while I’m stuffing my face?”
He holds up his hands. “In my defense, I didn’t mean to catch you mid-bite. Off guard, yes, mid-bite, no.”
“Why off guard at all?”
“The same reason I got you naked in the hallway. I took your focus off the wrong things. In this case, being embarrassed.”
I hand him the drink. “That was unfair play.”
He sets the cup down. “Not intentionally, but since we’re talking about a spanking.”
My lips part. “Are we?”
“We are,” he assures me.
“Which was your point.”
“Actually, not my point at all.” He doesn’t expand on that thought but moves on. “I know you said you have never—”
“I haven’t.” I sound prim and proper because I am mostly vanilla and prim and proper. He’s my only other flavor. I cut my stare before we both drown in my inexperience.
He reaches over and gently strokes hair behind my ear, a barely suppressed shiver sliding down my spine. “You hate the idea?” he asks.
I dare to meet his stare, and while I can’t read his expression, I read his anticipation. I could retreat. I could play coy. I could dodge and weave but this is Kace I’m with. One of the many things that draws me to him is how raw and real everything feels with him when so little else does in my life. And I believe we get what we give. And so I dare to step outside the confines of my comfort zone. “No,” I say, giving him my version of raw and real. “No, I don’t hate the idea and I really don’t understand that about myself.”