The Prodigal Prince's Seduction (Castaldini Crown 2)

In minutes he entered a huge, elaborately furnished suite with marble floors, Persian carpets and soaring ceilings that traversed two decks. Must be the master suite he’d mentioned. A gigantic, circular bed draped in royal blue satin crouched beneath a domed skylight that glowed with the last tendrils of twilight. Oil lamps blazed everywhere, swathing everything in golden mystery and intimacy.

Sinking deeper in the sensory overload realm, she tried to drag him on top of her as he put her on the bed. He sowed kisses over her clinging arms, withdrew, stood back looking down at her.

“Meravigliosa,” he breathed. “Do you realize how amazing you are?” Elation, embarrassment and disbelief gurgled in the back of her throat. “Do you want to see how amazing I think you are?”

That got her voice working. “Yes, please.”

And he started to strip. And if their stripping game had had her begging, his as he exposed each sculpted inch almost had her passing out with the pressure of anticipation. She’d been right the night of the ball. He did have the body of a higher being.

He was down to his boxers when he turned into the light…and she saw it. The scar. A two-inch, puckered line across the smooth perfection of his skin. Negligible, really.

A wave of nausea hit her. She scrambled up on hands and knees, hugged him convulsively around the waist, pressed her trembling lips to where he’d been hurt. A few inches to the right, where its perpetrator had aimed, and the knife could have caused untold damage. Could have snuffed out all this uniqueness and vitality.

He smoothed his hands over her hair. “Don’t think what-ifs, amore. I’m fine and that’s what matters, sì?”

He understood, as he always seemed to. She hugged him harder, opened her mouth over his wound, as if she could drain away the pain of the memory. He groaned, pressed her against his flesh, surrendering to her need to heal him. She couldn’t bear it if something happened to him. She moaned the dread out loud.

“Nothing will happen to me.” His eyes were serious, pledging. Then they suddenly melted in sensuality and teasing as he rubbed her breasts with the silk-roughened steel of his thighs. “Except maybe a heart attack from this display of beauty.”

She gazed up at him, her insides trembling. How she wanted him. In every way.

He stepped back and dropped his boxers, released the proof of how much he wanted her. In that way, at least.

She’d felt that he was big. But this…she’d never seen anything half as huge. Or anywhere near as beautiful.

Her senses swam. The spike of desire combined with shock of intimidation almost dragged her under.

One thing brought her back to full focus. The need to feel his manhood, touch it, smell it, taste it. She’d never wanted to do that, had even been repulsed when she’d imagined doing it, to other men. She shook with wanting to do it to him.

He let her hold him, shuddered at her touch, groaned at the flick of her tongue, growled when she overcame the last shred of inhibition and opened her mouth wide over the satin crown. She moaned around his hot hardness, lost in the pleasure of him. Then she leaned back to look up at him.

“Oh, Durante,” she whispered. “You’re the most magnificent thing I’ve ever touched or tasted, too.”

His fingers dug into her scalp, shooting pleasure to every hair root. “Take your every pleasure from me, always. But I need to pleasure you now, with my body.”

She relinquished him as if all her strings had been cut, melted onto her back awash with the enormity of craving and anxiety.

She’d know now. Her body was weeping in an agony of need for him. If she didn’t feel pleasure with him, it was hopeless.

But he’d already given her pleasure like she’d never known. She truly didn’t care if she couldn’t feel anymore. She just needed to feel him inside her before she disintegrated.

He prowled over her, kissed his way from her toes to her center to her breasts to her lips until his bulk pressed between her trembling thighs. He cupped her buttocks, touched the head of his erection to her entrance, nudged her, bathing himself in her wetness. Her hands pressed his biceps convulsively, her intimate flesh fluttering around him, begging him to enter. His eyes roiled with a dizzying mixture of lust and tenderness as he finally pumped his hips, breached her tightness with persistent yet restrained pressure. Then he was there, where she needed him, penetrating her in a long, languorous thrust.

The expansion of her tissues around his erection went on and on. The fullness sharpened into an ache that became almost a pain. Darkness danced at the periphery of her vision.

She gasped, thrashed. He stilled, started to withdraw. She felt she’d implode if he left her body, grabbed him, arms and legs and core. “No…don’t…stay inside me…please.”

“You took half of me and started shaking. Let me move bellissima, we’ll take it easier.”

Half of him? She slackened her muscles inside and out, and he pushed up on extended arms. She looked down, open-mouthed. He was only halfway inside her. Would she be able to take all of him? But she needed to. She wanted him to shatter her with his full invasion.

She fell back, shuddering, panting. “No, do it, please. I need you inside me all the way, hard, please…”

With a pained groan, he bent, suckled her nipples, sending a million arrows of pleasure to her core with every pull, squeezing more fiery arousal from her depths. He had her mindlessly pumping her hips up at him, begging for impalement with fevered sobs before he succumbed, slid back into her.

This time he didn’t stop, kept invading her, stretching her, the head of his shaft pressing against her internal flesh, setting off a string of charges that buried her under layers of sensations she’d never felt before, a buildup that seemed to originate from her every cell and radiate from his flesh all at once, a pressure that distilled desperation into a physical symptom. He stopped his onslaught only when he reached her cervix, and everything in her seemed to compact into a pinpoint of gravity for an un-endurable moment before detonating outward. She shattered.

Her hips heaved, so hard that she almost lifted him in the air, the sensations exploding from her depths so fierce that she couldn’t scream, couldn’t breathe, not for the first dozen clenches of release as the excruciating pleasure ripped through her.

Then she screamed and screamed as it went on and on. He withdrew then plunged, then again and again, riding her ecstasy, not letting it subside, building the pressure inside her again as he took her lips, thrust inside her mouth with his tongue, simulating the powerful thrusts of his manhood until another tsunami built, hovered, then crashed over her.