A Deal To Carry The Italian's Heir / Christmas Contract For His Cinderella. Jane Porter

pelvis.

      Neha nodded, engulfed between ropes of sudden shyness and a desperate desire to climax.

      Baring her body to a man she’d known for fifteen years hadn’t given her a moment’s doubt. But this intimate dialogue between them, the look in his eyes when he so thoroughly studied every inch of her damp skin, every rise and dip of her body, every jerk and twitch when he touched her somewhere new, as if he was cataloging it all away for future reference, this made a fragility she didn’t like fill her up. Fragility that would let fears in, that would make this moment into more than what it was right now—utterly perfect.

      “Please, Leo.” She pulled at his hair, forcing him to lift his mouth from her tender nipples. “I need you...now.”

      “Not yet, cara.” The sheer masculine arrogance in his tone scraped at her skin, winding the knot in her lower belly tighter. “Not until I have touched and kissed and learned every part of you.” His palm was on her belly now, inching lower and lower. The tips of his fingers played hide-and-seek with the flimsy seam of her knickers. In and out, in and out, covering more ground every time, stealing her breath on every dive inside.

      “Not until I’m inside you and we’re moving together, sì?”

      She shivered at the rough promise in his words. Drank in the sight of him—damp hair sticking to his forehead, muscles bunched tight in his shoulders, that hard chest breathing harshly as if he’d been running, greedily. “I think that’s setting the bar a little too high for the first time.”

      “I like high bars—” a rough tangling of tongues and teeth “—and bold challenges issued by a bolder woman—” a wet lash against her turgid nipple “—and I want to be inside you when you come so hard that you’ll burst out of your skin.”

      Neha jerked at the first touch of his fingers against the folds of her sex. Light and soft and oh, so gentle that she was ready to scream, he explored every inch of her. Drew a line around her opening with his finger and brought the wetness up to the bundle of nerves desperately waiting for his touch.

      When he rubbed her there in a soft, mind-numbing circle, Neha cried out at the burst of fiery sensation. Heart in her throat, her breath coming in a harsh rhythm, she lifted her pelvis, chasing his clever fingers. He repeated the action, until she thought she would go mad with wanting.

      Wanton, incoherent cries fell from her mouth. She was writhing under his careful, crafty caresses, begging him with her body. Reduced into nothing but a shivering, spiraling mass of sensation and pure pleasure.

      Every stroke of his finger, every kiss he showered on her breasts, every breath he exhaled into her skin, every word out of that wicked mouth, drove her higher and higher until release was a shimmering mirage beckoning her fast. She gripped his wrist when he’d pulled away, her limbs honeyed, her entire being pressed down under a languorous weight. “I’m so close, please,” she said, and his husky laughter enveloped her in its embrace.

      “No, not yet.” His smile was wicked, his rough tongue-and-teeth kiss purely possessive.

      “I hate you,” she whispered, sweat dripping into her eyes, her body unwilling or unable to follow her brain’s simplest commands.

      He pulled her up gently, as if she were a treasure he meant to hoard all for himself, his mouth curved into a dark smile, his eyes dilated, tension radiating in waves from his powerful body. Large hands clasped her chin, pulling her closer. He kissed her softly this time, less lust and desire and more...affection and connection. If her heart had ever been at risk, Neha knew it was then. His desire and his ultimatums and his possessiveness...she could handle all of those. His tenderness, however, would be the ruin of her.

      “You trust me, don’t you, Neha?”

      “Always, Leo.”

      His face broke into a radiant smile that washed away any misgivings on her part. Washed away the frustration inside her limbs, flooding her with a renewed sense of wonder. She loved seeing him like this—demanding things of her—loved being with him in that moment, sharing this intimacy.

      He tugged her with him, and she went without protest.

      The lounger she’d noticed earlier came into her vision and dissolved like every other thought that didn’t concern her eyes when they could gorge on the supremely male specimen in front of her.

      Any thoughts of even intrusive shyness disappeared as he undid his trousers. And his black silk boxers.

      A soft gasp built up and out of her chest as her gaze lowered to where he couldn’t hide his desire. She could stare at him for the end of time and still not have enough. His thighs were thickly muscled, covered in hair, while his hips were leanly sharp planes, his skin lighter there than the rest of his body.

      Neha licked her lips, her gaze once again going to his arousal, and a growl rumbled up from his chest. While she watched him, he hardened and lengthened. Her core dampened, as if in perfect answer.

      “Come to me, cara,” he said in a wicked tone that promised to make every fantasy of hers come true. Flushing, Neha lifted her gaze to find him seated on the lounger, his long legs on one side, utterly confident in his nudity.

      Neha went to him, her skin damp, every muscle shivering, her heart overflowing with the rightness of this moment. With the conviction that she was exactly where she wanted to be in the entire universe. Naked, wanton, with the one man she’d wanted all her adult life. Living her life purely, simply, fully, in the moment.