Redemption Of The Untamed Italian. Clare Connelly

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      Lust was a new feeling for Jemima. Never had she felt so attracted to a man that she wanted to act on it like this. Her brain had ceased to function; she was operating purely on instinct and her instincts were telling her to enjoy this.

      ‘I need to...’ What? See him? Touch him? Feel him? Frustrated by her lack of experience, her total inability to put into words what she was feeling and to explain the fever in her blood, she shook her head.

      But he understood, of course he did, because the same fever was raging through him. He scooped her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, carrying her easily through the house, kissing her the entire way, and by the time they reached a bedroom and he dropped her onto the mattress she was ready to catch fire completely.

      ‘I want...’

      ‘Yes?’ His own voice was roughened by desire. ‘What do you want, Jemima?’

      There it was again—the mental block, a complete inability to say what she was thinking. She groaned, reaching for him, sitting up and pulling at his sides, but he didn’t move. He kicked out of his shoes, watching her, his chest rising and falling with each of his deep breaths as he shrugged out of his shirt.

      He had a tattoo that ran just beneath his heart: ‘come sono’. Her Italian was limited to industry terms and social niceties. ‘“I am me”?’ she said aloud, her eyes chasing the cursive ink.

      ‘“As I am”.’ He stepped out of his trousers and now a kick of fear hit her gut. Not fear of what was to come, but fear at how out of her depth she was. Her pulse lurched wildly through her body and she knew she should say something. But ancient feminine instincts gave her confidence and had her pushing to the end of the bed so that his legs straddled hers, his body so big, his presence overpowering. His fingers curved through her hair, and then her lips sought his flat chest, pressing to the ridges there as she scrambled onto her knees on the edge of the bed so she could trace one of his nipples with her tongue, flicking it curiously before transferring her attention to the next one.

      In the back of her mind, she was vaguely aware of how new this was, and yet she didn’t feel anything except pleasurable anticipation and relief. She wanted this. She wanted it so badly. Soon, her virginity would be gone, and she’d know the pleasure of a man’s body... She couldn’t wait.

      His chest moved rapidly with each curious little exploration of her tongue. Power trilled in her veins—the knowledge that she was driving him as wild as she was set her pulse skittering.