Modern Romance September 2018 Books 5-8. Heidi Rice

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СКАЧАТЬ he pushed her back against the mattress, lowering his mouth hungrily to hers.

      She braced herself, expecting his embrace to be savage, for him to demand, to ruthlessly take, as he had in the hallway outside the ballroom.

      But this time was different.

      He gave, rather than took; he tempted, rather than plundered. His hands were gentle, caressing every inch of her naked body, even and especially the secret places barely covered by the sliding whispers of silk.

      He seduced her slowly. Unsnapping her garter belt, he pulled down her thigh-high stockings, one by one, teasing her until she was panting with need.

      He didn’t demand what was his by right. Instead, he begged her with his touch.

      And all along, she could feel his desire for her, fiercely contained. How was it possible that he already wanted her again? But he did. He did not bother to hide it. He caressed her with agonizing slowness, taking his time, as if he intended to make their pleasures last forever.

      They could, she realized. They were married. They had all the time in the world.

      Reaching up, she kissed him, caressing his sharp jawline, rough with five-o’clock shadow. She ran her hands down his back, over his warm skin, feeling the hard power of the muscles of his shoulders and biceps.

      With a low growl, he rolled her over so she was above him on the bed. A moment before, trapped beneath his weight, she’d felt bold, unrestrained. Now, as she sat astride him, she stroked her fingertips tentatively down his bare chest, then stopped, biting her lip.

      “What do you want me to do?” she whispered.

      His dark eyes glinted up at her in the flickering candlelight. “Take what you want.”

      Reaching up to cup her full breasts through the bra, he lifted his head and gave one pebbled nipple a lick where it peeked through the slit in the silk, then moved to the other. She closed her eyes at the hot sizzle of pleasure spiraling in waves down her body.

      Hesitantly she ran her hand down his powerful chest, lightly dusted with dark hair, to his flat, muscular belly. With her legs straddled over his hips, she could feel the hard thickness of his desire, feel the involuntary movement of him between her thighs.

      Lowering her head with a tumble of her red hair against the pillow, she kissed his mouth, daringly teasing him with her tongue. He responded hungrily, kissing her long and hard. Reaching around her, he roughly unhooked the peek-a-boo bra and tossed the flimsy fabric to the floor. She relished the feel of her full naked breasts crushed against him, her tight, aching nipples brushing his hard chest. Instinctively, her hips swayed.

      A choked gasp came from the back of his throat. Innocent as she still was, she suddenly realized her power over him. And she gloried in it.

      She reached down to unzip his fly. With deliberate slowness, turnabout being fair game, she slid his tuxedo trousers and silk boxers down his legs, inch by inch.

      Tossing them to the floor, she looked down at him in the candlelit shadows of the bedroom. He was a completely naked, magnificent male, his shaft jutting huge and hard from his body. She moved forward, intending to taste him even there, to tease him with her lips and hands. But, here, his patience ended.

      With a low growl, he ripped off her white silk panties in a violent gesture, leaving the expensive garment nothing but tatters and ripped threads. Reaching around her hips, he lifted her up from his body, then pushed her back down against him, entering her.

      Slowly.

      Deliciously.

      She gasped with pleasure, closing her eyes with ecstasy as he filled her so deeply—deeper still—stretching her all the way to the hilt.

      As tension coiled tightly inside her, he gripped her hips, guiding her to ride him. She panted with the agonizing sweetness of the sensation. He felt huge beneath her, inside her. Leaning forward, she kissed him, trying desperately to hold herself back, to control the rhythm. But the pleasure was too great. Her body tightened, going higher and higher with rapidly exploding desire, and spiraled out of her control.

      “Tess,” he breathed beneath her in the dark. Thrusting deeply, he groaned her name. “Tess.”

      Something broke in her heart, rising from her soul like the sun after a storm. Joy burst through her, and all the broken little pieces of her soul came together in a bright blinding light. They were married. The two of them together made one—

      A cry came from the back of her throat, rising to a scream that she did not recognize as her own as she exploded. In the same instant, he roared in harmony to her cry.

      With a harsh intake of breath, she collapsed over him, exhausted, spent. Her limbs felt boneless.

      Slowly his powerful arms reached up to wrap around her tenderly. For a long time, he held her, both of them naked in the candlelit bedroom. She heard only his rough breath, felt only the power of his body, lifting her with the rise and fall of his chest.

      * * *

      The next evening, as the chauffeur drove them through the streets of London, Stefano saw the awe in Tess’s eyes and felt a strange thrill of wonder. It was almost like he, too, was seeing the glittering sights of London for the first time. Big Ben, Tower Bridge, the Tower of London, Trafalgar Square, Buckingham Palace.

      “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she breathed.

      “You’re a New York girl,” he teased. “Surely you’re not so easily impressed.”

      “This city is thousands of years old,” she informed him archly.

      “What were you reading on the plane? The history of London?”

      “I was reading a novel. Louisa told me.” Louisa was the flight attendant on their private jet. “London was founded by the ancient Romans!”

      “So really,” he said lazily, “we should get credit.”

      “You?”

      “Italians.” He reached past the baby to put his hand tenderly on his wife’s knee. “Just wait until London Fashion Week. Are you excited?”

      “Yes.” Looking at his hand, she blushed, biting her lip. “Very.”

      And well she should blush, Stefano thought smugly, after the night they’d had. It had been the most amazing twenty-four hours of his life, even better than their first time. He’d made love to her four times last night in the hotel, then twice in the private bedroom in the back of the jet as they crossed the Atlantic. His wife. He couldn’t get enough of her.

      He shivered, remembering.

      “I can’t wait to see everything,” she said softly, looking out at the city. “London, Milan, Paris. I can’t believe I’ll be attending three different Fashion Weeks, back to back.”

      “You never attended the one in New York?”

      She snorted. “Fashion Week is for famous people, not poor design students. I’ve seen pictures on social media, though. I always wondered what it would be like.”

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