The Prince’s Royal Love-Child by Trish Morey
10
Sienna gasped, the power of his need echoing tenfold inside her, so that right then and there she felt as if he’d already peeled the dress away and that she stood naked and exposed in front of him.
He wanted her. That was good, wasn’t it? That was what she had planned. He had to want her if there was any chance it could develop into anything more than a marriage of convenience.
But her plan relied on her being the one in control, the one to steer him to her purpose. Right now, though, she was being carried along on a tidal wave of his making, and that wave was towering and powerful and all-consuming.
And she wasn’t sure she wanted the ride to ever end.
The recital had been interminable,the greetings they’d received on their exit taking for ever, and the purposeful silence of the car ride back to the Castello, during which she’d worried that he’d changed his mind, had been an agony.
But finally they were back within the fortified walls, where silence and discretion reigned, and Rafe took her hand and pulled her towards him. ‘What did you mean by dressing like that and coming after me tonight?’
She edged backwards, fearful that he’d somehow seen her plan as the desperate attempts of a woman who wanted to be needed, but his arms held her tight and close enough for her to know his intentions hadn’t changed in the least ‘Who says I wanted anything?’
His lips curved into a wolfish smile. ‘You must want something, to wear a dress designed to make you look like both a virgin and a seductress.’
And she realised he knew nothing, only felt the physical need that she’d hoped he would, the need that was all she had to use to her advantage. ‘Which one are you?’ he asked her. ‘The virgin or the seductress?’
It was easier to play the part she’d assigned herself than she’d ever imagined possible. She let her body lean into his, every curve strategically placed. ‘You know I’m no virgin.’
‘So what do you want?’
‘It’s been too long,’ she told him, moving her hips just enough that she could feel his rigid length. ‘I want you. I want you to make love to me.’
His eyes flared with both victory and red-hot want, and she knew she’d voiced the right words to turn his passion incendiary.
And while that was her own victory, right now the desire to make love with him was the most pressing thing in the world, and that was her own obsession.
She didn’t have long to wait. His mouth was on hers in an instant, his arms surrounding her, lifting her from the ground and carrying her up the stairs effortlessly, as if she were weightless. Which was exactly how she felt. Weightless. Without a care or a concern or a worry in the world except how to get this man inside her to fill this desperate aching need.
‘Christo,’he muttered, as he surged up the stairs, ‘but you are driving me insane.’
Once inside his room, he spun her against the closed door, lowering her legs to the ground, clutching the fabric of her skirt so that it bunched in his hands and left her legs near naked. He cupped her behind, his fingers squeezing into her flesh so that she gasped into his mouth. He drank it down, making her gasp once more as his fingers slid under the lace of her thong and worked still lower, while the other hand liberated a breast his hungry mouth soon captured, sucking on one sensitive nipple, tugging at the very essence of her.
Sienna clung to him, her hands tearing at his clothes, pulling his head back to her mouth, wanting to feel more, never satisfied, always wanting more of him in her mouth, on her body—inside—more that she could feel, more of what he gave her with his touch.
He parted her then with his fingers, encountered her slick need, and growled so deep in her mouth that the sound reverberated through her soul. His touch brought flesh already exquisitely tender to flashpoint, and she squirmed against his expert hand, desperation driving her as his fingers toyed with her, teased her, entered her.
She threw her head back against the door, dizzy with it all, and through the wall of his chest she could feel his heart slamming, echoing the crashing beat of her own laboured organ. And still she needed more. Needed him inside her.
As if he read her thoughts, she felt a tug and a snap, heard the hiss of a zip, and felt herself being lifted higher, the heavy door at her back, the liquid silk of her skirt rucked up high on her legs, and the taste of him in her mouth, before he set her slowly down.
Wonder consumed her just as she consumed him, letting him stretch her, fill her, her muscles working to hold him there and never let go. She could stay this way for ever, and it would still not be enough. And then he moved inside her, and the connection sizzled and burned, and before she could fight to hold him, he was gone, balancing on the brink, his breath heavy on her throat as it seemed the world hung in the balance.
And then he thrust inside her again, and this time it was better and deeper than before, the connection more powerful, the union more intense. She clung to him, his every thrust giving her more even as it expanded her need, turning it urgent and desperate and like a living thing.
She felt it rush towards her, unstoppable, inevitable, felt the same juggernaut bearing down on him, heard him meet it head on as he cried out on one final explosive thrust. Powerless to resist, she went after him, her senses exploding until nothing existed but sensation and colour and a world filled with tiny fragments of light.
He recovered first, his breathing still ragged in her ear as he lifted her into his arms again and carried her to the wide bed. He placed her down almost reverentially, kissing her on the forehead, before he turned to remove his jacket and tie and shuck off his shoes.
Sienna blinked back into consciousness and looked up at him, taking in his dark beauty and the stealthy, sexy way he moved, whether with clothes on or off, and felt the first fluttering premonition of trouble.
The sex was good—great—and if she’d wanted his complete attention, she had no doubt she now had it. If she was going to make an impression on him, if he was going to see her as a person, a woman with her own needs and wants, if she was going to make him feel, now was her chance.
And yet something was wrong.
Deep down inside her, on some fundamental level, something gnawed away at her; something wasn’t right.
Rafe turned then, capturing her expression as he unbuttoned his shirt, a small crease appearing between his brows. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ she lied, her pulse skittering suddenly as her mind tried to get a handle on her unease. She pushed herself up to sitting and wrapped her arms around her knees, feeling ridiculous trying to hold a conversation lying down, while she watched his progress with the buttons down the shirt.
She hadn’t meant to watch. Hadn’t meant to take any notice. But the way that beautiful sweat-sheened column of olive skin grew longer, as one by one his skilful fingers brought them undone, what choice did she have?
He had beautiful fingers, long and tapered, and what he could do with them...
Oh, my, she rationalised, remembering—who wouldn’t feel distinctly shaky when they’d just climaxed in spectacular fashion and a man like Rafe was only now getting around to taking his clothes off?
In preparation for a repeat performance? One could only hope.
He frowned, his face angling to look more closely at hers in the soft light. ‘Did I hurt you? Are you feeling unwell? I didn’t think to take it slow.’
Distracted by the sudden concern in his voice that brought with it a return of the strange gnawing feeling in her gut, her head got lost between a nod and a shake. ‘No. Yes.’ She closed her eyes and shook it, this time more decisively. ‘Really, you didn’t hurt me. I’ve been fine lately, so long as I avoid certain things.’
And that was the truth. The day she’d arrived at the island, and the following day when she’d tried to leave—those days had been the worst Since then her morning sickness had been precisely that a morning phenomenon, and if she was careful, limited to no more than a general queasiness, with no repeat of that early illness. How much of that had been down to stress and the tension of having this man back in her life?
He gave a shrug of his shoulders and peeled the shirt away, letting it drop to the floor, and in the process revealing the full glory of his muscle-sculpted chest from the wide shoulders and the taut skin to the dusting of hair that focused to a line and drew her eyes down to where it disappeared at his belt ‘I was worried I was too eager for you. I promise this time we’ll take it slower.’
She looked up. ‘This time.’ She repeated the words like a mantra, and he smiled.
‘I told you I couldn’t wait to remove that dress. I haven’t changed my mind.’
Sienna swallowed as he pushed his pants down past hips lean and strong, carelessly stepping out of them. She watched, wide-eyed, as his sleek-fitting black underwear met the same fate, and she stopped breathing altogether when he moved closer. Of course once wouldn’t be enough. On their one previous night together, Rafe had shown he had stamina to burn. He knelt on the side of the bed, reached out, and lifted one of her feet in his hands. Deftly he undid the tiny diamante- studded buckle at the side of her shoe and, holding her ankle in one hand, swept the shoe from her foot with the other, tossing it and the best part of several hundred euros carelessly to the floor behind him.
Vaguely she registered that he must have no idea how much shoes cost, or didn’t care, but after a moment, she didn’t care either, not when his thumbs started their dance over the ball of her foot. She groaned.
She’d read articles where people had claimed the feet could be erogenous zones, and she’d largely discounted them as fanciful and fictional, but the graze of his fingers, the brush of his skin against the silkiness of her stockings, had her trembling and rethinking her ideas. Or maybe it had nothing to do with her feet and everything to do with the way he looked at her while his fingers worked, dark eyes made darker with desire, more insistent with need.
Or maybe not, she thought, as the other shoe met a similar fate and Rafe stroked the underside of her foot with his thumbs, causing her back to arch and a sigh of pleasure to erupt from her lips.
‘Do you like that?’ he said, repeating the action, and she licked her lips and nodded.
‘It’s...nice.’
‘Only nice?’ He sounded disappointed. ‘Then do you like this?’ His fingers trailed up her calf, disappearing beneath a sea of green silk that lapped around her legs like the incoming tide, his fingertips tracing circles higher and higher up her leg.
‘It’s all good,’ she conceded, ‘although I can’t help but feel a little overdressed.’
He laughed, low in his throat, and the vibrations and the sound were almost enough to bring her undone. He reached up a hand and undid the jewelled clasp at her neck. Instinctively she reached up a hand to prevent the bodice falling down, but he stopped her arm and the fabric slid unrestrained to her waist, releasing her breasts to the air, and to his gaze.
‘Christo,’he uttered, as he reached for them with his hands, ‘but you are beautiful.’ His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs grazing her nipples before he leaned over and took one pink peak into his mouth.
Pleasure speared downwards, like arrows fired and finding their mark, to that place he’d already filled and which ached to be filled again. He worked magic on one breast, and then the other, before lifting his head and swallowing her into the perfect kiss.
She felt his hand low behind her, wondered at his expert discovery of the invisible zip, and felt the cool sweep of air as he tugged her gown over her hips.
She made a move to remove one satin glove, and he stilled her hands, running his hand along one long satin-cased arm, running another down one silk-clad leg. ‘No,’ he said, ‘leave these. You feel and look exquisite exactly how you are.’
She wanted to believe him, even though her make-up must be smudged beyond repair, her lips pink and swollen, and she could feel her hair coming loose, heavy coiled tendrils even now tumbling around her shoulders. But who was she to argue, when his touch made her feel the seductress she had set out to be?
‘You’re not angry with me,’ she asked on a gasp as he pushed her back into the pillows, his tongue lapping its way first around and then into her belly button, an erotic prequel of what was to follow, ‘for coming tonight?’
He lifted his head the merest fraction. ‘If I had my way, you would come every night.’
She laughed a husky laugh and shuddered against the bedclothes, her back arching as his tongue renewed its exploratory journey. ‘I meant about coming to the casino. You’re not angry?’ His fingers dug into her thighs; his face lay buried in her belly as he grazed her skin with his teeth. ‘You have a strange concept of foreplay. What does it take, I wonder, to shut you up.’ His teeth nipped at her skin, and she laughed and squirmed again, and he pushed himself higher so his mouth was once again within reach of her nipples. ‘But no. Do I look angry?’ He paused on the way up, laving at her skin. And he drew one perfect breast deep into his mouth, his tongue circling an even more perfect peak.
She arched into his mouth, her breath quickening. ‘It’s such a beautiful place.’
‘Still won’t shut up?’ He found her other breast, lavishing the same attention for detail on that one, his hot mouth, his lips and tongue working together like an orchestra.
Teeth grazed her nipple, and she flinched, a deliciously compelling combination of pleasure and pain, a symphony of sensation. ‘Sebastiano described it as the jewel in Montvelatte’s crown.’
He lifted himself higher, hovering over her as he kissed her eyes, her chin and nose. His lips found hers, teased them open with his tongue and pulled her into a kiss so deep she was lost in it. Then he drew back and she opened her eyes, waiting. Perplexed.
‘Sebastiano was wrong,’ he said tightly, every angle and plane in his face suddenly accentuated, an exercise in barely restrained control. ‘Because you are the jewel in Montvelatte’s crown.’
And then he plunged into her in one fluid stroke that vanquished the air from her lungs and the conversation from her lips. In that hitched moment, they breathed the same air, shared the same oxygen and, as he filled her completely, shared the exact same space.
Satin-clad hands tangledin his hair, swept the powerful skinscape of his back, and held him to her. Silken-clad legs slid along his, tightening around him and urging him still deeper. And all the while his silken words tangled in ho- mind, part of the magic, no small part of the sensation.
It might have been a slower build up this time, less frenetic, and with more time to discover and rediscover each other’s bodies, but when she came apart, it was a different kind of power that took her shuddering to completion, a different kind of wholeness that brought her back, holding him close, her limbs entwined with his.
A different feeling that left her more confused than ever.
‘So that’s what it takes to make you shut up.’
Minutes had passed, minutes in which the gradual calming of her breathing belied the growing turmoil of her mind.
Getting him to care for her wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
She unburied her face from his shoulder, breathing in his warm male scent, relishing it, even though at the same time the amount she enjoyed it bothered her on another level. ‘Apparently.’
Rafe sat up, poured a glass of water from a covered decanter on the bedside table and turned, his eyes brushing along her body as she lay, eyes that took everything in. It was ridiculous to feel shy after what they’d done and what they’d shared, but she still did, still felt exposed. And a trifle ridiculous still wearing stockings and her satin gloves. Then he handed her the glass and she scooted up in the bed, accepting it gratefully, suddenly realising her thirst exceeded her embarrassment.
‘I’ll speak to Sebastiano,’ Rafe continued. ‘Get him to free up my diary for a day or two.’
She blinked up at him, hopeful and suspicious in the same motion. ‘Why?’
‘I’ve been working too hard. And because we have a lot to catch up on.’ He padded across the floor and pulled open a closet, totally at ease with his nudity. And why not, she thought, when you had a body built as if it should be immortalised in marble, every movement revealing the play of superb muscle structure beneath his skin? He was a living sculpture, perfectly proportioned in all the right places, abundantly proportioned where it mattered most He pulled a white robe from the closet and slipped it over his shoulders, swiping another golden robe from a hanger.
He handed it to her, and for now she clutched it to her chest. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘Once news gets out about the wedding, media coverage will make going anywhere a nightmare, but there’s still so much you haven’t seen here yet The southern part of the island, for instance. Or we could go for a cruise around the island. Maybe take a closer look at Iseo’s Pyramid if you liked?’ ‘That sounds good,’ she heard herself say, not wanting to sound too grateful, too desperate for the opportunity.
He reached out a hand to her and she took it. ‘I have to talk to Sebastiano. Why don’t you start in the shower and I’ll join you shortly.’
She would love a hot shower to massage her spent bones. She’d love it even more with him. She remembered another night, what seemed for ever ago, another promised shower. Maybe this time he might actually join her there. The look in his eyes told him he was definitely planning to.
Her hand in his, she stepped from the bed to the floor. ‘So you won’t be needing this, after all,’ he said, tugging the robe from her hands so it slid to a golden pool at their feet. ‘And you won’t be needing these any more.’ He slowly drew down first one glove and then the other until she was totally naked but for her lace-topped stockings.
His eyes gleamed with heat and fire, his breathing short and hard, and she wondered how it was possible for one man to recover so quickly, and for that man to rekindle the fire in her, so that she too was feeling that familiar ache of need.
He dropped his forehead to hers. ‘Dio,’ he muttered, ‘what you do to me. But I knew you would come to me.’
‘You were so sure?’
‘I knew. But had I remembered just how good it could be, I would have taken you that very first night.’
‘You tried,’ she reminded him, wondering what he’d say or do if he knew the real reason she’d decided to fall back into his bed. ‘I didn’t let you.’
‘It was inevitable,’ he said, lifting his head. ‘As inevitable as the sun rising in the morning.’
She bristled, having to remind herself what she was trying to achieve and why she even cared. This marriage would happen, she could see no way out, and so she would make of it she damn well could. ‘You sound very sure of yourself.’
‘I am. As I am sure of you.’
Don’t bet on it,she thought, as he let her go to make his call, thinking she knew less and less what it was that she wanted herself.
Don’t bet on it.
