LITMIR.BIZ

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don’t want this,” she said, her voice a whisper.

      “You don’t want my attentions? Or you don’t want to feel this attraction?”

      “I don’t want to feel this,” she said, not looking at him.

      “But you do,” he said, his voice fierce. “You do.”

      “Yes.”

      “I do not despise you,” he said, the words a rough whisper. “I recognize something in you.”

      “What?” she asked.

      “Hunger. You are so empty. So hungry. Like me.” She nodded, emotion flashing bright in her dark eyes. “Let me fill you.”

      She nodded and it was all the consent he needed.

      He dipped his head and captured her lips, a raw sound rumbling in his chest as he did, the relief that flooded him unlike anything he had ever known. He was so hungry for this, so hungry for her, and he had not realized until the taste of her dropped onto his tongue. Only then did he realize just how intense the craving was.

      He coaxed her mouth open, sliding his tongue against hers, tasting her deeply, drinking her in as he would do a fine brandy, savoring her, letting the heat flood every part of him, warming the deep places that were always cold.

      But she went deeper than any alcohol could ever burn, touching a part of his soul he had not realized still lived.

      Wanting her became the physical ache, a drive that he could not fight, a drive he did not want to fight.

      She was far too stiff in his arms for his liking. He slid his hand down to the curve of her bottom, pulling her tightly against him, against his growing arousal, showing her exactly how she affected him, exactly how much he wanted her. And she began to soften in his arms, a sound of capitulation on her lips, as she tasted him as deeply as he had been tasting her. As she allowed herself to get drunk on him, as he had been doing on her. And he felt her grow languid, felt her melt against him, her breasts pressed against his chest, an eroticism he didn’t think he had ever fully paused to appreciate before.

      He was a jaded man, a man with too much experience. Kisses had long since ceased to thrill him. But this kiss was everything. It was more than any kiss. More than he had ever imagined a kiss could be.

      “I must have you,” he said, wrenching his mouth from hers so that he could speak the words that were burning in his chest. “I need you, Charity, I need you.”

      It vexed him, even now, that she could make him want so deeply. With all of himself. This little thief who had reached inside of him and stolen the very thing he prized the most: his control.

      Right now, he was not even certain if he wanted it back. The only thing he was certain of wanting was her.

      He gripped the straps to her swimsuit, pulling them down her arms and revealing her breasts. He lowered his head, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking her in deeply and groaning as he relished the taste of her. She was everything, everything he had remembered and more.

      “We shouldn’t do this,” she said, breathless, as lost as he was.

      He traced the shape of her with the tip of his tongue reveling in the difference in texture between her creamy skin and the tightened bud. “We shouldn’t,” he said, breathing hard. “We absolutely should not. But you and I are notorious for doing things we shouldn’t. I see no reason to change now. Not when this feels so good.”

      She said nothing, but she wove her fingers through his hair, held him to her as he continued to indulge his craving for her. He shaped her curves with his palms, absorbing every bit of her softness, committing this to memory. In case this was the last time. Because he would take nothing for granted with her, ever. He could not predict her, and in his life finding something so unpredictable was rare. He enjoyed it as much as he feared it. Another rarity.

      He rolled her wet suit down her hips, and she stepped out of it, kicking it to the side. He raised his head and kissed her lips deeply again, before turning around so that she was facing away from him, wrapping her hair around his hand and pressing down gently on her shoulders with his other hand, so that she was leaning over the outdoor sofa.

      He traced the elegant line of her spine with the tip of his finger, all the way down, until he was teasing the damp entrance to her body, testing her readiness. She was wet, wet and ready for him. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck, and she shivered beneath his touch.

      He freed himself from the confines of his trousers and positioned himself at her damp core, bracing himself by holding more tightly to her hair, and gripping her hip, as he sank into her softness slowly. She tugged against his hold, turning her head so that her eyes met his, her lips parted, her eyes wide. He flexed his hips forward so that he was buried inside of her to the hilt, and a raw sound escaped her mouth.

      “Good?” he asked, the word strained.

      She nodded slightly, encountering resistance thanks to the tight restraints he’d placed on her. He withdrew slightly, before thrusting back home, establishing a steady rhythm designed to drive them both to the brink. He slipped his hand forward, placing it between her thighs, teasing her clitoris with his movements.

      Release started to build in him, far too soon—he wanted this to last, wanted her screaming his name before he took his own pleasure. He gritted his teeth, increased the pressure on the bundle of nerves he was focused on. He heard her gasp, and he took it as approval. He continued to tease her, pushing her closer and closer. Could feel her internal muscles tightening around him, could feel the climax building inside of her. He leaned forward, still stroking her, and grazed the side of her neck with his teeth. A hoarse cry escaped her lips and she dropped over the edge.

      And then he stopped holding back. He pounded into her heat, chasing his own release, his blood roaring in his ears as he came hard, the sound of his own release mingling with hers.

      When the storm subsided, he moved away from her, breathing hard. The outline of his fingers red on her hip, the evidence of his passion left in the slight impressions on the delicate skin of her neck, stood out like beacons in the night, irrefutable proof of his lack of control. And yet, he could not bring himself to regret it.

      She was trembling, and he swept her up into his arms, an echo of their first time together back in New York. But this time, he would not be leaving her. This time, she would spend the night in his bed. With him.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHARITY ROLLED ONTO her back and stretched, raising her hands above her head, her knuckles cracking against the hardwood headboard. A headboard she did not have at her apartment in Brooklyn.

      She opened her eyes and looked around the room. Late-afternoon sunlight was filtering through gauzy white curtains. Because she wasn’t in Brooklyn, she was in Rocco’s villa. Though, the late-afternoon sunlight was a little bit more confusing.

      She sat upright, the sheet falling down to her waist. She was naked. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised.

      Then a host of images filtered through her mind, memories of the way they had spent the majority of the day. And she knew she shouldn’t be surprised by her nudity.

      Just then, Rocco came walking into the room from the bathroom, as naked as she was. And clearly a lot less self-conscious about it.

      “So, all of that...happened.” She reached down and gripped the edge of the sheet, drawing it back up over her breasts.

      A smile curved his lips. “Yes. More than once.”

      “What time is it?”

      “Nearly six.”

      So they had been in bed all day. Which was one way to while away the hours when she felt wretched. Have orgasms instead. Really, it was kind of a no-brainer. Climaxes were better than vomiting.

      She

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