LITMIR.BIZ

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him.

      ‘I’m not going to touch you,’ Alessandro informed her silkily. He stood above her, hands on hips, his whole body radiating lithe power, raw hunger.

      His eyes glittered with intent and Meghan lay there, helpless, trapped by her own damning need.

      ‘I’m not that kind of man. But I am going to tell you how I would touch you if you let me. If you wanted me to.’

      Meghan opened her mouth soundlessly, her eyes wide.

      ‘Do you know how I would touch you, Meghan? No, of course you don’t. I don’t think you’ve ever been touched that way. I imagine the man who took your innocence—because he did, didn’t he?—I imagine he used you for his own pleasure. He didn’t think about your needs—your desires—at all. Am I right?’

      She wanted to speak. She would speak. She would tell him to go to hell, and then she would get up and walk away.

      Except she didn’t.

      ‘When I touch you, Meghan,’ Alessandro continued, his voice a caressing whisper, ‘you’ll want me to. You’ll want me to because you’ll know that I want you, and you can want me, and that it can be good. Nothing shameful, nothing sordid.’

      ‘No …’ It came out as a plea, although whether to stop or continue Meghan didn’t even know. She was mesmerised by his words, by the unabashed hunger in his eyes, the desire he was not afraid to show.

      The desire he was not afraid to feel.

      ‘First I’ll touch your lips. I’ve touched them already … just a taste. I want more now. I want more of you.’ He paused thoughtfully, his eyes glittering. ‘I think I’ll love touching your lips. They’re soft, and they’ll taste of walnut and raisins. Like the attorta we shared. Do you remember? Nutty and moist and so very, very sweet.’ His eyes moved from her mouth to her throat, and Meghan felt the damning blush staining her skin. Giving him evidence.

      ‘I’ll touch your throat there, where I can see your pulse. It’s beating quite wildly now.’ He smiled, and Meghan saw the desire in his eyes—pure, blazing. Elemental. ‘Then I’ll move lower. I’ll touch your breasts. I wonder what they look like? As golden as the rest of you? I want to feel them in my hands.’ He raised his hands, palms upwards, cupped, and Meghan moved slightly, leaning towards him, craving the thought of his touch.

      ‘I’ll touch you everywhere,’ Alessandro continued, his voice ragged now. ‘Stroking and kissing and bringing you to heights you’ve never climbed, places you’ve never been. Shattering you into a thousand pieces and then putting you back together again. And then you’ll touch me.’

      Meghan shuddered. She couldn’t help it.

      ‘You’ll touch me, and I’ll want you to touch me. It will be like a gift.’ He closed his eyes briefly, his expression straining, pained. ‘I want that very much, Meghan. I want you to touch me.’

      He stood very still, his head thrown back, the column of his throat brown and exposed and clean. Then he lowered his head and opened his eyes. Meghan saw the naked vulnerability there. He’d bared himself to her, she realized.

      No other man had given her so much while seeming to promise so little.

      He’d given her control. It felt precious.

      Slowly, her legs trembling, she stood up. She was so close to him she could feel his breath on her cheek. Still he did not move.

      Her hand shook as she lifted it, placed it deliberately on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat race under her palm, the muscles jerk in response, and a little smile stole over her features.

      ‘You see what you do to me?’ Alessandro’s voice was choked.

      Meghan looked up. There was so much in his eyes—so much need, so much pain, so much desire. It stunned her, left her breathless.

      And yet he didn’t move. His whole body was taut, straining, still.

      She slid her hand up, across the solid width of his chest, along his neck, letting her fingers coil in the crisp curls of hair at his nape.

      He remained motionless, though his breathing was uneven, ragged.

      She stood on her tiptoes, using her hands to pull his face down to hers. She brushed her lips against his, surprised at their softness, daring him, willing him to respond.

      He moved.

      His arms came around her, drawing her to his hard length with a gentleness that still gave witness to his urgency. His mouth turned the barest brush of a kiss into something far deeper and more demanding.

      Meghan surrendered.

      She didn’t know how they got to the bed, how they ended up lying in a tangle of limbs until she wasn’t sure where she ended and Alessandro began. His hands were on her, hot, sure, seeking. She felt him smile against her throat as he reached to cup the fullness of one breast.

      ‘You’re so beautiful.’

      Meghan let her own hands roam along the smooth expanse of his back. When had he taken off his shirt? She didn’t know if she’d taken it off; everything was a softened haze of desire, of need.

      Nothing mattered but this moment, this time of touch and taste and feel.

      Oh, how she felt.

      She felt his hands as they slid across her stomach, temptingly lower. She felt his lips as they traced a fiery path of ardent need, tender desire, down her throat, pausing where her pulse leapt and jerked. She felt him smile against her skin.

      Then he moved to her breast, taking his time, teasing her with his tongue, laughing softly at her arching gasp when he took her nipple into his mouth, and the shock of feeling was without fear, desire without shame.

      The need he was creating within her was a thrumming pulse in her core, a glorious ache begging to be satisfied. And she knew he felt the same. Felt the pressure of his desire against her middle, heard his ragged gasp as he moved lower with his hands and his mouth.

      ‘Alessandro …’ It came out as a supplication as she lay there, subject, slave, to his devotions.

      She tried to take control. She let her own hands drift lower, reaching for the pulsing heat of him. She saw his eyes darken with desire, heard his breathing hitch.

      ‘Mia gattina … those claws are sharp!’ He chuckled softly, capturing her hand with a groan. ‘We have time … we have time …’

      Meghan shook her head in protest. She didn’t want to slow down. She didn’t want to wait. She knew if she waited, if she let time and memory catch up to sensation, she would hesitate. She would start to doubt, to question, to fear.

      To feel shame.

      Now she just wanted to feel, feel this—his hands, his mouth, his body—with her senses and not her heart, to lose herself in the beauty and passion of being touched, caressed.

      She wanted to feel … and to forget.

      She knew that, and she pulled him to her to kiss him, hard, to banish the memories. The ghosts.

      And then it stopped.

      Alessandro pushed himself away from her, back onto his knees. His face was flushed, his breathing ragged. He pulled a hand through his hair and exhaled slowly.

      ‘We need to stop.’

      Meghan stilled, stiffened in shock. Humiliation came—a fast, hot rush of feeling. She was suddenly conscious of how she must look, her hair in a tangle around her face, her lips swollen, cheeks flushed. Her shirt was hitched up around her neck, her bra clasp undone.

      And Alessandro was looking at her with a quiet sorrow that made everything they’d just done seem dirty.

      ‘Why?’ She pulled her top down, and Alessandro stilled her hand.

      ‘Don’t.

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