She's On Top. Susan LyonsЧитать онлайн книгу.
Picking up where we left off? Don’t be nervous, it’s just me, the scrawny homesick kid who speaks broken English.”
She laughed. “That is so not the case. And yet, it is. It seems natural to relax with you. To let down my guard and be myself.”
“Why should you need to keep up a guard?”
“I guess I don’t trust my judgment. It takes me a while to get to know people, to decide if I can trust them.” Moving around all the time as she’d done as a child, one option had been to leap into instant friendships, with all the risks that entailed. She’d done that a couple of times and learned she’d rather have no friends than choose unwisely.
He nodded, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Yes. To know whether they like you for who you are or only want something from you.”
She studied him. “I suppose in your work you get a lot of that.”
“Oh yes. Some see me as a star-maker. At the very least, I can make them look attractive. Or ugly.”
If only he could make her look beautiful. On the other hand, the gleam in his eyes said that was how he saw her. How very strange. Teasingly she said, “And you’re so sure I don’t want to be on your next video?”
He laughed. “I’m positive.”
Because she was too heavy, not pretty enough? Hurt, she said, “Oh, and why’s that?” Yes, make him say it, admit he’d just been flattering her to get her into bed.
He gripped her hand firmly. “Because you’re the genuine thing, Rina. There’s no artifice in you. I may not have seen you in nine years, but that much I know.”
“Oh,” she said weakly. It seemed Giancarlo, too, was being sincere.
“Drink up,” he said. “I’m afraid my pazienza is wearing extremely thin. I can’t wait to have you in my arms.”
She wanted that too. So much. But she was nervous as well. When he held her, he’d discover how very much of her there was. But once she got Giancarlo into that big bed with the lights off, she’d make him forget her extra pounds.
One thing she was confident about was that she was a good lover. She’d learned a lot, all those years ago with Giancarlo, and she knew she’d pleased the few men she’d been with since. Her insecurity about her attractiveness made her try harder, and she knew many ways to make a man happy in bed.
The thought of pleasuring Giancarlo—and being pleasured in return—almost made her whimper with need. “My patience is wearing thin, too.” Lifting her Sambuca glass, she drained the last few drops.
Giancarlo beckoned their waiter and said, “The bill, please. And can you call us a cab?”
“There are taxis across the street at the Sutton Place Hotel. If you wave, one will come over.”
When they were ready to leave, Rina draped her scarf around her shoulders again and bent down to find her purse. Before she could rise, Giancarlo hurried to assist her. He stood behind her for a moment, not touching, but she could tell he was only inches away. His body generated a heat that made her back tingle. He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders for an instant, then he released her. “Come, cara, it’s time to be alone.”
Francesco came to wish them a pleasant evening—with a “Ciao, bella. I hope you return soon,” for Rina—but thankfully didn’t linger.
Rina’s whole body felt flushed, needy, impatient. She was glad when the door of the restaurant closed behind them and they were standing alone on the sidewalk.
The air was cool against her heated skin and she gave an involuntary shiver. She pointed across the street. “That’s the Sutton Place.” Sure enough, there were three cabs waiting outside.
“First, we need to do this.” Giancarlo turned her to face him.
He took a step closer—now he was so much taller than she—and she rose to meet him as he leaned down.
His arms swept around her and pulled her to him, firm and close, then his lips were on hers. And again, there was the comfort of familiarity combined with a heady rush of excitement.
Softly he nibbled the corner of her mouth. She did the same back, slanting her lips against his, teasing and nipping and savoring his firm, soft skin. Her eyes drifted shut. Her heart pounded and began to race as she wrapped her arms around him, snuggled closer into his embrace and felt the unmistakable ridge of his erection against her belly.
A hard, impatient cock, yet soft, patient, gentle lips. Another tantalizing combination.
The man was pure seduction.
Heat sizzled and throbbed through her, centering in a hot pulse of need in her sex.
He lifted his arms from her back to fist his hands in her hair and adjust the angle of her head. The tip of his tongue teased the crease between her lips. She sighed with desire, opening to him. He slipped inside, his tongue meeting hers in a slow greeting that quickly turned heated.
She wanted to savor his mouth too, so chased his tongue back and followed it. Mmm, he was so hot and wet, his taste purely Italian, a combination of licorice and coffee with an undertone of red wine.
So much sensation. The textures of lips and tongue, the inside of his mouth, the occasional gentle nip. That Italian taste, and the scent of something herbal like verbena from his shampoo or cologne. Under her hands, the silky fabric of his thin sweater and beneath it, the tensile strength of taut back muscles. And always, at the firm center of everything, the bold press of his cock.
She wriggled her pelvis, rubbing against him.
He groaned and thrust against her.
Damn, if they weren’t on a main street, if she were a small girl like Jenny, he could lift her up, give her the contact her body craved, drive her to satisfaction. It wouldn’t take much. She was so aroused and ready.
Funny thing was, at this moment, with this big and strong new version of Giancarlo, she felt almost petite. Well, not petite but…not huge either.
Feminine, for sure. Purely feminine.
Meltingly, bonelessly feminine.
Achingly, hungrily feminine.
She summoned the willpower to pull her mouth free of his and step back—but only because she honestly couldn’t wait much longer. “Giancarlo, I need you. Now.”
“Jesus.” He glanced around and ran a hand through his hair. Those long, beautiful fingers were shaking. “I forgot where we were.” His breathing was ragged. “Rina, you make me forget everything but you.”
“Me too.” She glanced around. It wasn’t eleven yet, and Burrard Street was busy. How many cars had driven by, perhaps even honked? How many pedestrians on their way home from dinner or movies had walked past and either smiled or scowled at them?
“We’ll get a taxi.” He glanced down. “Should’ve worn pants with pleats.”
She looked too. Oh yes, his hard-on was unmistakable. God, she wanted to touch it. Unzip his pants, take out his penis, wrap her lips around him. She barely suppressed a whimper.
But damn, why should she play innocent with Giancarlo? Once upon a time, they’d explored every single inch of each other’s bodies, done everything sexual they could imagine.
So she looked up at him and, feeling amazingly liberated and deliciously bold, said, “I want to taste you. Every inch of that luscious cock. I want to suck you. Make you beg me to stop because you have to be inside me.”
“Jesus, cara.” He took a deep breath then let it out slowly. “You’re wicked. You know what you’re doing to me.” Then his eyes began to twinkle. “But I don’t agree. You’ll be the first to beg.”
She chuckled, “I don’t think so. I give a very…” she paused deliberately, “…very…excellent…blow