His For Christmas. Amy AndrewsЧитать онлайн книгу.
aroma of her sex as he slid his fingers against her heated flesh and began to move them against her with practised ease.
‘Niccolò,’ she whispered again.
‘I want to see your breasts,’ he said, moving his shaking fingers to the lapels of her silky dress and beginning to unbutton it. Within seconds two luscious mounds were revealed—their creamy flesh spilling over the edge of her bra. He narrowed his eyes to look at them. ‘Madre di Dio,’ he breathed, his fingertips brushing over the soft skin. ‘In the flesh it is even better. You have the most beautiful body I have ever seen.’
And suddenly he knew he really couldn’t wait a second longer. Besides, she seemed more than ready for him. He felt as if something had taken hold of him and made him into someone he didn’t recognise. As if this wasn’t him at all but an imposter who’d entered his body. Unsteadily, he unzipped himself and he wanted to explode even before he positioned himself against her honeyed warmth.
She went very still as he entered her and for a moment he paused, afraid that he might come straight away—and when had that ever happened? But somehow he managed to keep it together, drawing in a deep breath and expelling it on another shuddering sigh as he began to move.
One hand was spread over her bare bottom as he hooked her legs around his hips and drove into her as if there were no tomorrow. As if there had been no yesterday. Her nails were digging into his neck as he kissed her, but he barely noticed the discomfort. He tried to hold back—to wait for her orgasm before letting go himself—but suddenly it was impossible and he knew he was going to come.
‘Alannah!’ he said, on a note of disbelief—and suddenly it was too late.
Wave after wave took him under. His frame was racked with spasms as he gasped out her name, caught up in a feeling so intense that he thought he might die from it. It felt like the first orgasm he’d ever had. He closed his eyes. The only orgasm he’d ever had. And it wasn’t until his body had grown completely still that he noticed how silent and how still she was.
He froze.
Of course she was.
Remorse filled him as she put her hand against his chest and pushed him away. And although withdrawing from her succulent heat was the last thing he felt like doing he could see from the tight expression on her face that she wanted him to. And who could blame her?
There had been no answering cry of fulfilment from her, had there? He had given her no real pleasure.
With a grimace, he eased himself from her sticky warmth, bending to pull up his trousers before carefully zipping them up. ‘Alannah?’
She didn’t answer straight away—she was too busy fastening her dress, her fingers fumbling to slide the buttons back in place. He went to help her, but her voice was sharp.
‘Don’t.’
He waited until she’d finished buttoning and whatever little insect brooch she was wearing was surveying him with baleful eyes, before he lifted her chin with his finger, so that their eyes were locked on a collision course. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does.’ He heard the flatness in her voice. ‘I’m not usually so…out of control.’
She gave a wry smile. ‘Don’t worry, Niccolò. I won’t tell anyone. Your reputation is safe with me.’
His mouth hardened and his body tensed. It was her cool response which made something inside him flare into life—a feeling of anger as much as desire. A feeling set off by wounded male pride and an urgent need to put things right. This had never happened to him before. He was usually the master of control. He had always prided himself on his lovemaking skills; his ability to give women physical pleasure—even if he could never satisfy them emotionally.
A shudder of comprehension made his blood run cold.
Did he really want her to walk away thinking of him as a selfish lover? As a man who took, but gave nothing back? Was that how he wanted her to remember him?
‘Let’s hope you don’t have to,’ he said, his voice full of sudden resolution as he bent down to slide his arm behind her knees and then lifted her up.
‘What…what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she spluttered as he began to carry her along the wide corridor.
‘I’m taking you to bed.’
‘Put me down! I don’t want to go to bed. I want to go home.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he said, kicking open his bedroom door and walking over to the vast bed, before setting her down in the centre of the mattress. His knees straddling her hips, he began to unbutton her dress, but she slapped his hand away and he realised that his normal methods of seduction weren’t going to work with her. Come to think of it, nothing felt remotely normal with her—and right now, this felt a million miles away from seduction.
He smoothed the tousled hair away from her face, staring down into the reproachful belligerence of her blue eyes, before slowly lowering his head to kiss her.
It wasn’t a kiss, so much as a duel.
For a few seconds she held back, as if he were kissing some cold, marble statue. She lay there like a human sacrifice. He could sense her anger and frustration, so he forced himself to take it slowly—so slowly that it nearly killed him. He explored her lips with a thoroughness which was new to him—until he felt he knew them almost better than his own. And as she gradually opened them up to him—when she had relaxed enough to let his tongue slide inside her mouth—it felt like one of the most intimate acts he’d ever taken part in.
Her hands reached for his shoulders and he took the opportunity to press his body close to hers, but the shudder of delight as their bodies crushed against each other was entirely new to him. And still he took it slowly—still feasting on her lips until he was certain that her own desire was strong enough to make her wriggle against him with a wordless message of frustration.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t dare. Something told him that she didn’t want him to undress her and he suspected that doing so would shatter a mood which was already dangerously fragile. His hands were trembling as they slid beneath her dress to reacquaint themselves with the hot, moist flesh beneath her panties. He heard her give a little moan—a sound of pleasure and submission—and his heart hammered as he unzipped himself and tugged her panties down over her knees.
He was only vaguely aware of the awkward rumpling of their unfastened clothing, because by then he was caught up with a hunger so powerful that he groaned helplessly as he slid inside her for a second time. It felt… For a moment he didn’t move. It felt out of this world. He looked down to see an unmistakable flare of wonder in her eyes as he filled her, but just as quickly her dark lashes fluttered down to veil them. As if she was reluctantly granting him access to her body—but not to her thoughts.
He moved slowly. He kept her on the edge for a long time—until she was relaxed enough to let go. She wrapped her legs and her arms around him and held him close and Niccolò thought he’d never been quite so careful before. He’d learnt a lot about women’s bodies during a long and comprehensive sexual education, but with Alannah it became about much more than technique.
Her body began to change. He could feel the tension building until it was stretched so tightly that it could only shatter—and when it did, she made a series of gasping little sighs, before she started to convulse helplessly around him. He was dimly aware of the groan he gave before he too let go, his every spasm matching hers, and he could feel her heart beating very fast against his as his arms tightened around her.
He must have fallen asleep, because when he next became aware of his surroundings it was to feel her shifting out from under him. His fingers curled automatically around her waist. ‘What are you doing?’ he questioned sleepily, moving his head so that her lips were automatically redirected to his and his voice was indistinct as his tongue slid into her mouth. ‘Mmm?’