He was hard now, so hard, and he couldn’t wait any longer.
Vincenzo leaned forward and gathered her into his arms. Her eyelashes fluttered, her eyes opening as he straightened, holding her close.
‘Where are we going?’ Her head rested against his shoulder, her body utterly relaxed. She didn’t sound concerned and her gaze was only curious.
‘To my bedroom,’ he said, unable to keep the roughness from his voice. ‘We could go to yours, but there is no protection in your room.’
‘Protection?’ Her forehead creased. ‘Oh... Oh, of course.’ A shy little smile turned her vulnerable mouth. ‘I was hoping that we might... That you would... I mean, I would like you to be my first.’
That soft confession shouldn’t have affected him. It shouldn’t have made his chest ache or cause bitterness to gather inside him, and yet it did both. An ache for the gesture of trust that it was, and bitterness because, God knew, he didn’t deserve that trust.
He was going to hand her over to the police at the end of this week and nothing would change his mind. He would be giving her to people who would put her in a cell and there would be no one to hold her if she panicked. No one to soothe her fear.
That thought shouldn’t have been so bleak, shouldn’t have made him feel so hollow inside. Shouldn’t have made him so angry. But it was and it did. And he didn’t understand it. If he’d had any sense at all, he would have put her down and walked away.
He wasn’t going to, though. He was going to make love to her, because he wanted her. And he wasn’t going to mention anything about the police or a cell or her guilt, because he wasn’t going to scare her.
Tonight he didn’t want her to be afraid of anything and, even though he had no idea why that would be important to him, he was going to accept it.
‘There are better men for your first,’ he said shortly.
‘There might be,’ she agreed. ‘But I don’t want them. I want you.’
Her honesty...it killed him. Made the knot of feelings inside him tighten unbearably, drawing attention as it did to his own failings and the gaps in his morality.
You’re a hypocrite and you always have been.
Perhaps he was. After all, only a hypocrite would set himself on a course of justice, all the while knowing that he was a criminal himself. That the only reason he’d escaped paying for his own crimes was that he’d handed over his parents instead.
‘You look so serious.’ She leaned against him, looking up at him. ‘What are you thinking about?’
But he wasn’t going to talk about the past. That had no place here.
‘You,’ he said, and it wasn’t far from the truth. ‘Naked and in my bed.’
‘Why? What is it about me that you want?’
He should tell her lies. Tell her that he had no idea why he wanted her, that she must have drugged him or bewitched him to make him so hard for her.
Yet he couldn’t do that. He might be a liar and a hypocrite at heart, but he couldn’t lie to her. Not about this. Not when she was small and soft in his arms, and the scent of apples and musk wove around him, making his groin ache. Making him want to put her down on the stairs right here, right now, and have her.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said, and again this was the truth. Her beauty was a secret thing, slowly revealing itself like a photo being developed, a gorgeous picture gradually coming into perfect focus. ‘And you’re very brave. And you’re honest.’
‘Beautiful? No, I don’t think so. And I’m certainly not brave. I don’t know if I—’
‘Those things are all true,’ he interrupted and not without gentleness, because she wasn’t to argue with him on this. ‘Whether you believe them or not.’
The look on her face softened and she reached up, her fingertips brushing his cheekbone in a touch that felt like fire against his skin. ‘You’re really very kind, aren’t you?’
Kind. She thought he was kind.
He was nothing of the sort, but that was something else that he wasn’t going to tell her. So he stayed silent instead as he came to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him as he went through the doorway. Then he carried her over to the big white bed and laid her down on it, before stepping back and stripping off his clothes.
She watched him, her glittering hazel eyes alive with curiosity and fascination and hunger, and when he was naked she reached for him in instinctive welcome.
That stole his breath, made his heart feel heavy in his chest. There was an affectionate, caring, and generous spirit beneath her wariness, and he was uncovering it, bit by bit.
You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve her trust. You’ll betray her like you betray everyone.
Vincenzo shoved that thought from his head as he reached for the protection in the bedside drawer. And locked it away as he prepared himself. Then he moved onto the bed with her, easing her onto her back and settling between her thighs. She made a small, throaty, satisfied sound as he did so, her body arching beneath his, pressing herself harder against him. Her hands were on his shoulders, stroking, as if she couldn’t get enough of touching him.
‘You’re beautiful, too,’ she murmured as he eased himself against the soft, damp heat between her thighs.
But he didn’t want words now, not with her silky skin against his and the light, feminine musk of her scent intoxicating his senses, making the need hammer in his head so loudly that he could barely hear a thing. So he bent his head and took her lovely mouth, tasting the sweet fire that he was beginning to suspect lay at the heart of her. And she didn’t protest, kissing him back, all shy inexperience and untutored hunger.
That sweetness felt unbearable to him all of a sudden, as did her inexperience. He didn’t want any reminder of how vulnerable she was, or how alone and unprotected she’d been all her life. How she’d only ever been in the power of a man who’d hurt her. Scared her.
It made him feel things he didn’t want to feel, emotions that he had no place for in his heart. He didn’t want to protect her, care for her, keep her safe. All he wanted was to be inside her and this hunger for her sated.
He kissed her harder, with more demand, stroking down her body to the wetness that lay between her legs, his fingers circling the sensitive little bud. She gasped, trembling, her nails scraping over his skin. And that was better. That was much better than softness and vulnerability, better than the tightness in his chest and the ache in his heart.
So he kissed her harder still, deeper, nipping at her, biting at her until she moaned and her nails scratched him as she quivered and shifted restlessly beneath him. He was relentless, making her come against his hand, her breathing wild and ragged, and only then did he finally allow himself his own pleasure.