Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Francesca didn’t think she had ever spent as long picking at a meal as she did that night over dinner.
Instead of eating in the kitchen, they dined in the living room, but not together. They had shared only cursory conversation since that moment in his office. Gino ate off his lap on the sofa, watching a game of football. A Milanese team were playing.
As she had no interest in football, Francesca sat at the dining table in the corner – nothing as opulent as the one in the dining room – and pretended to read her book.
Whenever the armed men patrolling the apartment poked their heads in to see how the game was going, she remembered to throw abuse at them like a good hostage should, but it was hard to act like a good little hostage when she couldn’t stop the longing for her kidnapper from sweeping through her in ever-increasing waves.
The armchair her kidnapper sat on was at an angle from her.
If she looked in his direction, she could see his profile.
Unlike when she’d been pretending to read in his office, she found it impossible to stop her gaze falling on him.
It had been impossible since that moment when he’d stopped her from falling over.
There was a flame deep in her pelvis. Every time their eyes connected, her heart wobbled and the flame flickered more brightly.
Gino had never had to concentrate so hard on a game of football. The tension in the room had grown so thick he could taste it.
It had been bad enough in his office when Francesca had been directly in his line of sight.
Impossible to stop his eyes from darting to her.
Here, in his living room, he’d deliberately chosen to sit with her in the periphery of his vision rather than have her right in his eye-line, and now his neck was stiff from the exertion it was taking not to turn his face to her.
The few times he’d given in to it, her gaze had locked straight onto his before her cheeks had reddened and she’d hurriedly dropped it.
He was determined to see the rest of the game out without giving in to the need again, but the effort…
Although she was just a shape in the corner of his eye, he was aware of every mouthful of food she ate, every sip of drink and every turn of a page of her book.
Images of their night together continued to haunt him. Taunt him. He just could not forget how it had felt when her fingers had loosened and she’d relaxed into his possession. Couldn’t think of the words to explain how it had felt in that moment.
One of his men came into the room and commented on the game.
Gino answered automatically. On the rare occasion he was home to watch a game, he usually opened the beer and invited his men to join him.
Their hostage situation meant he’d thought it foolhardy to do so that night. He needed his men to be sharp.
The problem was, he was losing his own sharpness.
The teams on the screen were going into injury time.
The game was nearly over. Night had long since fallen.
The time to retire to the bedroom was moving closer and closer.
The beats of his heart were growing weightier and weightier with each passing minute.
The game ended. From the happy shouts of the guards, the Milanese team had won.
Gino made some calls. Francesca pretended to read more of her book.
How was it possible, she wondered as she turned a page of which not a single word had sunk in, to be so completely attuned to another person? To feel such longing? It would be fascinating if it weren’t so frightening, because it was a longing that would never have an outlet.
One night. That’s what they’d agreed. To let it be more would be nothing short of madness.
Knowing all this didn’t stop her heart from jumping when he cleared his throat.
It took all her nerve to look up at him.
The returning stare was unreadable. “We should get some sleep.”
She nodded and closed her book.
They walked to the bedroom in a silence that pounded as hard as her heart beating in her ear. The distance they kept between them felt unbearable. Unbreachable.
The door closed behind them. Gino locked it, but instead of pocketing the key to hide when she wasn’t looking, he kept it in the lock.
“Not afraid I’ll sneak out in the middle of the night?” she whispered, hugging her arms tightly around herself.
His jaw tight, his nostrils flared, and he shook his head. Turning away, he stepped towards the dressing room. His voice was strained. “You can use the bathroom first.”
She tried to move. Tried to make her feet do what they’d been doing for over two decades, but they refused to obey.
“Gino.”
His name had flown from her mouth like a plea before she could stop it, stopping him in his tracks.
She could see the agonised strain in his powerful body as clearly as she’d heard it in his voice.
He turned back to her slowly.
Their eyes fused back together. Electricity jumped like a pulse between them, and then he came to life, crossing the room to her and sweeping her into his arms.
There was one long, searing look before his mouth came crashing down on hers, and in an instant Francesca was swept away in an explosion of sensation and emotion.
There was nothing tender or gentle in the demanding lips devouring hers or in the tongue that swept into her mouth, nothing tender or gentle in the crush of their bodies and the grip of his hands holding her so securely to him.
She’d never known relief could express itself physically, but relief from the longing and tension that had knotted together, balling tighter and tighter in her as the day had gone on, was as explosive as the passion of the kiss she was caught in, and she flung her arms around his neck, returning every movement of his lips and every stroke of his tongue, kissing him as furiously as he was kissing her.
His hand dragged down her back to clasp her backside, and then she was being lifted into the air and carried to the bed.
He broke his mouth from hers only to strip his shirt off, pulling it off his head, not looking to see where it landed before he was tugging her dress up her body and whipping it off her.
Together, lips and tongues entwined, they worked on the button and zip of his trousers, freeing him from the tight confines.
This time, Francesca didn’t hesitate to touch him.
Thrilling at the strength and vitality pulsing through the thick length of his arousal and the roughness of his groan at her touch, she stroked her hand along the rock-hard length, the flame inside her burning into a furnace.
He muttered something unintelligible into her mouth, and then his lips were ravaging her neck, his fingers dragging down her sides to reach her knickers. With twists and kicks, they divested the last of their clothing, and he was reaching for a condom, ripping into it…
He drove himself inside her in one dizzying thrust that had her crying out at the sheer pleasure of it.
She sank into his possession like a flower opening itself to the sun.
There was none of the tenderness of how he’d taken her before, and she revelled in the rawness of their coupling, scratching her nails over his muscular shoulders and the length of his strong back, clasping his powerful buttocks and urging him on.
Gripping her thighs, he lifted them, plunging himself deeper into her than he’d ever been before, his thrusts hard and demanding, taking her to a sensory plane so vivid and shocking in its pleasure that she was aware of nothing but the frenzy of sensation rising so swiftly inside her that when her climax came, she fell headfirst into it, riding the explosive waves of pleasure as she convulsed around him, praying for it to never, never stop.
“You’re never going to be able to kill me now,” Gino’s beautiful little hostage said lazily. Her cheek was nestled in the crook of his shoulder, her fingers making patterns on his chest.
His laughter was short and ragged. They’d been lying like this for twenty minutes. He was still waiting for his heart to settle. Incredibly, his last climax had been the most powerful yet. “Is that what this has all been about?”
There was no point contradicting her. Whatever unfolded over the next few days, there was not a chance in hell he would let any harm come to her. Francesca had known it before they became lovers. She’d known it right from the start.
Lovers, present tense. This was the third night in a row she’d shared his bed. He still couldn’t believe he’d let it happen. When he thought back to that game of poker…
What would have happened if his game hadn’t become so shot?
Would he have given in to the walking, talking temptation that was Francesca Marino?
He supposed he would never know, but though he knew he was a fool for ever taking that bet, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
He was having the best sex of his life. The first time she’d taken him in her mouth was as seared in his memory as the first time he’d taken possession of her.
It had been the sweetest, most na?ve blowjob of his life.
It had also been the best blowjob of his life.
Until she’d taken him into her mouth the second time. And then the third…
Gino had always had a high sex drive, but his appetite for Francesca was beyond anything.
Beyond everything. She elicited responses in him he’d never known himself capable of feeling.
The way he reacted to her touch… In their waking hours, he was having to find reserves of control to keep his hands to himself and his lust for her hidden.
Any control he’d had when they were alone in the bedroom and away from prying eyes had been shot to pieces as effectively as his poker game had been shot.
She tilted her head and flashed him a smile full of mischief. “Definitely. I figured you couldn’t possibly kill someone you gave their first orgasm to.”
“You’re kidding?”