CHAPTER NINE
THEWORDSHAD been trapped, but Matteo’s question had seemed to be the key to her voice, and they’d come out all in a rush. Maybe he hadn’t heard. He simply sat there, staring at her. Mouth opening slightly as if wanting to speak. Closing. Then he put down his cutlery, knife and fork crossed on his plate.
‘When you say “hurt”...’
The psychologist had known when Louisa had walked into their office what had happened. She’d received a referral, Louisa’s records. Mae had known too. The only person she had ever really had to tell fresh was the police officer who took her statement.
She had never told another soul who hadn’t known or suspected something of what had gone on first. Now it was as if she couldn’t stop.
‘My mother used to pretend that I was sick. When doctors didn’t believe I was unwell, she’d make me sick. I spent time in hospital getting tests, having procedures, to find out what was wrong with me. There was nothing. For a while she convinced me that I wasn’t well, and that if I didn’t get treatment, I might die like my father had. Munchausen by Proxy, some people called it. Others called it Factitious Disorder Imposed on Another, which I always thought was a mouthful.’
Matteo reached out, took her hand in his. Squeezed her fingers.
Take my hand, Louisa.
Somehow, his touch made her feel braver.
‘My God, I had no idea.’
‘Nobody did.’
He shook his head. His thumb gently rubbing back and forth across her skin. Somehow settling her racing heartbeat, grounding her as memories of that time came flooding back.
‘When did it start?’
‘After my father died.’
‘That’s when you were only six. Just after...’
After she’d left Mae’s for that last time. Her mother wouldn’t let her go back, no matter how many times she’d asked to or Mae had invited her. Her mother probably knew Mae would see through the lies.
‘Yes, just after that summer.’
‘How did the doctors not see?’
That was a question she’d asked herself numerous times over the years since. Or the other, which he was kind enough not to voice.
Why didn’t you say anything?
‘My mother was clever. Doctors knew she was grieving. I believe they simply couldn’t comprehend her being the one to make me ill, given my father had died. She told me that she was trying to make me better so that I didn’t die like he did. That was an easy way to control a child because I was terrified. It was easy to make me look sick too. She started cutting back my food. Said I had intolerances. Fed me Dad’s medications. I was always so thin and tired. Cutting my hair...’
Matteo made a wounded kind of noise, like coming deep from his soul. Clenched her hand a little tight. Released it.
‘Louisa...’
‘It’s okay. Really. I’ve moved on.’
But had she? Regular people didn’t panic when someone suggested a haircut. They just got a trim. They didn’t get overwhelmed buying clothes, or in a bustling city. Did they?
‘It’s not okay. It will never be okay. For all my parents’ faults, they were desperate for Felicity to be well. To imagine them actually making her sick... Why did she do it?’
That was the question that would never be answered. The answers died with her mother. All she could do was guess.
‘I think it’s because she was seen as a martyr, caring for my dad. When he died, she had nothing left.’
‘She had you.’
The expression on his face was pained. Louisa gave a weak kind of smile.
‘I wasn’t enough. My mum and dad were everything to each other. Sometimes, for her at least, I think I got in the way.’
‘I understand that sentiment.’
She looked at their hands, joined on the table. Giving each other support. They both had their crosses to bear.
‘How was your mother found out?’
She withdrew her hand from his. Wrapped her arms round herself. Shrugged. ‘I only know what I was told. One time when I was really sick, a nurse became suspicious. Blood tests were off. My mum had contaminated my IV. People began watching then, put up CCTV in the room. It all unravelled.’
‘There was no press. There was nothing.’
Louisa gave a short, sharp laugh. ‘My mother was a Bainbridge. Of course there wasn’t any press. The family tried to convince me not to say anything to the police. Said she wouldn’t hurt me any more because she’d learned her lesson.’
Matteo sat across from her, his eyes darkening. A heavy frown on his brow. ‘Is that when Mae took you?’
‘Yes. And she promised me that everything would be okay. Nothing would ever hurt me again. That I’d always have food on the table, that I’d be safe. And she kept that promise, till the day she died.’
Matteo clenched his jaw so hard it was as if his teeth might crack. What that family had done. They would have returned her to a perpetrator so long as it didn’t hurt the damned Bainbridge name.
Instead of her living the kind of life any child should have, there’d been attempts to silence her. Then she’d been taken in by Mae, who’d wrapped Louisa in a fantasy world. Didn’t challenge her, didn’t encourage her to live the life a young woman should. Instead, kept her in a kind of prison, one of safety and no risk.
Louisa needed more. She needed everything. A chance to explore the world and not be trapped by her own fears of it.
He was even more determined now to make the family suffer for what they’d done. To him, and to her.
‘No one paid for what happened to you.’
‘I’m free of it. That’s enough.’
‘Don’t you want to be avenged?’
‘I want to forget.’
Yet would she ever really be able to? That kind of thing left scars. She was still trapped by what had happened to her. He saw Easton Hall for what it was: a prison. He could show her a life that was something else. Something new to see every day. One on the move. He was an expert. In the meantime, if she wanted some forgetting, he could help with that too. He tamped his anger. Tried to remember that this night was all about her.
‘We were here to celebrate you and your achievements.’
It was hard to tell under the magical string lights and in the candlelight, but he thought she might have blushed. She seemed to glow more rosily in the soft light.
‘I guess we were, small though they are.’
‘Don’t undersell yourself. Your illustrations are magnificent.’
Now he was sure she blushed, her cheeks flushing a beautiful dusky shade. He didn’t think it had anything to do with the cute pictures of frogs he’d seen. He bet it had everything to do with the other pictures. The erotic ones. Darker. No whimsy about them. All passion.
Then something changed in the mood of the evening. A switch, as if their sharing had opened a door of secrets, letting out deeper desires. He took another sip of champagne. Tried to shut the sensation down yet what he’d seen seemed to breach his barriers. She’d said she didn’t want to get married. Her pictures were ones of passion. What if intimacy was what she wanted, without messy and inconvenient emotion?
‘Thank you. It’s something I love, imagining that my drawings are bringing joy to children.’
She was lying to herself if that was what she thought they were talking about here. But he could see it. Children would adore her with her beautiful flowing dresses, her fiery copper hair. Looking like one of the magical creatures she’d drawn. They’d flock to her. He didn’t know why that left a pang in his chest. A sense of...nostalgia almost. It made no sense, so he didn’t dwell.
‘Do you have any other projects?’
‘Nothing immediate. I have some time to myself now.’
That was perfect. They were here, now, yet there was a whole world waiting out there for her. Properties everywhere. All the time he needed to show her what she was missing.
Course after course materialised. Magnificent dishes local to the area. More champagne, which she’d begun to savour. The little bubbles tingling her tongue, the sensation like happiness sparkling through her. Something between them had changed over the meal. They’d each given of themselves. Shared their pain.
‘A burden shared is a burden halved.’ That was what Mae used to say. Louisa had never believed it before. She’d carried her burdens close because the telling had been too painful, but now?
It was as if a veil had lifted. The night appeared somehow brighter, everything around her seemed to gleam.
She ate the last mouthful of a magnificent dessert. Pannacotta. It melted on her tongue and she moaned.
‘I’m guessing you enjoyed that?’ Matteo said, his voice a little deeper, in a way, somehow raw.
‘The whole meal, everything. Tonight. Thank you.’
‘It’s what you deserve. Never doubt that.’
If only she could believe it. Sometimes, the demons still dwelled close. That was what her dreams were about, which was why she drew them. When viewed in the daytime they seemed to have less impact.
‘I don’t think I’d be able to fit in a dinner like that too often. I feel like I could almost roll all the way home.’
Home...it was the first time she’d really thought about any place other that Easton Hall in that way. But Matteo’s Lake Como mansion wasn’t hers. It was just a place to lay her head. Wasn’t it?
‘If you’re done, we can go. Walk. As you said, it’s not far.’
‘I—I’d like that.’
She relished the idea, because she didn’t really want the night to end. She had a fear that if it did, she’d lose something that she’d never get back.
Matteo stood and moved to her chair, helping her pull it out. A prickle of awareness shivered down her spine, pleasure at his closeness. She shut her eyes for a moment, simply absorbing the sensation.
‘It’s a date.’
It wasn’t. She needed to remind herself, once again, that it was something people just said. A turn of phrase.
But a date was exactly what she wanted this to be. She wanted it all, whatever ‘all’ was. A yearning simply overtook her, for the things that a young woman who’d had a normal kind of life with a loving family might experience. She’d never grieved it before, but she did now. Because her life had been about survival, getting through each day without fear. It had never been about her other needs being met.
It was as if those locked-in emotions began spilling out around her. That was the problem with sharing them. It was hard to stuff those errant feelings back in when the sharing ended.
They left the restaurant after saying their goodbyes and she felt almost giddy. The sensation unfamiliar, till she realised that it was something like happiness. Or perhaps it was just the champagne. Whereas once, all she’d wanted to do was melt into the shadows like a little mouse, now she craved to skip down the streets in a way that would draw attention to herself. To laugh out loud and not care who was watching.
She didn’t feel like a mouse now.
Night had settled solidly over the town. The streets still awash with people. Some local. Some tourists. Eating at cafés. Talking. There was music, a jaunty kind of folk tune. Singing in the distance. People coming alive as she felt. She and Matteo ambled in silence as she took in the wonder of it all. The cobbled streets, the stone buildings. Geraniums and petunias blooming in pots.
‘This is a gorgeous place.’
‘I’m glad you like it.’
‘With your Italian heritage, will you keep looking for your birth parents?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m unsure. I was trying to find out about myself, my history. The Bainbridges love their family stories. Mine. My real story, became...important somehow.’
The Bainbridge family had never been titled. Their money derived from trade, a brickworks in the distant past, which meant, no matter how much money they held, they had always been seen as something less. Yet their once vast riches meant power, and that power opened doors. Tarnished now by poor management and a belief that things would always remain the same. Riches squandered.
But the power, it notionally remained.
It had never been used for anything good. And it hadn’t saved her. The family name and preserving it was everything to the Bainbridges. Anything that might risk it was discarded, even people. Children, like her and Matty.
‘Sometimes I think you can know too much.’
‘I knew so little,’ Matteo said. ‘Apart from being dropped off at a hospital with a slip of paper pinned to my clothes, naming me Matteo. I suppose it was a kindness my adoptive parents kept my name. Or perhaps it meant they never really saw me as their family in the first place.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. They’d left the town centre now, moving towards the lake. ‘But I think family’s more than what you were born into. Anyhow, you can make your own.’
‘I don’t want a family. From past experience, they’re vastly overrated. I prefer being on my own.’
She laughed, acknowledging the truth of that statement. ‘Yeah. They are, aren’t they?’
They began laughing together.
‘We shouldn’t, you know,’ she said, through giggles. Wiping tears from her cheeks. ‘It’s not really something to laugh about.’
‘Better that than cry, Lulu.’
He’d used her nickname. A warmth settled over her as she wiped the tears of mirth away, bittersweet though they were because they were born of a shared pain. An understanding settling between them.
‘What if I’m crying from laughing?’ she asked, and they both laughed some more.
When had life ever been so much fun? She’d enjoyed the days tourists came to Easton Hall. Dressing up like one of the past women of the house. Showing people round. Answering questions. But she could never remember a time where her life seemed suffused with simple happiness like this.
They began to walk down a slope. Her shoes slipped a little. Matteo steadied her. ‘Take my hand. I don’t want you to fall.’
She slid hers into his and Matteo simply engulfed her. His strength, his solidity. A breeze caught them as they strolled hand in hand along the roadway back to his villa. The air sweet with the drifting scent of citrus blossom. She looked up as they left the lights of the town, a few stars winking in the sky. The moon, bright and bold. Lighting their way.
It was perfect.
It’s not a date.
Though what did it matter if she pretended, just for a little while? She’d never go on a real date, and imagining didn’t hurt anybody. As always, her imagination had been the safest place for her to reside.
‘On a moonlit night you get a beautiful view of the lake from a balcony upstairs. When we get back home, would you like to see it?’
He’d used the word home again. It struck her that it was the first time he’d said it in a way that didn’t seem pejorative.
‘I’d love to.’
The large iron gates of the villa loomed in the distance. They made their way to the house then he led her upstairs to a private balcony she’d not visited before. The lake lay ahead of them, an inky mark on the landscape. Along its edge, towns and little villages glittered. Lights weaving up the hillsides like threads of silver and gold stitched into the landscape. The moon rose high in the sky, painting a silver stripe on the rippling surface of the water.
She stood there, her hands on the balustrade. Giddy with it all.
‘This is so beautiful.’
A breeze picked up; swirling round them. She clutched at her wrap and shivered. Not from the cold as such, but from...she didn’t know. It overwhelmed her. The dinner, this. So perfect. So romantic.
The emotion of it all. The need pulsing through her with every heartbeat.
When had someone cared for her like this? As if she was a woman, and not something fragile and breakable. Broken.
‘You cold?’ Matteo asked, shrugging off his jacket. Draping it gently round her shoulders. ‘Here.’
The residual warmth in the clothing left from his body seeped into her. The scent of him, rich spice, enveloping her. Going to her head. Matteo drew her close, then. Gently, almost reverently. Wrapped his arms loosely round her. She didn’t know what to do with any of it, but the way he felt... Strong, solid. Louisa relaxed into his arms. Placed her head on his chest. Closed her eyes. Allowed herself to imagine that this meant more. That it could go further.
Allowed herself to simply want.
Heaven and hell were this, standing here in the silvery moonlight with Louisa, soft and pliant. Relaxing into his body. As she nestled into him, he was struck by a startling sensation. In his arms was where she was meant to be. He didn’t want to let her go.
His body reacted in a way that he might have said was an inevitability, holding a beautiful woman. All the while a voice inside tried to tell him this was not right. He had a job to do here. She was work, another responsibility.
None of it mattered.
Everything about this was as right as a moment could be. Yet something niggled in the recesses of his brain. A warning that things were about to change.
What was life without change? As far as he was concerned, it remained the only constant. Anyhow, Louisa needed some care. Some kindness. He could never have imagined the deprivations she’d suffered. A little girl, losing her father. Hurt by her mother. Yet the family had tried to convince her to stay silent to preserve the Bainbridge name?
They were rotten to the core whilst pretending to be good. How many of them saw what was happening to her and simply ignored it? The volcanic sensation bubbled inside. Rage at the injustice of it all. The need to avenge what had happened to her rising up like magma inside of him. His arms tightened around her, drawing her even closer and then the heat turned into something else. A flame that simply flicked to life inside him like a pilot light. Desire for something else.
For her.
He couldn’t unsee her fantasies inked into the pages of a book. Running like a film reel through his head. She was an adult with wants too and it seemed she’d been denying them for years. Living a solitary life in the country, hidden away. Jewels like her shouldn’t be hidden. They should be brought out to sparkle. He could show her everything. Her hand lay on his chest, thumb gently stroking him. Did she even realise it? The way she was pressed into him, as if wanting to meld into his body? She might be an innocent, but she had desires. He wanted her. What did it matter if she wanted him too?
She shifted in his arms. He loosened his hold as she lifted her head from his chest. Louisa looked pale and ethereal in the moonlight. Wearing his jacket. Something primal and possessive gripped him.
‘I can’t thank you enough for tonight,’ she murmured. Her voice somehow lower, huskier. The sound arrowing right through him. His arousal sharp, all-encompassing.
She shouldn’t give him thanks. He was a bastard, both literally and figuratively. A cold, hard businessman who knew what he wanted and took it. People respected him and sometimes cursed him, but never gave him thanks. He found he wanted it, wanted hers, all for himself.
They were so close. The moment perfect and fragile, bathed by the magical moonlight, where it seemed anything could happen. Her hands smoothed over his chest. Almost as if she was trying him out. The slow slide over his pectorals and up to his shoulders where they rested.
He was hard. Aching. Matteo had sampled the earthly delights of any number of women and he knew the signs that someone wanted him. Yet part of him was all uncertainty, when uncertainty was something he didn’t do. For some reason he knewthat she had to take what she wanted from him. Make the first move. His instincts had served him too well to ignore that if he tried to push too hard the night would end.
He wanted this to be only the beginning.
Not of a relationship, but of an awakening for Louisa. If she could just open herself. To life...to him, she’d see what more she could have, and it would change her whole world.
‘You deserve all things good, Lulu. Never doubt that. You’ve denied yourself enough.’
‘You think?’
‘I know.’
He gently circled his thumb on her lower spine, and she trembled in his arms, pressed herself against him once more. She’d feel what she did to him. There was no hiding it. She flexed her hips against him and if he hadn’t already been standing in the moonlight under the night sky, he might have seen stars. Her little gasp, the soft intake of breath, was better than the music of an angelic chorus. He’d never experienced desire like it. Something lit inside him with a rush, like fuel to a bonfire.
‘It’s time to ask for what you want, then take it,’ he said, his voice rough with need. Yet he knew the value of waiting. The benefit of gentle to break down walls rather than hitting everything head-on, with a sledgehammer. He was a patient man, and he could wait for her.
‘Be brave, Lulu.’
Be brave...
She was in the arms of a man that she could no longer deny she was attracted to with a relentless craving. She’d pretended her interest was somehow detached, that he was a magnificent man but that it didn’t really affect her, that what she saw in him was somehow removed from who she was. Somehow...academic.
All lies.
Louisa wanted him with a ferocity that should make her afraid. He wanted her too. There was no mistaking how she affected him and that gave her a surge of something that felt a lot like power, when her whole life she’d been powerless.
Not any more. This man did things to her. Lit a fuse that made her come alive in his arms. She wanted more of it, needed it like her next breath of air, like the food on her plate.
Ask for what you want, then take it.
Him.
How did she ask for that? This was all new to her. Old fears began to chatter away in her head. That she didn’t know what she was doing. That she’d make a fool of herself. Louisa refused to listen to them, listening to her instinct instead.
She wanted to thank him, so she’d give him a kiss.
He towered above her and she felt so protected in his arms. Holding her as though he cradled something precious. Moving slightly, she stood up on her toes. Pressed her lips to his. Unlike the last time their lips touched he didn’t move. His mouth soft against hers. She wasn’t sure what else to do now, so she lingered for a few moments, hoping, before breaking away.
He’d done nothing, so that was that. Her great experiment. She could tick that off the list. Kissing Matteo twice. Brilliant.
Then he smiled. It was a slow metamorphosis into wickedness, the way his lips curled in that knowing way of his. He lowered his head to her as she tilted her head up. Hoping and praying that he was going to kiss her back. Instead, he moved his lips to her ear. Said nothing for a moment, seemed to simply breathe her in as if he wanted to absorb her. His breath caressing the side of her neck, making her tremble with desire.
‘Do you want me to kiss you back?’ he murmured.
She hadn’t asked for what she wanted. Now he was forcing her to tell him. The whole of her was a pinpoint of yearning. Her breasts ached, nipples hard points in her bra. Needing his touch to soothe them. She’d thought she’d known emptiness, but she’d had no idea. This. Imagining him filling her. It was like an obsession, a drumbeat pounding inside.
She knew what would happen if she said yes, and she didn’t care. It was time to be brave.
‘Yes.’
He moved then. His nose gently drifting over the soft skin behind her ear. The sensation overwhelming her. She relaxed into his arms as he slid one hand onto her backside, drawing her close and flush against the hardness of him. Then his lips began to move, skimming over her neck. The tip of something slick and smooth drifting over her skin, then cool air. His tongue. As if he was tasting her.
Matteo gave...not a moan as such, but a pained exhale. It mirrored her own.
He lifted his lips from her body and looked down at her. His gaze almost assessing. She knew what this was, a pause to allow her to say stop. No. She didn’t want him to stop. She wanted this moment to never end.
After a few heartbeats his assessment, or whatever it was, ended. He dropped his head and simply claimed her.She’d marvelled at how soft his lips were on such an uncompromising man, but there was nothing soft about the kiss as his mouth took hers. Her own began to move, like instinct. Wanting more, wanting everything. His tongue teased her lips and she opened to him, letting him in. An entrée to the main meal. Somehow, he managed to make the kiss so many things. Coaxing, encouraging, demanding. She simply fell into it. Let it overtake her. Rejoicing at his hardness against her softness.
Then the kiss slowed, but she chased more. What if that was all she got tonight? Her body was ready to fuse with him. To become part of him. It was as if she’d die if she didn’t. Needing him to fill her.
He gave a wicked, low chuckle that rippled right through Louisa’s body. It could have sounded mocking except for his arousal pressing, insistent, against her. She’d done that to him. Made this uncompromising man want her. Matteo traced a finger down the side of her face, her neck, the top of her chest, a light, feather-like stroke. Barely there yet it set her on fire. Her nipples burned as that finger made its way lower, towards the top of her breast and then...
It stopped. She whimpered. Wanton and needy.
‘Am I neglecting you? Do you need something more?’ He leaned in, his lips close to her ear. ‘Do you want me to stroke your nipples, ease their ache? Make you come?’
His breath feathered over her throat as he kissed there. A hand sliding up her waist to rest just under her left breast, waiting for permission.
‘Yes. Please.’
His lips found hers again as his left arm drew her close once more and his right...it slid up, the lightest of brushes over her nipple, which beaded and tightened under his ministrations, heat spearing between her legs. Setting her on fire.
Could she come like this? In the dark of night when she allowed the fantasies from her drawings to overtake her, her own orgasms seemed to be hard-fought yet in some way feeble and lacking.
Now, she was overwhelmed by the sensation. The conflicting feeling of being so full yet so empty, all at the same time. He kept stroking her nipple, and she began to move against him, wanting and wanting...just more. It was like the most exquisite torture. She didn’t know how she’d survive it. Didn’t know if she even wanted to. Any desire for self-preservation simply fled under his talented hands and mouth. In this moment she would have done anything for him.
There was no slowing, he simply tore his lips from hers, breaths coming in heavy gusts. Her own lips well used, plump and tingling.
‘I want you. I want everything.’ He growled as if the words were wrenched from him, almost sounding inhuman with the need he clearly felt himself.
The power of that tore through her. That she could do this to a man who no doubt had vast experience. Who could likely have the pick of any woman he wanted, and still he wanted her. She stood at a crossroads. All her life had been about safety. Being a passenger. Now, she wanted to take control. To take something for herself.
Matteo. She wanted him. She’d had so little voice of her own, as a child. Trying to find it as a broken teenager. Yet even into adulthood she’d held something back. No longer.
‘I want everything, too.’
‘And what do you think “everything” is?’
He was making her say it, be explicit. So there’d be no misunderstanding. If she made this choice, it was because she’d voiced her desire openly, with clarity of mind.
She’d never wanted anything more.
‘Sex. You.’
His exhale sounded part pained, part relieved. ‘Take my hand.’
He held his out. Another choice between yes and no. There was only one answer tonight. Yes, always yes. She slipped her own hand into his without hesitation. Greedy for his touch. His grip as he curled his fingers round hers firm but gentle.
Matteo led her back the way they’d come. Through the doors from the balcony overlooking the lake, inside. Her legs barely carried her, weak with need. Time slowed, as if she moved through syrup. Such sweet anticipation with the spicy thrill of something else.
Desire.
Then Matteo stopped. Was he having second thoughts? Instead, he turned to her. ‘This isn’t fast enough.’
He swung her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. The sensation of being cradled, held in his strong arms, an overwhelming one. Like the night he carried her out of Easton Hall. Saving her. Yet this night, there was none of the fear. Only anticipation. In that moment as he strode through the villa, it was as if she was the most precious, cherished being on earth.
They crossed the threshold to a room she presumed was his bedroom, light to semi-darkness. Only illuminated by the moonlight through the windows and a glow from his en suite bathroom. He set her feet on the floor but he didn’t let her go, as if knowing that she needed to be held, or she might sink into the carpet in a puddle of desire.
Whilst she could combust from the wanting, Louisa had to tell him. That no matter what those drawings might have implied, she was a virgin. Yet what if he hadn’t realised, didn’t want her?
Be brave.
‘I’ve never done this before,’ she whispered.
His arms tightened around her for a moment, as if to comfort.
‘I know. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.’
His words made her feel somehow...lacking. She wasn’t some porcelain doll that could be broken easily. ‘I—I don’t want careful.’
She wanted...wild. Unfettered. Untamed. Something that took her out and away from herself. Made her feel like a woman.
‘Then I’ll take care. Do you want more lights on?’
She hadn’t thought of that. She wanted to see him with his shirt off. His muscles, his own desire as he looked at her. But something else made her hesitate. Would he judge her, her body? No doubt he was experienced. Would he find her in some way lacking?
Her mind raced.
‘I can hear you thinking, Lulu. So I’ll take it the answer is negative. How about you relax and I make the decisions for a while? If there’s anything you don’t like, you can say no, and we stop.’
She nodded, her heart a pounding ache in her chest. Not of fear, but of anticipation. He took his jacket from her shoulders and tossed it onto a chair. Unhitched the chain belt from round her waist and dropped it to the floor. Grabbed the sides of her dress and pulled it, ever so slowly, over her head where it followed her belt. Then he unclipped her bra, eased the straps over her shoulders and cast it aside. She hesitated, wanting to raise her arms. Cover herself.
‘No. Never hide your beauty. Stand proud. Let me look at you.’
She did. Arms by her side as he stood back and simply stared.
‘You’re magnificent,’ he said, his voice rough with promise and desire. ‘Lie on the bed.’
She did as he asked. Stepping out of her shoes and pulling back the soft covers. Climbing onto a bed that felt like lying on a cloud. But she didn’t know how to lie there, in a way that seemed bold. On her back? On her side? Then Matteo pulled off his shirt and any logical thought fled.
The moonlight streaming through the windows illuminated his magnificent torso that looked as if it had been cut out of marble in the cool light. Almost like the statue of David, she’d drawn in her sketch book. Broad shoulders, generous muscles. So magnificent that if he had been a sculpture, the artist would have wept upon its completion. He was every midnight fantasy as he strode to his side of the bed and came to her.
‘Your trousers?’
‘They’ll come off soon enough. For now, it’s about you.’
He crawled over the bed like some stalking animal. Kneeled between her thighs. Dropped his head and feathered kisses over her stomach.
‘Tonight, I’ll kiss every freckle I can see.’
She trembled with need as his kisses drifted lower, till his lips were on her underwear. His breath hot. Breathing her in. He hooked his fingers into her panties. Drew them down her body as goosebumps peppered her skin. Every part of her over-sensitised, as if all of her shimmered with delight at his reverent touch.
‘Open your legs.’
His voice was a command she obeyed immediately. Never a question she was going to do what he asked of her.
‘I’m going to touch you.’
‘Please.’
She’d die if he didn’t. Her world became a pinpoint of desire. The agony at the juncture of her thighs she knew only he could ease. He stroked his fingers along her upper thighs, feather-light, and she arched her back. Trying to get closer to him.
‘I won’t leave you wanting any longer,’ he said. Slipping two fingers to her clitoris where she craved him most. Stroking. Circling in a slow, steady rhythm.
‘I wish you could see what I’m doing to you. How hot you are. How wet. How desperately your body wants mine inside you.’
She moaned. This was beyond her experience. Alone, in her bedroom, imaging, drawing, had been nothing but two dimensions. This was all real. Her breaths coming sharp and fast as the exquisite pleasure of his fingers wound her tighter and higher. He was right. She wanted him inside her, desperate for him to fill the craving deep in her core.
‘That’s right, Lulu. Open your legs wider, sweetheart. Let me slide one finger inside. See how good it feels. Do you want that?’
Right now, she feared she’d give him everything if he asked it of her.
‘Yes, yes. Please.’ Her voice breathless, barely able to make the words.
His clever fingers left her clitoris and she moaned again.
‘So needy for me,’ he said, almost sounding reverent.
She arched her back again as one of his fingers toyed with her entrance. ‘This is going to feel so good. I promise.’
He slid a finger deep inside her and moaned himself. ‘So hot. My God. Lulu. Feel what you do to me.’
He took her free hand in his, pressed it to the crotch of his trousers. The thick, hard length there. She whimpered. The size of him. Her body flushed as if fevered. He flexed his hips into her hand.
‘Soon. But I need to make sure you’re ready.’
‘I am. Please. Right now,’ she chanted. The ecstasy held just out of reach, driving her on. It didn’t matter how big he felt, all fear fled in the face of this need.
‘You won’t be ready till you’re only capable of sobbing my name.’
It sounded like a promise wound in an erotic threat. Another flush of goosebumps shivered over her.
‘Now, let’s get started on that. Feel this?’ He did something inside her, found a spot with one finger that tore through her like an electric shock. Unbidden, a wail of pleasure ripped from her.
He chuckled, low and dark like some evil genius. Which she was coming to believe him to be, the way he manipulated her body.
‘Two fingers now. Would you like that, Lulu? More?’
‘Yes,’ she said on a sigh. Barely able to voice words now, meaning he was on his way to make good his promise that she’d only be able to say his name. He slid one finger out and then there was a little more pressure as he inserted another, in and out, in and out as if testing her body.
‘I want you to be ready. I want this to be good for you.’
Every part of her trembled, balancing on a terrifying precipice. Her breaths coming in sharp gasps.
‘You’re so beautiful. So perfect like this. So soft. Almost there, almost ready. So close.’
Then he did something inside again. Curled his fingers. Found the spot. ‘I’ll keep giving you what you need. We have all night. I won’t stop. I promise. Don’t fight this. You’re on the edge. I’ll look after you. Just let yourself fall.’
Her body shook as she fought to do exactly what he asked of her. That edge was so close, yet just out of reach. The torture inside her relentless, his fingers not letting up on their sensual assault.
‘Come for me, Lulu.’
Matteo dropped his head, his mouth to her clitoris, licking, sucking, and she was torn in two, sobbing. Tears streaming down her cheeks as she cried out his name over and over.
Matteo drew Louisa close, holding her in his arms as she wept, gasping his name. The desire, craving her, needing her, warring with his need to give her this time to absorb the pleasure that had overwhelmed her. A voice in the back of his head whispered that he should feel guilty for what he’d done. But how could he feel guilt when it was all about pleasure? Showing Lulu the things she’d missed in her life. Sharing this with her.
He stroked his hand over her, murmuring that she was beautiful and perfect, till her sobs stopped and she drew back, kissing him. Her mouth fervent on his own. Demanding, desperate. He returned the kiss, her lips luscious and soft. Her hands tugging at his trousers, sliding over his skin as she tried to get closer.
He pulled back. ‘Do you want more?’
‘I want it all.’
Her voice was still tremulous, breathy. Breaking with emotion. It should have screamed a warning but the only chant in his head was yes. Yes.
He stood, undid his trousers, slower than he wanted but this was for her, a show. Time for her to back away. Louisa watched him, her eyes widened, but now gleaming with desire in the soft light, as her gaze tracked over him. He felt it, her appreciation. Firm as the stroke of her fingers against his flesh. When had it ever meant so much?
Matteo dropped his trousers, his underwear. Kicked them aside and stood, naked. She gasped and he wasn’t sure what her sharp intake of breath meant. Desire? Fear? He clenched his fists, flexed his fingers. Waiting a few seconds for her to say something again. Then she licked her lips and the simple move almost unstitched his tight control right in front of her. He wanted to pounce on her, devour her, rather than taking the tender care that she deserved. He moved to the bedside table, grabbed a condom. Tore the wrapper with haste but sheathed himself slowly as she watched him roll it down his length, her lips parted. Lying there on the covers, her skin pale. Her freckles in beautiful relief like a thousand stars sprinkled over her.
He crawled back onto the bed, stalking towards her. She gripped the covers as if they were the only thing stopping her from grabbing him. He hungered for her touch. Matteo lay beside her, stroked his hand between her breasts. ‘I need to be inside you.’
‘I need that too.’
Matteo kissed her, his lips gentle caresses over hers, till she deepened it. He let her lead for a while, before taking over. Wanting to show her more pleasure than she’d ever dreamed. To be the only man...
No. He was the first man.
This was her start, not her ending. He was only showing her what was there for her, how life could be for a woman like her out in the world. Yet why did something dark and possessive overtake him in that moment? A craving to lock her away, keep her to himself. Keep her safe.
He ignored it. This was all about her freedom, not an imprisonment. He eased a hand between her legs and they opened for him once more. Checking to see she still remained wet, ready for him. Then he moved over her, notched himself at her entrance, looking into the green pools of her eyes.
‘You’re so beautiful. I want to make this good for you.’
He began to ease inside, watching her for any hint of pain. Her eyelids fluttered shut as he moved, rocking into her. Deeper and deeper with each gentle thrust into the tight, hot depths of her till he could go no further. He groaned on her corresponding sob. The glory of it, unlike anything he’d experienced, like his first time it seemed so new.
Then he began to move and for a moment she lay there, hands flexing over his back. Till she began to move with him, as if driven by instinct.
‘Good?’ he asked, the word grinding out of him.
‘So good.’
They were the words he wanted to hear and he lost himself in the rhythm of their bodies. His mind blank to anything bar the biting pleasure. Her smooth skin. Her breathy sighs. His body wound itself tighter and higher as he thrust harder. Her movements becoming faster, un-coordinated. Her breathing more desperate as he drove her towards the edge again.
‘Take your pleasure, Lulu. Take what’s yours.’
She stiffened. Her fingers digging into his back as she pulsed round him on a wail. His mind blanked in a burst of white light and blistering pleasure as his orgasm burned through him like an electric shock. Wiping him clean.