Chapter Four
THIS MAN WAS MAGNIFICENT. When he’d first taken off his clothes it was all she could do not to gasp.
His body, as strong as had been hinted at under his costume.
Broad shoulders, sculpted biceps. Defined pectorals dusted with dark hair which coalesced in the middle of his chest into a trail that arrowed between his chiselled abdomen straight to his groin.
She’d said half-jokingly that he had an ego. Seeing him like this, it was well deserved.
He was worthy of admiration. Applause, even.
He stepped into her and took her into his arms, his body like an inferno against her own.
Wrapping her up, kissing her with that talented mouth of his until she was dizzy, his arousal hard against her body.
How would that feel inside of her? He was tall.
Six-four she guessed. All of him was in proportion.
Her legs trembled like they were made of pasta so overcooked it would have horrified any good Italian.
‘Hard and fast, or soft and slow?’ he asked.
The question had her being overtaken by a conflagration, scorching her to the bone. She reached a hand between them and took him in her palm. He was hot and hard. Large.
He groaned, the carnal sound rippling right through her.
‘Soft and slow. I think I need to get used to you.’
‘If you keep doing that—’ he groaned again as she pumped her hand up and down his rigid length ‘—then I’m going to come hard and fast.’
Now it was her turn to chuckle. ‘Go right ahead. It’s your turn.’
He squeezed her backside with his large warm hands.
‘On the bed, cara.’
She lay down as he moved to the bedside table, withdrew protection and efficiently rolled it down onto his impressive length. Her mouth watered. He moved towards her, eyes glittering and intent, dropping his head to her nipple where he sucked, laving it with his tongue.
‘Oh God,’ she said, arching her back as the sensation speared between her thighs.
He slipped his hand between her legs, touching and stroking. ‘Still wet. Just perfect.’ He kissed her, the muskiness from her own orgasm on his lips. She could come again right now, and it had only been minutes since the last time.
‘You’re almost ready, aren’t you? I can feel it, the way you’re about to break under me again. But I’ll let you set the pace, for now.’
His grin was all wickedness as he lay back, like an invitation sprawled on the bed. His erection, proud against his belly.
‘Straddle me.’
Lily didn’t need to be asked twice, even though she still harboured some nerves at the size of him. He propped another pillow under his head, gaze fixed between her thighs. She trembled as she positioned herself.
‘This gives you control, Lily.’
The sense of that was like being plunged into lava. But her control here was a pretence. He owned her in every way. She grabbed him and positioned him at her entrance.
‘That’s it. Ease onto me slowly. Let me fill you,’ he growled.
She began lowering herself and her breath hitched at the stretch of him. She looked down and wasn’t sure how she’d take his length although it was delicious simply imagining it. The idea of being …impaled. Him owning her completely.
His eyes glazed over, as his hips gently flexed. He gripped her thighs, the pressure suggesting he wanted her to rise up and down, which she did in a gentle rocking motion. His hips began to move in the same rhythm, inching into her achingly slow.
Her breath came out in pants as all the pleasure centred at her core.
‘Touch yourself whilst I work my way into you,’ he said.
She slipped her hand between her legs, moaning at how overwhelming the sensation was. A fullness like she’d never experienced. Him controlling her with his large capable hands.
‘Look at you,’ he said. ‘Taking me. So beautiful.’
She could barely hold herself upright. She slumped forwards on one arm, the other still between her legs, touching and stroking.
As he pushed into her, one blissful slow thrust made them one.
‘Ride me,’ he said. ‘Take what you need.’
His lips were at her right nipple, his hot, rough palms on her backside, moving her forwards and backwards, up and down.
The sensations eclipsed her—pleasure, the edge of pain.
Sucking, stroking, thrusting. He eased his own hand between Lily’s legs, replacing hers, right where she needed him.
Toying with her till it was like she was overwound. She sobbed, unable to let go.
He released her nipple as if he knew exactly what it would take. His control.
‘Come for me, cara.’
He moved to her left nipple this time. A spike of ecstasy speared straight between her legs. The sensation building at her core simply exploded. She wailed as the spasms overtook her, riding him as he’d demanded. Beautifully, perfectly, wrecked.
Rocco marvelled at how Lily simply fell apart. The whole of her flushed, the magnificent clench of her tightening around him enough to drive a man to madness.
He allowed her to catch her breath for a few moments before bundling her into his arms and flipping her onto her back with him still inside her. She lay there, replete, eyelids hooded and drowsy. The corners of her pink and well-kissed lips turned up in a smile.
The woman was a revelation. Her orgasm had been one of his greatest fantasies come to life. Yet even though she’d asked for slow and gentle, he wasn’t sure he could continue that now. Driven by a need of his own.
He began thrusting with her underneath him. Long, steady strokes. The burn at the base of his spine, the heaviness between his legs, all warning of what was to come.
‘I need fast,’ he murmured against her lips.
Lily wrapped her legs around him like an assent.
Heels digging into him. Placing her own hands on his buttocks.
Gripping hard as he set the rhythm. Her fingernails cut into his flesh, the pain welcome—allowing him to hold on for longer to this glorious illusion they’d wound themselves in.
‘The feel of you inside me,’ Lily whispered. ‘I can’t—it’s too good.’
‘I’ll give you whatever you need,’ he said, his voice sounding thin and distant. At the edge of control.
There was a sensation of fluttering around him—another orgasm. He wanted Lily to come again. To ruin her for any other man. Although where that darkly possessive thought had come from, he couldn’t say. But it didn’t matter.
Because they were simply a man and a woman bound by desire and need.
Medici and his farfallina—his little butterfly. His muse. Tonight was about making art with their bodies.
That was all it took for the ache to build and build till he couldn’t hold back any longer. The exquisite burn ignited, and exploded through him. They broke together. Both of them crying out in rapture.
He’d never experienced anything like this. As they slumped into each other’s embrace, Rocco wondered how he would survive the night. Whilst always knowing that in the morning, he would still let her go.