Awaken to Pleasure (10 page)

“I’m not little.” She glared and pushed her hands into his hair. “Well, only next to you.”

“I’m the only one who matters.” He kissed her once more, loving the taste of her. “What do you like? This?” He moved his thumb on her thigh again.

“Yes.” It was a whisper against his lips.

“This?” He reluctantly left her lips to press kisses along the tops of her breasts. He was careful to use only his mouth to caress her, aware that she had come to associate male hands on her breasts with pain.

“Oh, yes. Can you…”

He raised his head, the barbarian maleness within him scenting victory within his grasp. “Yes,
piccola?”

Blushing, she shook her head. “No, it’s okay.”

“Tell me. I don’t want to be a brute.” He deliberately played up his helplessness. He was floundering, not wanting to scare her, but he also knew that for some reason he would never understand, his little wife was insanely protective of him.

“You’re not!” She frowned at him, fingers digging into his flesh. “Don’t you ever let anyone call you that.”

He bit back his smile to nibble at her lips. “Tell me then. What would you like?”

She looked down and then back up. Her cheeks were pink. Dressed in strips of delicate black lace, she was sexy innocence personified. “I just wondered…”

“Yes.” He cradled her nearer, pressing her against the heat of his body. The pressure of her full breasts on his chest pushed him one step closer to insanity.

She snuggled impossibly closer. “You know how I like to touch you?”

Did he know? He’d never been as aroused as he’d been last night. “Yes.” It came out a rough growl.

“Um…I thought since you liked it so much and I liked doing it…I thought it might work in reverse.”

Crazed with desire, it took him a few seconds to under
stand. He buried his face in her hair, trying to relearn to breathe. The scent of her twined around him, turning up the heat several degrees. He burned. For her.

“No?” A faint whisper. “You wouldn’t like that?”

Raising his head, he kissed her hard. “Like it? I feel like all my Christmases have come at once.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “Why?”

He smiled, finding his footing again. “Because you’re going to let me touch you.” He stroked his hands to clasp her waist. “Kiss you.” He pressed his lips against her jaw. “Fondle you.” He ran one hand boldly to her breast and closed over it very, very gently, shocking a gasp out of her. “And do anything else I please.” Grinning, he kicked off his shoes, then put her on the bed, lying down beside her, propped up on one elbow. “Can I touch you anywhere?”

Wide-eyed, she nodded. “It only seems fair.”

Chuckling, he put one hand on her stomach. “Do you like everything I’ve done so far?”

Her immediate nod made him grin.

“What did you like best?” He leaned close, giving her the intimacy she needed to make her sensual requests.

She swallowed but said, “Your hands on me.”

He fought off a shudder. “In that case…” Moving the hand on her stomach, he brought it to her garter belt. “Can I take this off?”

“I can…” she began to offer, reaching between their bodies. Her knuckles brushed his abdomen and he had to bite back the demand that she move lower.

“I want to.” After a little fumbling, he flicked open the catches holding the entire contraption together. Pulling it off her, he threw it aside. Now, his pretty little wife was dressed only in barely there panties and lace-topped black stockings.

He saw her swallow. Her eyes fluttered shut. It was just
as well that she wasn’t looking, because he was sure that the lust in his eyes would’ve scared his sexy Taylor. His teeth-gritting control after she’d first stripped had flown out the window with the garter belt.

He’d known that she had lush breasts, just right for his big hands, but he’d never thought that they’d be so delicate, traced with blue veins and translucent skin. He could spend hours adoring those breasts, topped with coral-colored nipples that peaked for him when he touched them with the tip of one finger.

“Oh!” Taylor’s body arched and her eyes opened.

Looking up, he held her gaze as he closed a hand over her left breast. It was time she learned to associate pleasure with this particular man’s hands on her. Because he intended to have them there on a regular basis.

Her body went taut. Her heartbeat accelerated.

“Breathe,” he instructed.

“I can’t, not when you’re doing that!” She sucked in a breath, giving lie to her declaration. “That feels…good.” Her surprised words trailed off into a moan as he began to massage her sensitive flesh. “Jackson, please don’t stop.”

He had to bite back a smile of satisfaction at the little victory. “Try and make me.” He played with her breasts until a sheen of perspiration covered her body, a fine layer that made her skin shimmer. He thanked God that she hadn’t thought to ask for the lights to be turned off. The sight of her long-limbed, luscious body coming to life for him was indescribable. Her nipples were very sensitive—a touch and she whimpered, a rub and she gasped, a squeeze and her entire body went taut.

When she was moaning, needy without knowing what she searched for, he leaned down and took one pouting nipple into his mouth and suckled. Hard. Her body shuddered. Against her, he smiled in satisfaction and moved to her neg
lected breast. He wasn’t going to be merciful and let her rest. Not when he could feel his own need trying to buck the reins. Another wave of shudders rippled through her. Her hands clutched at his body, desperately trying to find an anchor.

Using his teeth to hold it for a moment, he finally released her nipple, sending tiny shock waves through her limp body. While she was half-dazed, he got rid of the rest of his clothing and took care of protection. She’d barely risen through the pleasure-fog when he rejoined her.

There was no fear in her eyes, nothing but surprised joy and welcome. For him. Certain of her acquiescence, he ran his hand down her stomach to the satin and lace protecting her core. Wet heat met his cupping hand. The wild hunger in him came within sniffing distance of freedom. He pressed his fingers against her, pushing her toward another precipice. Blue eyes, almost blind with desire, opened.

“Jackson…” She sounded lost.

He moved over her, careful not to scare her with his weight, but she relaxed at the touch of his body. Arms around him, she parted her legs. The trust implicit in the action shook him. Sliding one hand under her neck, he tangled his fingers in her hair and lifted her head for a kiss that was lusty and wild and erotic. She reciprocated stroke for stroke, meeting his demands and making her own, her breasts pressing against the crisp hair on his chest. With his other hand, he continued to stroke her through her panties, assuaging the need he’d aroused.

Possessive need roared through him when she squirmed under him. She was
his.
No other man had ever touched her like he was touching her. And, he vowed, no other man ever would. A year be damned. Child or not, Taylor Santorini was
never
going to be allowed to leave her husband.

The sensation of Jackson’s crisp, black hair against her breasts rendered Taylor almost insensate with bliss. All these years, she’d associated shame with her breasts. After tonight, if she survived, she’d think only of the pure heat in Jackson’s eyes as he’d indulged himself. After his attentive loving, her flesh was incredibly tender. Hardly knowing what she was doing, she rubbed herself against him and heard him groan, deep inside. The hand between her legs was removed.

She ripped her lips from his and said, “No! Come back!” and surprised herself with her own boldness. Twenty-four years of sexual starvation had made her voracious. And Jackson’s tenderness had made her daring. The joy she felt was overwhelming.

He growled at her as if he was almost over the edge, and kissed her again. When she felt close to mindless, he pushed her down into the pillow and she felt his big hand slipping under one side of her panties. She was puzzled by the action for only a second because by then he’d ripped the fragile material from her body. Then he did as she’d asked and cupped her again. Except this time there was no barrier between her most sensitive place and his big, possessive hand. Or his fingers.

She writhed against him, loving the weight of him on her. When he nudged at her with his hips, she wrapped her legs around his waist. Hot male skin sizzled against the tingling skin of her upper thighs. He was naked. Opening dazed eyes, she said, “When?”

He didn’t answer, intent on kissing the side of her neck while his fingers stroked and rubbed and did everything to make her lose her fragile control on reality. She dug her fingers into his arms and tried to tug him up.

Dark eyes slammed into hers when he rose. “You want
something?” His voice was edgy, dangerous. If he hadn’t been hers, she might’ve been scared. Except he
was
hers and the rough desire in his voice made her feel exquisitely, utterly sexy.

“You.” Against her thigh, she could feel the hard heat of him. For her. Jackson Santorini desired
her.
“I want you.”

“You’re not ready.” He dipped his head to kiss her breastbone, his tongue stroking a line up to her neck.

Goose bumps broke out over her body. “What?” She tangled her hands in his hair. “I am.”

“I’m too big. You have to be wetter.”

She swallowed. Then his finger started rubbing a very, very, very pleasurable spot between her legs, and she stopped wondering just how big her big husband was. All she could think was, please don’t let him stop. He didn’t. He kept going until she was whimpering, limp and aching with need.

“Please,” she begged. “Oh, please, Jackson.”

He was without mercy. “I have to make you ready,
piccola.
There will be only pleasure for you this night. Absolute pleasure.” He pushed one finger deep into her. Her body clenched around him, trying to capture his power. “Feel the strength of what is between us. Give me your satisfaction.” Demanding eyes met hers.

She tried to say that she had no more pleasure left to give, when he carefully slid another finger into her. A scream was torn from her as tiny, exquisitely erotic quakes shook her body from the inside out. Even as she rode the storm, she could feel him gently but insistently spreading his fingers within her, an intimate invasion that sent flames racing through her bloodstream, marking her as Santorini’s woman.

“Why?” It was all she could trust herself to say, her gaze locked with his in an intimacy so deep, it took the sexual connection to another level.

“I’m stretching you, my little
wife
.” There was an em
phasis on that last word, an edge in his voice that could only be described as dominant. “You must take one more before you will be ready.” It was a sensual dare.

Pulling his head down, she kissed him, taking a sharp bite out of his lower lip in retaliation. He chuckled hoarsely against her and she felt him slide that third finger, oh-so-slowly, inside her. Unable to stop, she clenched around him, her body strung taut in expectation. This time, she wasn’t going over alone.

“Now!” she ordered. “Right now, Jackson Santorini!”

His eyes flashed at the order but there was a curve to his mouth. “My pleasure, Mrs. Santorini.” He withdrew his fingers and rose above her, arms braced on either side of her head. Then he ran one hand down her side to cup her buttock and hold her in place, while his thighs kept her parted legs open for him. Without further prelude, he thrust into her in a single powerful stroke.

She screamed and bucked at the invasion.

“Hush. The pain will pass.” It was a low-voiced command, almost a growl. “It was better all at once.”

The sheer maleness of the comment snapped her out of her sudden shock. She hadn’t expected it to hurt so much. Catching her breath, she glared at the sexy man holding her prisoner. “Easy for you to say. Big, my eye! You’re enormous!”

She couldn’t believe he started to grin through the strain on his face. “Wait ’til I am really aroused, little one.” It was clear that he was teasing her with that emphasis on “little.”

“Ha, ha.” In an effort to settle him more comfortably inside her, she wiggled.

His eyes squeezed shut.

She froze. “Jackson? Am I hurting you?”

He sounded like he was struggling to breathe. “You’re torturing me.” He opened his eyes. “Do you suppose you’re ready for me to move?” The rough amusement in his tone made her sigh in relief.

His chest was as delicious as ever. The wide expanse of hot male skin had quickly distracted her from the sharp pain. It was the feeling of complete and utter penetration that took some getting used to. “Can you go slow?”

He looked at her like she was mad. “
Dio!
After I die in this bed, please tell the church that I am a candidate for sainthood.” Despite his obvious arousal, he did move slowly, making her sensitive inner tissues feel almost too much. Under her hands, his back muscles moved in an erotic symphony. Fire began to ripple through her.

Two slow, deep strokes later, he stopped. “I can’t.”