Intimate Knowledge Book 1 Part 2 (4 page)

He draws in his breath swiftly at my unexpected submission and murmurs tortuously.  “Raisa, sweet.  You won’t be sorry.” 

I expect him to take my lips hungrily, but he draws the moment out continuing to trail leisurely along my collarbone up my throat to the curve of my jaw, lightly tracing the outline of my mouth, slipping in so gently the swirl of his tongue mixing with mine is feather light. 

His hands mirror this slow sensuality, discovering my body in a sweet symmetry from neck to hip, before sliding a hand under the curve of each buttock to draw me close against him down along his thigh.  He moves in a slow, undulating cadence so I ride him, the friction of his hard muscles against the seam of my jeans setting my pussy afire with a slow, burning heat. 

He eases out of my mouth, turning his attention to my ear, while gliding his hand slowly up to clasp my breast and tease my nipple.  All this feels so fine, I can’t stop myself from voicing my satisfaction in a sexy moaning of his name.  “Mmm, oh, Leo.”

“Mmm.  For me too, cara.”  Burying his face in my hair, he moves lower to inhale and lave his tongue along my cleavage.  “You smell and taste intoxicating.”  I can almost see his erotic, teasing smile as he whispers in a subtly, chiding murmur.  “Kissing.”  He nips kisses along my throat, thrusting and swirling his tongue inside when he reaches my moist mouth.  “Inhaling…”  He nuzzles my neck and takes in a long draught of my scent.  “Tasting…”  He bends back my throat nibbling, licking in soft little bites.  “Embracing…”  His arms pull me close, his hands possessively encircling my nape and waist.  “None of these pleasures are possible by yourself, teserino.”

As if to test the truth of his words, I indulge my own senses in the scent and feel of him. The strength of his hard muscles under my hands causes my body to yield even more and I am glad of his strong thigh hot against my pussy supporting me.  My arousal is so potent I wonder if my juices have soaked through my jeans.  He smells of a mixture of woodsy cologne and primal musk.  Taking a soft nip at the opening of his shirt, I take pleasure in the bite of his salty, masculine taste.

Kissing me deeply, his hands cover and massage both my breasts in a gentle rhythm that keeps pace with the cadence of his thigh.  I cannot deny his tender claim on me.  A feeling of inevitability creeps over me, as I fear I am slipping into an inescapable world of his making.

Suddenly he hardens his assault on my senses.  Clutching me fiercely, he drops his leg and lifts me by my ass to grind solidly against his stiff erection.  Seizing my braid in a powerful grasp, he plunges his tongue forcefully into my yielding mouth.  This rollercoaster possession is breathtaking.  An exciting sweep of adrenaline crashes through me along with a potent thrill at the mastery of his skill.  He roughly kneads my ass with one hand, rhythmically lifting me even higher to fit his rigid cock tightly against my hungry clit.  My breath comes in pants and gasps and I cry out as he hauls my leg up around his upper hip, driving me hard against the wall.

His roughness acts like a drug liberating my inhibitions in a fiery haze and I shamelessly meet his thrusts desperate for the feel of him against me.  The wildness of my response pushes him further, his hands at my clothing practically rip my shirt open to unclasp the front of my bra and take my nipples hard in his mouth. Thrusting lower he unzips my jeans and fits his long fingers down inside to rub against my sopping wet pussy. 

Moaning, captured by devouring need, all thoughts of duty or fear are eradicated by lust.  In this moment, I know that he could take me up against the wall anyway, anyhow and I would have no will to stop him.  From deep inside, the craving for him to take me now, ending any obligation to resist almost spirals out of control.  It is all I can do to keep from crying out my crude, demanding need.

Thank God, the traitorous cry stays inside me.  I hear his voice gruff with a lust as strong as mine offering a softer solution to my need.  “Raisa, you’re so wet, you’re dripping like honey.  I need to make you come, cara.  You need it.” 

I feel his fingers sweep against my bare flesh setting me alight, spreading my juices along my labia and clit, pinching and plumping.  I cry out and feel myself sliding slowly down the wall.  The world tilts as he lifts me, cradling me with his chest hot against my back, his hand still inside my jeans cupping my mound.  Crossing to the chair, he settles me in his lap, facing me away from him, spreading me wide, increasing his pressure on my clit, working my juices all over my pussy lips.  I curl into him and bite my lip to stop from begging him to thrust his fingers, hell, his whole fist deep inside me.  I just want him to fill me.  I arch and moan lewdly on his lap.

I feel his deep laugh vibrate through me, his voice muffled in my hair.  “So different, Raisa.  So cool before and now so hot.  It excites me, you are so volatile.  I am looking forward to fucking you in many ways, in many moods.”

His takes my chin and turns my lips up to meet his just as he did when he first kissed me.  Possessing my mouth cruelly, he starts working his magic on my nub.  Desperate as I was before to have him fill me, now his compelling strokes on my clit center my heat and arousal on my erect, jutting, little core.  Stroke follows deep, fiery stroke and soon my whole existence descends onto that one swollen, pulsing point. 

“Open your eyes, Raisa.  Look.  Look at us together.  I want you to see yourself in my arms when I pleasure you.  To gaze into your eyes when you orgasm.”

I resist at first.  I am a strictly bonk in the dark kinda girl, but his undulating accent is too persuasive and I am afraid he may stop, so I sneak a look through my lashes.  Responding to the view in the mirror with a gasp, my eyes fly wide open.  I marvel at the sight of him as he plays me expertly, keeping his attentions to my body at a level that allows me to ride a long, slow, crescending wave of pleasure towards my climax.  I am arched against him, my head flung back, one arm encircling his neck, the other clutching and pushing at his thigh in a rhythmic mirroring of his possession of the responsive, fleshy spot between my rolling, surging hips. 

The sight of me in the mirror abandoned in his arms is such a turn on, I peak and with a soft, keening cry, watch this wanton woman, I hardly recognise, come apart cradled against him.  He pulls me in tighter and through my orgasmic mist, a sinister fear steals through me.  His glittering, gold-flecked stare captures mine, promising the inevitable infiltration of my sealed, guarded, dark places.  Turning me towards him, he cradles me in his lap curling me into his chest.  The scent and heat of him fills me, his words surrounding me in heavy, ragged breaths.  “You are mine, now, Raisa.  I am determined to own every part of you.  To be good to you, make you happy, healed and whole, I swear it, il mio tesoro.”

Chapter Nine

I am determined to own every part of you…to make you happy, healed and whole…

I search desperately for the smart mouthed, badass babe who routinely scoffs at this kind of sentimental, overblown crap.  I wait for her to knock him back with a wounding sneer.  She is unreachable, banished by the overriding power and sincerity reverberating from him.  Is it because he is so convinced or because I long so urgently to believe him?  I hardly know anymore, this man has so much sway over me.  In the aftermath of the passion we have just shared, for another foolish moment, I blindly yearn for all he offers.  I shiver.  The danger inherent in this reckless need frightens me more than any crime scene.

I sit up and ease away so I am no longer plastered against him. It is unlikely he will permit me the distance I now crave. 
You are mine now, Raisa
.  I swallow terrified that might be true. The persistent pursuit that resulted in me practically semi-naked, limp and satiated in his lap within only a few hours of meeting him, is likely to continue if I don’t hone my strategies.  Squirming on his knees, I voice a girly need for privacy to sort out my appearance.  

He shakes his head and turns me to face him, straddling his lap. “I will dress you, Raisa.”  He gives me a wickedly, contented smile.  “I undressed you, I am quite capable of working in reverse.”  He begins to fasten my bra, but is distracted by my breasts, running his refined hand, gently over them.  They are tender from his rough treatment and his touch is good.  Too good.  I catch his eye just as he bends to kiss them and I look at him meaningfully. 

He gives a smutty, little laugh and my womb contracts.  “Okay, okay.”  He admits in a low, sexy growl.  “Not that capable.” 

Kissing each nipple, he slips his long fingers between my jeans and down inside my panties one more sweet, slow time and then stands me on my feet.  Teasingly slapping my ass before walking away towards the door, he adds an admonishment over his shoulder.  “Not too long, Raisa.  If I have to come looking for you again, I’ll be much rougher when I have my way with you this time.  Capisce?” 

His smile and sexy wink relegates his words to merely teasing, but the light smack and warning work their latent magic on me.  I bite my lip and clench my thighs as I imagine his rough correction.  I blush pushing away those sick, dark yearnings.

Setting my clothing to rights, I marvel at how skillfully he seduced me.  Am I losing my touch?  Should I back away from this assignment?  No.  I can learn to be more guarded.  He just took me unawares.  Not surprising.  The guy knows what he is doing.  He’s had plenty of practice.  According to the boys at the bureau, he has had back-to-back relationships since he was sixteen.  That is a lot of quality sex.  I look in the mirror and try not to think of those other women.  It is not as if there are that many of them.  Each relationship lasted years.  It is not as if he is a player. 

The task of washing off the smell of our sexual encounter takes a few minutes and I keep my head lowered, intent on the deed.  Eventually, I raise my eyes and look in the mirror.  Fixing the recalcitrant woman, who looks stubbornly back at me, with a glare, I tell her.  “He is the heir apparent to a crime family.  Not your dream lay.”

Unexpected words slip into my mind. 
…tainted blood money…uncontaminated wealth.
  Words that are at odds with that scenario.  Storing them away to re-examine later, I glare into the mirror at my equivocating reflection.

“Straighten yourself out, you horny slut.”  I tell her.  I have no idea what to tell the vulnerable, yearning, damaged, little fool who cowers deep inside.

When I re-enter the gallery, he is talking to the owner.  He breaks away with a gorgeous, sexy smile when he sees me.  The smile fades when he senses my guard is up again.  Walking over to me, he takes my arm and says quietly in my ear, a note in his voice that tells me he is only half-teasing.  “Good, you didn’t climb out the window.”

His perception is as skillful as his seduction as he clearly picks up on my doubts.  Out here, our heated encounter takes on a dreamlike quality and starts to lack substance or power.  He seems ruffled by my expression and I press home my advantage reverting to my sassy persona.  “Yeah, Right.  Get real, it’s three floors down.”

He stops and turns me towards him, lifting an eyebrow.  “I doubt that would deter you.  If I remember correctly you have a penchant for acting foolishly around heights.”

I walk away from him.  The sexual release has given me some breathing space and I vow to hold on to it and not to let him get too close physically again.  “I’m here for a reason.  Why would I duck out?  I’d like to get on with it.  Okay?”

My change in mood annoys him.  He stares at me with narrowed eyes and a trace of suspicion that gives me pause, but after a deep breath, he offers.  “Fine.  What can I do to help?”

“Give me some space to walk around and make notes on my own.”

He runs his hand through his thick, golden hair and I try not to notice the disappointment at my retreat welling in his gold-flecked, smoke-hued gaze.  It is fast becoming apparent that he has a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve.  Not what I expect from a crime lord, but he appears to make no effort to hide his feelings.  It is very disconcerting and hard to ignore.  Nodding, he appears to resign himself to my about face and dismissal of him, but he fixes me with that liquefying look of his.

“Alright, but then you let me treat you to coffee and pastries.  There is an exceptional Italian café not far from here.”

Starting to shake my head, he cuts across me before I can open my mouth.  “I’m not taking no for an answer.”  A slow, tempting smile lights up his handsome face.  “Come on, Raisa.  You do not want to pass up these pastries.  They are as good as any we will get in the finest bakery in Rome.”

The charming smile works its magic, especially as, despite the smile, he has a stubborn set to his jaw that makes it clear I will not win this one.  I shrug and nod.  It sounds like a reasonable setting for me to have some success in leading him into confidences without trespassing back into dangerous sexual territory.  Besides, I am a sucker for Italian pastries.  Little Italy is one of the best things about living in Boston.  I favor him with a charming smile of my own and walk away to the exhibit, relieved when he hangs back as agreed.

Wandering amongst the exhibit, lost in the poignant images, I become enthralled by my project.  It is so far removed from my usual occupation, I feel a delighted thrill.  The subject matter is not so far removed, but the art and the emotions do entrance me, as Leo stated.  Using my phone, I start tapping notes, concepts and images to use in the designs.  Idly, I wonder if this might win me the scholarship.  Rosa seemed taken with it.  His words come to mind again. 
…tainted blood money.  …uncontaminated wealth.
  And.  ...
to take care of you and any of your needs.

Wow.  I wonder what that would be like, to be so taken care of.  It is an arrogant claim.  Wealth won’t satisfy all my requirements.  But, I am intrigued and rather tempted by his inclination to care for me and my needs.  It is scary.  A bit stalkerish.  I have to remember that.

Finding myself in front of the painting that so moves and disturbs me, I understand why the precinct shrink was so excited when I showed her the brochure.  The haunting images speak to my troubled past while promising a forgiving future.  It is an amazing piece that could only be born from a deep pain and tenacious will not just to survive, but also to live.