THE WOMAN IS KILLING ME.
I thought that my eyes might bulge right out of my head, first when she showed up in the office wearing that little slip of nothing... and now, again, with her entire luscious body spread out before me to enjoy.
Every fiber of my being wants to lose myself in what she is so sweetly offering. And the Matteo of just a few days ago would, without thinking twice.
But Emilia... for once, Emilia has been the voice of reason. She is so very right...
Riley is nothing like the women who are normally a part of my life. She needs to be treated with care. And that's why I'm trying to be a man here, even though the way she's taunting me is just about killing me.
I'm so serious. I feel like I might die. I'm in physical pain.
Riley lies on the bed before me, her smooth, pale skin cast with intriguing shadows from the flames of the candles that she lit—that I meant to light myself, to make our wedding night romantic.
Her eyes are half shut, and her focus is entirely on me. It makes me feel like more of a man than I ever have in my life.
And it's driving me crazy, trying to hold on to my restraint when a fundamental part of me wants to make her my wife in every sense of the word.
I need something. More, I need to give something to her.
"Matteo?" Riley props herself up on her elbows. The movement makes her breasts jiggle, and I close my eyes and count backward from ten.
When I open them again, I cast a deliberate, hungry stare down the length of her body. I've n ever seen a woman like her in the skin... never knew what I was missing. But now I know what wonder there is in full hips, in the softness of a woman's stomach... in the delicious movement of full, natural breasts, and in the softness of thighs that aren't stick thin.
I'll never be happy with anything else. And I don't quite know how to resist sinking into all of that softness.
"I believe I told you not to move, Mrs. Benenati." The challenging spark in Riley's eyes tells me that she is bound and determined to see this through.
I can't. But I can do... something.
"And if I do?" Those pale eyes of hers catch my own, hold, and I can feel my pulse stutter. Dio, but this woman is gorgeous. Like, seriously beautiful.
I place my hand flat on her chest, my palm in between her breasts. She gasps, a sexy little sound, as I push her back down so that her head is once again cushioned by the soft pillow.
"I mean it. Do not move, or I'll tie you in place."
Her lips fall open a bit in shock, but rather than repulsion, I watch her squirm a little bit.
Sweet little Riley Tremaine likes that idea. Heaven help me.
"Eyes closed." I brush the rose over her lids to demonstrate. She sighs heavily, but does as I've told her.
"Not a word," I warn her as I start to trail the rose down her face, brushing it over her cheekbones, the line of her jaw. Her lips part beneath the petals as I stroke her mouth, her tongue darting out to swipe over her lower lip, and I'm hard pressed to hold back my own groan.
In silence, I trace the shadows cast by the candlelight over her collarbones, her shoulders. She hugs out a small laugh when I reach the sensitive skin beneath her arms, but true to my command, she remains silent.
Her body tenses when I begin to stroke the flower over her right breast. With long strokes, I trace stripes from the plump base to the erect tip, over and over again, savoring the way her breathing quickens and grows shallow and rapid.
Her teeth sink into her lower lip, and her fists clench in the sheets. I smile grimly, my cock hardening even further, as I watch the flush of arousal turn her skin the most delicious shade of pink.
A sharp cry echoes from her throat when I love past her breasts, pleased to see the way the nipples have contracted tightly and darkened. My own throat goes dry as I continue to play the rose over the soft planes of her belly, enjoying the way she trembles when I reach her lower abdomen.
She moans with frustration when I skim just slightly over that space between her legs, instead moving to tease the sweet skin of her inner thighs with the soft petals.
"Matteo!" Her eyes fly open as I trace more lines, this time leading up those soft inner thighs, to the place that I know needs my attention. Her eyes are wide, glassy with need, and it humbles me that she's nearly undone by something so simple.
I don't chide her for speaking—I'm nearly at the end of my own control, as well. It's harder for me to breathe as I watch the head of the rose glide into the space between Riley's legs, gathering the moisture there.
That's where I want to be. But I can't... I can't take that from her. I don't deserve it.
"Matteo, please!" Propping herself up on her elbows again, Riley looks down the length of her body, eyes avidly taking in the sight of the stark white petals stroking over her creamy skin. Her pupils dilate, and knowing just how aroused she is drives me wild.
Still, I hold on to my last sliver of control—hold on to it until she falls back to the pillow, closes her eyes, and begs.
"Matteo, please... I... I need... more."
I move without even thinking, throwing the rose aside carelessly. Shifting my weight on the bed, I spread her thighs with both hands, drop a kiss onto the softness of her belly, savoring the whimper.
Then slowly, so slowly, I slide my hand between her legs. Her eyes again fly open, and our gazes lock as I slide my fingers through the slickness.
"Is this okay?" I barely recognize the sound of my own voice, hoarse with need. She arches against me in response, and I chuckle darkly.
I wonder if she's ever done anything like this before. I wonder if she's ever been naked with a man. The thought that I might be the very first makes me want to thump my chest like a caveman, ridiculous as that sounds.
I have to make this good for her.
My focus narrows, until the only thing I'm aware of is Riley—the way she responds to my touch. I watch her face intently as I find the center of her pleasure and circle over top, greedily taking in the way her hips twist beneath my touch, the way she gets louder, making throaty, sexy little cries.
She's close, I can tell. Hell, I am too, just from giving this to her. But this is about her, not me, so I push away my own rising need, concentrating on what brings her pleasure.
Slowly, so slowly, I slide a finger inside. Her wet heat closes around me, and for a fleeting moment I wonder if I'm about to lose control like a teenager. She's hot, and tight, and I want more than anything to bury myself inside of her.
Think about someone other than yourself, Matteo.
My arms tremble with restraint as I push inside of her, pull out, push in again. On either side of where I kneel, her thighs start to tremble; her cries become faster, louder, until one keening cry rises about the rest, and her heat clenches down on my hand so tightly that I see stars.
I'm not quite sure what to do after that... I've never in my life been in this situation. So I lie down beside her, pull the duvet over her naked body, and pull her in close. I wonder if she's going to want more once she's thinking straight again—and after watching her come undone, I don't know that I have the strength left to resist.
But instead she nuzzles in, falls asleep with her head on my chest. For the longest time I lie there, watching her innocent face as her chest rises and falls with the slow, deep breaths of sleep.
She deserves so much better than me. But I no longer know if I can resist.
RILEY
When I wake up, I'm alone. I sit straight up in bed as the events of last night come flooding back through my consciousness.
"Oh my God."
Holding up my left hand, I study the diamond encrusted eternity band that has joined the massive engagement ring that I barely had a chance to get used to. They both flash in the early morning sunlight, reinforcing that this is not a dream. I'm married. To Matteo Benenati.
And despite our agreement, he won't have sex with me.
I can feel my skin heating, partly with embarrassment, partly because, well, wow, when I shift on the bed, wincing at the slight pinch between my legs.
Last night wound up being some kind of magical. I fully believe Matteo now when he says he wants me.
If nothing else, I saw the evidence of that quite plainly last night, felt it pressed against the small of my back as I fell asleep.
I won't take from you what I don't deserve to have.
"Screw that." I shove away the covers, stretching. Despite almost getting thrown in jail two days ago, and despite the stitches that have started to itch like crazy, I feel better than I have in... well, ever.
Though it makes my inner feminist wince, it's amazing, not having to worry about money. People may sniff at that notion, but let me tell you, when you've never gone a single day in your life without counting pennies, that kind of freedom is mind blowing.
Add in the feelings that are growing towards Matteo... and I'm excited to get up and face the day.
An entire day in which to bring him around to my way of thinking.
Grinning, I rifle through my bag. I consider several options before snipping the tags off of a siren red scrap of a bathing suit and a white and red floral sundress. The bathing suit isn't something that I would ever have even considered wearing before.
But Matteo has made it clear that he likes the way I look, and I'm going to use that to my advantage.
He's going down.
Dressed in the skimpy bathing suit and the little sundress, skin slathered with sunscreen, I wander out of my room in bare feet. The hallway is dim and empty, but I can hear voices, so I follow the sound up to the deck of the yacht.
I stop short the second I'm through the doorway. I remember thinking last night that the yacht was big... but with brilliant water in every shade of blue and green stretching out as far as I can see in every direction, the sensation that we are just a tiny speck in a massive world is nearly overwhelming.
It's humbling and awe-inspiring in its beauty, and I find myself frozen in place, just enjoying the rhythmic beat of the waves slapping against the side of the boat.
The sound of utensils rattling brings me back to myself. I turn to find Matteo seated at a small table set for two, those dark eyes of his watching me intently.
"Good morning." His face is expressionless. A hint of fear shoots through me—has he changed his mind about me yet again?
But I'm getting to know him well enough that I can just barely discern the fine lines of tension that bracket his mouth.
Well, isn't that interesting.
"Did you sleep well?" I ask sweetly, pulling out a chair. A crew member rushes over to assist me but I'm seated before he can reach me.
He's cute, with dark hair, olive skin, and bright green eyes. The name Dante is stitched onto the pocket of his crisp polo shirt. I smile brightly at him, and he winks back, pouring me a cup of steaming caffè e latte.
I'm not interested in him, or in anyone but Matteo, but his appreciative glance buoys my spirits a bit. Especially when I look over the rim of my cup to find Matteo scowling at the poor boy.
"Be nice," I say mildly, eyeing the plate that he shoves my way, a frown still marring his face.
"Eat." To demonstrate, he selects a cookie, bites into it with more force than is strictly necessary. I stifle a grin.
"I'll never get used to eating cookies for breakfast." Studying the plate, I choose a piece of fette biscottate, a cookie-like hard bread that I've learned from experience is slightly less sweet than the other traditional breakfast offerings in Italy.
When I bite into it and lick at my lips to catch the crumbs, Matteo's eyes follow me, and unbidden, heat settles in the aching place between my legs.
Now, though, now it's my turn for restraint. He's not getting anything more from me unless he's willing to give me everything.
I munch on my bread, admiring the view, though from the corner of my eye I can see Matteo stewing. I know he's thinking on how to broach what happened between us last night, but I don't intend to help him.
"I hope you understand about last night." Matteo finally breaks the silence, pulling his sunglasses down to cover his eyes. Like any good college graduate, I've taken Psych 101, and know that this is basic defensive body language.
Good. He'll need his defenses.
"I absolutely understand." Finished with my bread, I push away from the table and stand. When relief washes over his face I can't help but smirk.
Catching the hem of my sundress in my hands, I lift it up and over my head, revealing my skimpy red bikini.
The coffee that Matteo has just sipped comes flying right back out of his mouth as he sputters. "What the hell are you doing, you pazzo woman?"
"I'm going to sunbathe." Innocently, I gesture to the pristine white loungers that are arranged at the far end of the deck. "Unless you had another idea?"
I try my best to sound seductive, but think I probably sound a bit more like I have a head cold than anything. Still, I'm gratified to see that Matteo can't take his eyes off of my body. It gives me the confidence to strut across the deck, the wooden planks warm beneath my feet.
Dante doesn't try to hide the fact that he's checking me out. It makes me feel good as I settle myself in one of the loungers.
"Get your eyes back in your head or get off the boat!" Matteo snaps at the young man as he pushes away from the table so fast that he upends his chair. He storms across the deck after me, coming to loom over the lounger.
"You're blocking my sun." Shading my eyes, I look up at him, and for a moment I tremble, thinking about his analogy of lions and lambs.
He's one mad lion.
"I thought you said you understood." He adjusts his position, and I see that he's trying to block from view of the crew.
Well, then. Matteo is jealous. My feelings aren't entirely one sided.
"I do understand." Lying back, I close my eyes, a show of nonchalance, though I really want to keep looking at my big, beautiful Italian stallion. "I just don't agree."
"Put your damn clothes back on," he hisses, looking from side to side. I can't help it then—I laugh. Never did I ever think I would see Matteo being a prude.
"You or your staff purchased this bathing suit for me." I remind him, enjoying his scowl. "I'll change it on one condition."
"And what is that?" His voice is impatient. Over his shoulder I can see Dante grinning at me... if Matteo saw him right now, I think he just might throw him overboard.
I sit up, and all I can see is Matteo. I shift on the lounger, feel my breasts jiggle with the movement. Matteo curses under his breath, and I watch, fascinated, as a bulge appears in the front of his casual shorts.
"Are you prepared to make me your wife?" Despite all the teasing, this question is dead serious.
"You are my wife." I can see his range of emotions, lust and irritation and a jumble of other things. I suppose it's a good thing, that he's trying to be so noble, but what's frustrating is that he's not listening to me.
I know what I want. And I want him.
"Not yet, I'm not." There. Challenge issued. I lie back down and close my eyes.
And laugh quietly to myself when Matteo mutters a curse and flops down beside me.