He opened his mouth wide on her bare nipple and she nearly screamed at the sensation of his teeth closing softly, dragging all the way to the tip before he sucked her into the deep, wet cavern of heat that was his greedy mouth.
A rush of need flooded into her sex. Into his palm.
He made an animalistic noise and his fingers pushed past silk, fingertips seeking, two penetrating, burying deep, thumb tracing and finding. Circling.
“Yes,” she gasped, giving herself up to the stunning height of pleasure, welcoming the thrust of his fingers, clasping him hard to her breast as he nipped in a way that was just short of pain. The sensations he was offering were so sharp and intense it was almost too much to bear. She clenched, trying to hold back, realizing how close she was to losing it. This wasn’t what she’d meant to happen.
His arm clamped around her waist and he kept lashing her with those twin sensations until she couldn’t hold back. Orgasm crashed over her. Her body nearly buckled under the power of it. Her cries of abandon filled the backseat and she pressed her hands to the ceiling, all of herself offered to him as he pleasured her, nearly bursting into jagged tears at the intensity of her release. Dying. She was dying and would never breathe again.
The paroxysm held her for a long time, until she slowly became aware that his caress had become soothing.
His damp hand moved, sliding onto her hip then cupping her backside, urging her to nestle her tender, throbbing flesh against the aggressive ridge of his erection straining the front of his pants. He lifted his head and licked at her panting mouth, teasing her into kissing him back.
She was still shaking with reaction and kept her eyes closed as she kissed him with swollen, trembling lips, aware of his hardness everywhere: shoulders, arms, thighs. Even his lips were firm where hers were soft with spent pleasure. His heart was pounding while she was still trying to catch her breath, both of them damp with perspiration.
Finally she dragged her eyes open to see he had a very smug, satisfied light in his half-closed eyes. That arrogance was unnerving, making her realize he had completely taken her apart while losing none of his own control. Only his collar was slightly askew, his hair barely out of place.
He told her in a low growl what he wanted to do to her.
What was wrong with her that she responded with an internal clench of anticipation to his dirty talk?
She pushed off his lap and shakily tidied her clothes, avoiding his gaze, trying not to think of where his hand had been. How she’d sounded as she called out with release. Had the driver heard her? How did things just keep getting more mortifying?
She managed to rally, responding to what he’d said with a scathing, “The way you’re looking so self-satisfied, I’d think we already did that.”
He angled to look at her, reaching to smooth a wisp of her hair from its tangle on her eyelashes. Her pulse leaped with excitement, but his finger didn’t even brush her skin.
“It was bothering me that other men had seen you naked. But no man has ever seen you like that, have they? I’m very satisfied.”
What an egotistical—
“You’re a jerk,” she told him, thinking there were saltier words and she was tempted to find them.
“Are you losing the feel-good already? Because I’m right here, ready and willing to take you to your happy place all over again.”
“Oh, shut up,” she snapped, turning her face to the window. Pride. Who knew it was such an unaffordable luxury?
CHAPTER SIX
GWYN DIDN’T KNOW how close she’d just come to being taken in the backseat under the straying eye of his driver. Oh, Carlo would have known they were petting, would have turned up the music so he wouldn’t hear anything indelicate, but neither he nor Gwyn knew that Vito had nearly lost control, so caught up in Gwyn’s pleasure he’d almost found his own, fully clothed and completely at her service. He’d barely stopped himself from rolling her beneath him on the seat, stripping them bare and quite possibly planting a baby in her without a single thought for the consequences.
The thought disturbed him. Was that how he’d been conceived? In a fit of blind passion that completely disregarded the impact to the woman in question?
By the few accounts Vito had from his adoptive parents, his mother had been deeply infatuated, if far too young and naive for a thirtysomething gangster with a pitiless determination to get whatever he wanted. He had wanted Antoinietta Donatelli. He had seduced her. His family had always sworn up, down and sideways that Vito wasn’t a product of rape. No, he was the product of a man taking advantage of a woman who didn’t have nearly the worldliness needed to resist him.
Not unlike Gwyn, who didn’t take lovers strictly for the pleasure of physical release.