She licked her lips. “Because it would make it pretty obvious we got together just for show if I left right away, wouldn’t it?” Tossing the tablet onto the sofa, she jerked a shoulder. “I could say I’m going to see family and we could let it die off from there.”
“We could,” he said carefully, so emotionless a scalding pain rose behind her breastbone.
For a moment she couldn’t even breathe, let alone speak or move. Then she found a smile of false bravado and brought her hands to the sides of his head.
His hot palms settled on her hips, holding her off as he gave her a questioning look.
She didn’t have a very strong grip on her emotions, and keeping anything from him these days was pretty much impossible, but she tried to affect nonchalance.
“Don’t worry. I’m not staking a claim. I’ll figure it out in a little while. But I’d like to leave you with something to remember.”
Then, because she had spent a great deal of time devoting herself to learning what turned him on, she did everything she could to arouse him. She rarely instigated lovemaking unless they were in bed. It was shyness and lack of confidence, but today she left inhibition at the door and pressed herself against him suggestively.
She ran her hands over him with the proprietary touch she usually suppressed. His shoulders were a landscape of masculinity, appealing to the primal woman in her that sought protection and provision. His buttons opened to, first, the warm silk of his shirt, then the satin of his skin, with the fine hairs on his breastbone and a dark arrow to his navel that teased her lips as she kissed what she exposed. His nipples were sharp against her tongue and her teasing made him suck in a quick breath.
She kissed him, not just letting him know she was receptive, but taking the initiative, not hinting that she wanted to make love, but demanding it. It was exhilarating to be this assertive.
He let her bare his chest and open his pants, swiveling so he leaned his hips against the back of the sofa and stepped his feet apart, drawing her into the space. Then he cupped her face so he could kiss her, not taking control, but not passive. Never passive.
Her own clothes loosened, suit jacket falling away, bow at her neck tugging then falling into ribbons of blue polka dots on white. Vito drew back long enough to pull the sheer confection over her head then brought her against him again, skin to skin, both of them murmuring approving noises.
Vito had experienced the advances of women in the past. Often it was a power play or a quid pro quo of some kind. Sometimes he relaxed and enjoyed it, other times he set the pace that suited him.
Gwyn, guileless, sensual Gwyn, undid him. She was so very entrancing in her conservative exterior and her abandonment to lovemaking, especially today as she licked into his mouth, rubbing against him in a way that was not so much practiced as pure. She was trying to turn him on, but the way she grew bright-eyed and flushed with hectic color was even more arousing.
When she released his belt and opened his pants, he let her drag them down his thighs, watching her drop to her knees and loving the sight of her taking him in hand. The sensations of her wet worship, the encompassing heat and delicate suction, had him tempted to let her take him all the way. This was something he would remember for the rest of his life. He would never forget her. He had known that before she’d begun anointing him this way.
But if they were saying goodbye, he wanted to do the same to her. To make this last. To create the sort of memory that would sustain them both for the rest of their lives.
That knowledge was a sharp twist in his gut that allowed him to pull her to her feet, turning her so she faced the back of the sofa.
“Wait. I want—”
“Are you not doing what I want, mia bella?” He paused in bringing her skirt up, waiting. “Giving me something to remember you by?”
Her knuckles were white where she gripped the leather. “Yes,” she whispered. “But I want to see you. Kiss you.”
“You will,” he promised her, kissing her bare shoulder, then drawing back to memorize the sight of plum wool bunched on the small of her back as he pressed her to bend forward. He stroked his hand over pale white cheeks wearing a line of amethyst lace. Those he dispatched to around her ankles in a moment, caressing her where she was plump and wet, hearing her whimper under his touch, back arching, shoulders shuddering with pleasure.
“We will always have this,” he vowed, pressing into her. “Now come for me.” He shifted his hand so he was giving her all the pleasure she could bear. “Surrender to me. It’s what I love the most,” he told her, opening his mouth on her nape, losing himself to the delight of thrusting into her, barely holding on as she suddenly gasped and clenched in strong pulses around him. Her gorgeous cries of fulfillment went through him like church bells.