Dark eyes held hers captive, a stark honesty to them. “You wear everything on your face, you tell me in beautiful, honest words what I do to you, your body sings for me when I so much as brush the tip of my finger against it…” Slowly, as if he were a jungle cat, he shed his pants and boxers.
How had he known what she had needed to hear? How did he know that she wanted to please him, if it was the last thing she ever did?
He brought his body down over hers until they were flush from shoulder to thigh to foot.
Pia grasped his back with both hands, drowning in a surfeit of sensations—his angular hips cradling hers, muscular thighs pushing her into the bed, his hands kneading hips and cupping her buttocks. “Do you see how desperately I need you?”
In reply, she slid her hands to his hips. Hard muscles, velvet rough skin, hair-sprinkled limbs so different from her own and yet so perfectly complementary and then there was a litany of Italian from his mouth as she touched and stroked everything. She kneaded his buttocks shamelessly, traced his flank with questing fingers, touched and stroked every inch of tightly honed muscle.
And with each innocent touch of hers, he turned harder, and tighter, his rock-hard erection swelling in the groove of her thighs. The hard, velvet length, the sheer size of him made her mouth dry.
Her heart picked up pace as he kissed the rim of her ear and whispered, “Spread your legs for me, Pia.”
Head bowed into his chest, Pia did. A jolt of sensation spread outward when he rubbed his shaft along her sex. Her breathing hitched to a faster rhythm and soon Raphael’s joined hers. His one hand clasped both of hers above her head while with his other hand, he rubbed himself in her wetness.
“You’re so perfect for me, Pia.” Another slide, another shiver. Another sigh from her mouth. “As if you were made for me.”
Slow shivers built in her spine at the slick slide of him against her. Even oversensitized from her climax, a whisper of sensation pooled again at her sex. And then, suddenly, he was inside her in a hard yet somehow smooth, unsuspecting movement.
Her spine bucking, Pia gasped at the invasion. Nails digging into his shoulders, she tried to buck him off but he remained lodged inside her.
It was as if there was a hot poker inside her. His body incredibly rigid, his muscles tense, Raphael whispered words against her temple, her eyes, her nose. Fervent promises to make it better, feverish endearments as if he couldn’t bear to hurt her. “Look at me, cara mia. I promise you the worst is done.”
Pia opened her eyes, terrified of showing him what she was feeling. Of making him think she didn’t want this, didn’t want him. But such a warm smile dawned in his eyes that it drove away her misgivings. “You’re the science teacher, si?”
Her sex spasmed as if to remind her and he sank in a little more. “I’m sorry, Raphael. I… I didn’t mean to…”
“No sorries between us, Pia. Not when I’ve to hurt you a little more before I can give you pleasure.”
Tiny beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. His skin was like damp velvet under her fingers. He looked as if he was hewn from some rough stone, so stark were the bones of his face. He was exercising immense control, Pia realized, and felt like a big coward. “I don’t care how much it hurts, please move.”
“Kiss me, cara mia. Like you mean it,” he added with a taunt.
Unclenching her fists, Pia took his mouth in a soft kiss. Hands in his hair, she pulled him down, angling his mouth the way she wanted it. It was the first time he let her drive a kiss between them. Liking the way he growled under her touch, Pia slid her tongue inside his mouth in a silky sweep that made him groan deep in his throat.
She peppered his jaw with urgent kisses, licked his neck like a cat, and then dug her teeth into the groove of his shoulder. A timely epithet flew from his mouth even as his hip jerked, sending sensation spiraling down her spine.
And just like that, slowly, her body got used to his invasion inside of her. She softened and stretched around him, a slow pulse of pleasure spiraling out from there. When he moved within her in soft, slow strokes, it was as if there was a poem of pleasure being written inside her. As if she were being taken apart and remade again within Raphael’s hands.