Why wouldn’t he smile? She probably looked like a wild woman.
“Beautiful Anna,” he said softly, and he threaded his fingers through her awful, scrunched-up hair and brought his mouth to hers.
The kiss was long. And tender.
It wasn’t at all what she expected.
Her couple of experiences of The Morning Thing involved one kind of kiss.
A kiss that was a prelude to morning sex.
Which, as she had already established, was not her thing at all.
But this kiss was.
It was soft. Undemanding. A sweet meeting of lips, of tongues …
“Stop analyzing,” Draco whispered.
Anna jerked back.
“What do you mean? I am not analy—”
“Sì, Signorina Avocato. You are.” He drew her to him, his lips curved in a smile. “You’re being an attorney, trying to decide what to say. What to do. And you’re struggling for answers to questions. Why did we make love? Why did he spend the night? Why did I permit it?” He kissed her again. “This is not a courtroom, Anna.”
Anna couldn’t help smiling. “And a good thing it isn’t.”
“I agree, for if it were a courtroom …” Draco rolled her onto her back. “If it were, I could not do this.”
“Oh. Oh …”
“Or this.”
Her lashes drooped to her cheeks. “Draco,” she whispered, “Draco, wait …”
He kissed her, and this kiss was not tender or soft—it was hot and urgent. So was the play of his fingers on her breast. And when he parted her thighs, brought his mouth to her core, Anna cried out, reached for her lover, rose to him and impaled herself on his rigid flesh.
It turned out that there was no problem with bed-head hair.
“Don’t look at me,” Anna said a long time later when Draco wanted to do exactly that. “I’m a mess.”
His dark eyebrows rose.
“You think so?” he said, and when she nodded, he scooped her into his arms, carried her to the bathroom and stood her before the full-length mirror. “Look,” he said, and when Anna groaned and tried to turn away, he wouldn’t let her. “Look,” he demanded in a tone she’d learned meant he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
So she looked—and saw herself, her hair a tousled mass of gold curls, her mouth pink and gently swollen, her breasts still rosy from her last orgasm.
She saw the faint blue bruises on her thighs where Draco had nipped her flesh, then soothed it with kisses; saw a matching mark on her throat …
Saw him standing behind her, his arms cradling her.
God, how beautiful he was. How incredibly masculine. How big and powerful and …
Her breath caught as he cupped her breasts, played with her nipples as his eyes grew dark as the night.
Watching him, watching herself, was the most erotic thing Anna had ever done.
He bent his head, nuzzled aside the curls from the nape of her neck and kissed her skin, then kissed the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She moaned, reached between them and encircled as much as she could of his rigid, straining erection.