I wonder if he likes that.
I wonder why I care, but I do.
I’ve fully prepared myself toclose my eyes and think of England, to endure my duty by distracting myself. I can never love a man like Salvatore. I wonder, at times, if I could ever loveanyman after what I’ve seen and how I’ve been raised. I’d have been content to be single for the rest of my life rather than try to be someone I’m not.
But here I am, prepared to undress him, because I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut and I apparently don’t know what’s good for me.
My hands shake as I reach for his suit coat. That has to come off first, I’m thinking. I lift one sleeve, give it a tug, and he helps me by shrugging so the jacket falls into my hands. The sheer weight of it surprises me, but I guess it makes sense. Layers and layers of fabric, and he’s a big guy.
“Aren’t you hot under that?” I ask. “I would be stifling.”
“Why don’t you help me take them off, then.” Those blue, blue eyes of his grow molten.
“That’s a good idea, sir,” I say teasingly, but I’m only pretending to be brave. I’m scared as a little church mouse that once I undress him, he’ll devour me. I’m not sure I’ll survive. It’s what men like him do. It’s why people like me can’t fall for them.
He could wrap me in his arms and there wouldn’t be one speck of Marialena left showing, he’s that much bigger than I am. I take a quick moment to admire the bulging breadth of his shoulders, the corded muscle visible even under his shirt, even the little vee of white where his shirt falls open. Somewhere along the line he lost his tie, which is fine by me because I know he’d only use it as one of his many tools anyway, and he doesn’t need any more help.
Fingers still trembling, I reach for the buttons on his shirt.
“These look a bit easier than those ridiculous ones you had to work with,” I mutter.
He only gives me a casual shrug. I’m stalling for time, of course, and trying to hide the way my hands shake when I get closer to seeing him unclothed.
One button. Two. Three. By the fourth, the shirt’s looser, and I can see the tan skin above the white cotton T-shirt. On impulse, I lean in and brush my lips across the very top of the tee, where his naked skin shines like bronzed metal. If he has any reaction, he schools it well.
I return to unfastening the buttons. The fifth button, then the sixth come undone. The rest of his shirt is tucked into his pants. Now this is where things ought to get interesting.
I’m going to have a little.
I lower myself to my knees in front of him, peering intently at his belt buckle as if that’s the only thing on my mind right now, and if he’s thinking about other things, that’s his dirty mind and not mine. I don’t unbuckle at first, though.
I take a moment to breathe in deeply. To observe the tight ridge in his pants, the powerful stance of his legs spread apart. To watch the way his breath catches when I run my hands up the length of his clothed thighs. I kiss one thigh, then the other, and I know I’m really pushing the limits here, but I’m obsessed with the need to make him want me. We only have one “first time,” and this is it.
His hardened length grows when I unbuckle his belt. I slide the tip of the leather through the metal buckle, then quickly tug it off. It slides through the loops like a charmed snake. I wait for him to ask for it, still aware that he threatened to take his belt to me once, but he only stands, stoic and silent, waiting for me to complete undressing him.
I curl the belt up slowly, almost methodically, and slide it onto the floor beside me.
Next, I reach for the fastening of his pants. My knuckles graze his flat stomach. I imagine what it would be like to have the heft and strength of his body over mine. To feel that immense power held at bay. I swallow hard. I let my fingers brush a little longer and a little further than necessary. I dip my fingers a little lower than I need to and pretend it’s the button slipping through the buttonhole I’m focused on, not the way his erection strains against the silky texture of his pants.
The button pops undone. I look up at him from beneath lowered eyelashes. I almost stop breathing at the intensity in his eyes, the predatory, wolfish look of a half-starved animal.
If I hadn’t seen humanity in him these past twenty-four hours, I’d run.
I slowly slide my tongue out of my mouth and lick the tip of the metal zipper. I grip it with my teeth, my eyes on his, and tug it down.
I savor the way his breath catches.
Slick arousal pools between my thighs. My breasts swell. My breathing slows, heavier and thick with the weight of sexual tension between us.
I don’t know what it is about him—the way the blue of his eyes bore into me? The command in his tone and touch? Or maybe it’s the vows that bind us together, that make us one despite neither of us wanting to make this choice. But I’ve never wanted sex with anyone like I do with Salvatore. Something tells me he’ll rip me apart, but I don’t care.
I want this. I wanthim.
This isn’t love. There’s nothing more than carnal attraction between us. But right now, that’s good enough.
I tug down his pants and place my hands on his upper thighs. I feel the hard, thick muscle and coarse hair, the radiating heat of him burning my palms. Slowly, I drag my hands down the length of his legs, dragging his clothes with them. I bend my mouth to his fully covered erection and plant a tentative kiss.
His fingers stab into my hair, yanking my head back.