by Неизвестный
She began kissing him back with an oral assault as brutal as his, raking her hands up into his hair, digging her nails into his scalp. He took her hair in return, winding it round one large hand and pulling her head backwards so that her mouth burst from his, her neck and back arching away from his body. With his free hand he tugged the bow between her breasts, Paige gasping when she felt the top part, then fall right away from her body.
Their eyes met for a moment, and then he kissed her again, snaking his free arm around her waist and yanking her hard against him. Her own arms wound tightly around his neck, her naked breasts and erect nipples rubbing against his chest.
She moaned under the thrust of his tongue, and the pressure of his penis against her stomach. It was so easy to imagine how it would feel, doing to her what his tongue was doing to her mouth.
Before she knew it her feet had been lifted slightly off the floor and he was carrying her with him into the bedroom, her body still clasped tightly to his. But, once there, he disengaged his mouth and laid her down across the bed, where she lay in a helpless state of dazed arousal while he stripped himself, then stripped her.
Stripping her proved amazingly quick, the bows on her hips as ineffective a barrier as the one between her breasts.
Paige's heart stopped when he tugged away the scrap of pink, her face heating when he just stared down at her for what felt like ages.
'You're so beautiful,' he said at last, and with unexpectedly gentle hands began caressing her where his eyes had been.
Paige moaned softly, then bit her bottom lip. When he replaced his hands with his lips and tongue she did cry out...with the sharpest, sweetest pleasure she had ever known.
Yet Jed's attempt to do the same had made her feel physically sick.
Antonio's mouth made her feel nothing but beautiful and sensual and loved. Oh, yes, there was love in his lips, and love in her heart for him.
'Antonio,' she groaned, when that love began reaching for a physical release.
'Antonio, please...'
When he stopped, and drove deep into her burning, throbbing flesh, she cried out his name again. It echoed through the houseboat, and possibly across the waters. And he answered her, calling out her name as they came together, telling her in that shatteringly intimate moment how special she was to him, how it was her he wanted to make love with, not just any woman.
'Oh, Antonio,' she murmured as she hugged him to her afterwards. "That was wonderful. You were wonderful. Just wonderful...'
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WONDERFUL.
She was the one who was wonderful, Antonio was to think many times over the next few days. A wonderful companion. A wonderful lover. And a wonderful listener. She made him want to confide in her, to share things which up till now he'd kept hidden from others for fear of being denigrated or laughed at.
A couple of days ago he'd actually found himself telling her all about his background, right back to his birth in a small village in the south of Italy, the illegitimate son of the black sheep daughter of his family. Named Gina, his mother had been a real disgrace, running round with lots of different men from the time she was fourteen. When she'd fallen pregnant, at eighteen, she hadn't even been able to point a definite finger at any man, though most of the males for miles had run for cover. The only clue to his father was that he must have been very tall, which had rather ruled out the men in the village. Possibly a tourist, the villagers had speculated. Gina had a penchant for tall men. And short men. Fat men. Rich men. Poor men.
Ashamed by the never-ending gossip, her peasant parents had finally thrown their notorious daughter and her bastard son out of the house. The man-mad Gina had gone to Rome, where she'd tried to raise Antonio herself, but it had been hard, and she'd finally turned to prostitution to make ends meet Antonio recalled lying in a small bed against a thin cold wall, trying not to cry
as he listened to the sounds of his mother being used or beaten, or both, in the next room. In the end, one night, when he was seven, she'd been bashed to death by a drunken client.
'Oh, you poor darling!' Paige had cried out at that point in his story, and had hugged him close. 'You poor, poor darling.'
He'd hugged her back and understood, perhaps for the first time, why he'd always reacted so badly to violence against women.
He'd had no trouble telling her the rest of his childhood story after that: how his grandparents had been forced to take him in, but how they'd felt ashamed of his existence. By the time he was twelve he'd been shipped off to distant relatives in Australia. They hadn't wanted him, either, but they'd tolerated his presence and at least sent him to school, where he'd put all his energies into learning languages, something he had a natural talent for. He'd left their home as soon as possible, much to their relief, and hadn't been in contact since. His elderly grandparents, he'd found out some time back, were long dead.
Paige had expressed sadness at this as well.
'Oh, what a shame! I'm sure they would have been so proud to learn of the success you've made of your life.'
Her sympathetic listening to his pretty sordid tale had touched him. She had a soft heart, a good heart. She would make a good mother, he'd realized at that point.
He'd asked her about her own mother as well. But she didn't know much more than he did. Just that the woman had been an orphan, brought up in foster homes. When she'd died she'd left behind no known relatives.
Poverty and emotional neglect, Antonio imagined, had
probably been responsible for making Paige's mother ruthlessly ambitious. And hard. And selfish.
Paige was nothing like her, thank heavens. Nothing like her father, either, except perhaps in her intelligence and lust for life.
Lust for other things as well.
Their main activity on the houseboat so far had been making love, in just about every place and position they could, except perhaps the top deck. Paige liked a degree of privacy for her passion.
Occasionally they felt guilty, and cruised a little before dropping anchor in another perfectly private little spot. He'd started one of the novels he'd brought with him, and done the odd spot of fishing. Paige spent quite a bit of time cooking. They hadn't been ashore for dinner as yet. They hadn't wanted to. Yet it was already Monday. The days were flying by.
Still, he'd rung and booked a table for the Wednesday night, since that was her birthday. And he had some special presents which he'd bought before they left Sydney, one of which he hoped would not be premature.
But by then time would really be running out, and he would have to make his move regardless.
Had she fallen in love with him as she'd said she might?
She never used the words, but once or twice he'd caught her looking at him with that wonderfully soft, almost adoring look in her eyes, and his stomach had flipped right over. There again, she had also sometimes looked at him with eyes empty of everything but a glazed desire. Perhaps all she felt for him war lust.
Surely not, he decided.
'You're doing it again!'
Antonio's head lifted from the towel he was lying on
to stare, first at her slender ankles, then at her shapely calves.
'Doing what?' he asked, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand as they worked their way higher.
'Nothing!'
His head lifted some more and he grinned up at her. She was wearing a pair of those short shorts of hers. Purple. And a purple and white striped midriff top which was an invitation in itself, being so bare that if she moved her arms slightly he was given tantalising glimpses of the undersides of her always bare breasts. Just looking at her excited him these days, which was awkward when he was only wearing a swimming costume. Fortunately, he was lying face-down on the top sundeck.
'That's why I came on this jaunt, isn't it?' he asked her. 'To do nothing?'
'Not all the time. What worthwhile activities have you got planned for the rest of today?'
'Well...later this afternoon, I aim to
do some serious fishing. We're running out of supplies.'
'It's only one o'clock. The fish don't bite till dusk. There's a lot of time in between now and then.'
'In that case why don't you join me down here for some serious sunbaking? Pop off those clothes of yours and get yourself an all-over tan.'
She didn't exactly blush, but she looked scandalized at the idea, which rather amused him. Was this the same girl who, only last night, had prepared him dinner wearing nothing but an apron? Not the large barbecue kind of apron, either, which would have covered most of her. A saucy little tie-round-the-waist apron, with lace around the edges, which had left her naked from the waist up and totally nude at the back, except for the bow.
She'd burned the dinner in the end.
What was it about bows which turned him on so?
Damn it all, he shouldn't have started thinking about that now. Things were going from bad to worse in his nether region.
He glanced up at her again, and decided suffering of this kind really was masochistic when the girl of his dreams was standing right next to him.
'What's the problem?' he asked a mite testily. 'There's no one about to see you. A bit of nudity didn't bother you last night.'
"That was different,' she returned rather primly. "That was night-time. Besides, I don't want to have skin cancer in ten years. It's all right for you Mediterranean born and bred people. You have heaps of melanin in your skin and go this lovely dark brown colour. We fair people get freckles, and melanomas.'
'I have some sunscreen here,' he suggested, determined not to give up. 'I could rub some on your back, and all those other hard to reach places,' he added suggestively.
"That stuff?' she scorned. 'It's downright dangerous. Mostly coconut oil and only sun factor four, and not worth spitting on.'
'Fair enough. But it does for me, so how about rubbing some on my back, then? I can't really reach.'
He lay back down and waited, and waited, for some movement, or an answer. When there was nothing but silence, he glanced up at her again to find her staring down at him with a frown on her face.
'What's the matter?' he asked, puzzled by her lack of response. It wasn't like her to turn down a chance of some action. Usually, she was insatiable!
'Nothing. I...oh, all right, then,' she said, and sighed.
A strange sigh, full of an oddly weary resignation, as if she was doing something she really didn't want to do, but would do it this once, just for him.
Paige knew she should not do this. This was something which should remain a fantasy in her mind. This was something which might lead to trouble.
Admittedly, she'd already touched him all over in the last few days. And kissed him all over. She'd even done that, up to a point But this fantasy demanded much more. It demanded total sensuality and surrender to that sensuality. It demanded skill, and daring. It demanded total commitment. And total love.
The danger lay in the unexpected, and the unknown. What if she lost control and blurted out her love for him? What if the intensity of her emotions sent Antonio running a mile? Again.
He might want commitment. But not obsession.
No, no, she should not do this. Her common sense warned her against it. She was risking everything for the sake of physical pleasure.
But common sense had never been much of a match for the feelings Antonio could evoke. In the end, the temptation to bring that ultimate fantasy to life was too strong. And she was too weak...
Now Antonio sighed. With the anticipation of pleasure. For she'd squatted down and picked up the bottle of oil, and was now pouring some in the well of her right hand. His head was resting on his hands and turned to the side, his eyes slanted open just enough to see. He could not wait for her to lean over and start rubbing it into his back. But then she did something which surprised him.
Instead of just leaning over him from where she was, she moved round to straddle his hips, her body settling onto his buttocks, pressing him hard down against the deck, producing a mad mixture of pleasure and pain.
Oh, hell!
Grimacing, he flexed every muscle he owned and gathered himself for the moment when her hands would find his skin...
Paige gave up trying to hold back the moment she touched him. If she was going to bring this fantasy to life, she was going to do it properly.
No stranger to massage, she let her fingers operate on automatic pilot for a while, kneading the tension out of Antonio's shoulders and shoulderblades, before working her way slowly down his spine.
'God, that feels good,' Antonio groaned when she reached the small of his back. 'You could do this for a living.'
'I had a lot of practice at it once.'
'What? Where?'
'In a massage parlour.'
His head snapped up and she pushed it back down. 'Only joking. I'll tell you later. I can't talk and do this at the same time.' Which was true. The feel of his flesh under her hands, plus the anticipation of what she was about to do, was turning her on so much she could hardly think.
'I'm just going to work on your legs,' she told him, her voice sounding like treacle as she lifted herself off his buttocks to kneel between his feet.
With painstaking and highly erotic thoroughness she massaged his thighs, then behind each knee, his calves, the soles of his feet, and finally each and every toe. By the time she worked her way back up his legs again Paige was beside herself with the most heart-pounding excitement. Antonio had long been reduced to silence, though he'd flinched and whimpered a few times when she'd been doing his toes.
Turn over,' she ordered, after shifting to kneel beside him.
His eyes cracked open just enough to meet hers. 'I don't think that's such a good idea,' he told her thickly.
'But I do,' she insisted, and his eyes opened a little more.
With a shuddering sigh, he did as he was told.
'Mmm,' was all Paige could manage as she stared down at him.
Antonio stared back up at her for long moment, then thought, What the hell! Sitting up, he slipped off his togs, tossed them aside, then lay back down.
'Be gentle with me,' he murmured. She was. She was also incredibly sensual, incredibly imaginative and incredibly skilled. At some stage she divested herself of her own clothes as well, but would not let him touch her in any way.
'This is my fantasy,' she growled, and pushed his eager hands away to flog with impatient idleness beside his supine body once more.
Still, as much as he was dying to touch and taste her, watching Paige doing as much to him, with such a dark and decadent assertiveness, evoked its own wild excitement. No power on earth could have stopped him coming, yet she didn't seem to mind. She simply continued, rearousing him once more till he was totally erect again.
When she finally straddled him, and impaled herself upon his exquisitely tormented flesh, his head was practically lifting off. He could not take his eyes off her, watching her rise and fall upon him in a state of utter abandon, her breasts glistening from where she'd rubbed herself all over his oil-slicked body.
'Paige,' he cried out in warning, when he knew he was going to come once more.
He need not have worried. Because she was already there, her mouth gasping wide, her buttocks tensing as her spasms started. He groaned under the power of her contractions, then rushed to join her, their climaxes blending in one long scream of violent sensations. Afterwards, she collapsed forwards, her hair flying out then falling in a curtain over her face and his upper body. For a few minutes their chests continued to heave 'together but then they grew quiet, both of them spent forces;
Antonio lay there under her still, silent self, no longer in any doubt about Paige's feelings for him. He knew lust when he saw it.
His heart sank a little at the realisation, then hardened once he accepted the inevitability of the situation. She'd loved once, with a love which had stayed with her for years. Maybe she was no more capable of love now than he was.
But that didn't mean she w
ouldn't agree to marry him. Who knew? Maybe she wouldn't know the difference between love and lust, as Conrad had implied. She was still only young, and relatively inexperienced in life.
So he cuddled her to him, and told her how wonderful she was. She didn't say anything back, just buried her face into his chest, shuddering a little occasionally.
At least she didn't cry any more after they made love, he thought ruefully, though she was inevitably quiet, as though the experience had momentarily shattered her.
'So,' he said softly after a while, stroking her hair away from her face and eyes. 'Are you going to tell me where you learned to massage like that?'