by Anthology
He takes one step toward me, then another. I tremble as he reaches for me, closing my eyes.
Those eyes fly open when, rather than a sensual caress, I find firm hands clasping my shoulders and gently pushing me away.
“What the hell, Matteo?” Indignant and exposed, I cross my arms over my chest and glare. “You were the one who said that since you had to be faithful to your wife that I would have to be... you know... your real wife. And you want it. I know you do. So what the hell are you doing?”
My voice cracks; I’m very close to shrieking. But this is a rather delicate situation, and after the ways in which my life has been turned upside down in the last few days, I’m feeling more than a little bit on edge.
Matteo closes his eyes, rubs his fingers against his temples. When he looks at me again, his expression is set.
“Yes, the contract states that I have to be faithful.” His stare flickers from my face to my breasts and back, and his face reddens with tension. He kinda looks like he’s going to have a heart attack. “But it does not state that we are required to... consummate... the marriage.”
Again he closes his eyes.
“Go to bed, Riley. I’ll see you in the morning.”
My mouth falls open, and I can feel mortification painting my skin pink.
Maybe I’ve misunderstood everything. Logically, I don’t think so, but here I am, almost naked, throwing myself at my husband, and he’s turning me away...
“You don’t want me. I see.” It’s the only logical conclusion. I don’t want to be the girl who cries, so I blink rapidly to hold back the tears as I turn and scurry toward the door. “I understand. I’ll be going now.”
And I do understand. I know I’m not exactly hard on the eyes—and when I looked in the mirror just moments ago, I really thought I looked pretty—but I’m not leggy, or thin, or glamorous. I don’t look like any of the women he’s used to seeing.
I don’t look anything like Emilia.
“Damn it, Riley. Get back here!”
I ignored Matteo’s shout as I run back down the hallway. His hand closes over my upper arm as I skid into my room; I try to close the door, but he’s right there, blocking the way.
“Go away.” Anger burns away the film of tears, and I glare daggers at my husband. “Go far, far away.”
I push at him, then gasp when he slams the door, then pushes me back against it. I squirm, trying to break free, but he covers me with that long, lean body, holding me in place.
The heat of his skin pressing against mine is maddening. And as I wiggle, I can feel exactly how hard he is, the length of his erection pressing into the softness of my stomach.
He wants me just as much as I want him. So what the hell?
“Let me go.” I try to sound as calm as I possibly can. I just want him to go, so I can be alone with my embarrassment and misery.
The thought of spending the next month like this does not sound appealing.
Rather than doing as I asked, fury crosses his face. I suck in a deep breath as, without warning, he grinds his rock solid pelvis against my softer frame.
“This has nothing... nothing... to do with me not wanting you, so get that out of your gorgeous head right now.” The grinding turns to a slow roll, and my head falls back as delicious sensations take me over.
I open my eyes to find him looking right at me, the same desperate need that I feel mirrored there.
His mouth is just a whisper away from my own; a thin ribbon of space is all that keeps us from devouring one another.
And yet he doesn’t make a move.
It’s infuriating.
Grinding my teeth together in temper, I push away from the wall, ducking under his arm and escaping his grasp. He reaches for me, but I’ve caught him by surprise.
I scamper halfway across the luxurious room then turn. Before he can follow me, I fist my hands in the hem of my nightgown and, with a deep gulp of air for bravery, pull it over my head and throw it away.
“Oh my God.” I’m standing in front of Matteo Benenati, the most eligible man in all of Italy... and I’m naked. I want to squawk and dive under the bedcovers, but I force myself to hold absolutely still as he devours me with his eyes.
I can feel my limbs starting to shake with the strain of the unknown when a garbled sound rises from the depths of his throat.
“Fucking hell, Riley.” Matteo glares at me, his fists clenching and releasing, over and over again, The small movement makes the muscles of his chest ripple, and I can’t tear my gaze away.
When he strips off his shirt with one swift move, I hold my breath.
“I’m a man,” he says darkly, prowling – there’s no other word for it—across the room toward me.
“That fact is readily apparent.” My voice sounds faint even to my own ears. I can’t swallow the small cry when he plunges one hand into my hair, loosening my mass of braids, the other hand finding my waist, and his lips attacking my own.
I groan, long and loud, at the decadent sensation of my bare breasts rubbing against the solid planes of his chest.
“Matteo—” I’m not a begging kind of woman, but in that moment, I’m ready to do absolutely anything to get him to follow through on the promises that he is making with his kisses and his hips.
Finished with my braids, his hands cup my bottom, and he lifts me, pressing me against the firmness of his erection.
And then I’m lying on the bed, completely naked, the sensual feel of smooth satin at my back. My husband stands over me, bare-chested, like a Greek god, and finally, finally, I can see that I’ve broken through his restraint.
My mouth goes dry as he loosens the fastening of his trousers, the reaches for one of the white roses in the ornate crystal vase. Seating himself on the bed beside me, he stops me with a stern look when I reach for him.
He presses the soft petals of the rose to my lips, further shushing me, and my pulse accelerates, as does my breathing.
“I won’t take from you what I don’t deserve to have.” He quells my protest with another dark, dangerous look. My spirits sink, but then he trails the rose from my lips, down the column of my throat, and into the valley between my full breasts, where he pauses.
“Whatever you do, Mrs. Riley Benenati.... do not move.”
Chapter Twelve
MATTEO
The woman is killing me.
I thought that my eyes might bulge right out of my head, first when she showed up in the office wearing that little slip of nothing... and now, again, with her entire luscious body spread out before me to enjoy.
Every fiber of my being wants to lose myself in what she is so sweetly offering. And the Matteo of just a few days ago would, without thinking twice.
But Emilia... for once, Emilia has been the voice of reason. She is so very right...
Riley is nothing like the women who are normally a part of my life. She needs to be treated with care. And that’s why I’m trying to be a man here, even though the way she’s taunting me is just about killing me.
I’m so serious. I feel like I might die. I’m in physical pain.
Riley lies on the bed before me, her smooth, pale skin cast with intriguing shadows from the flames of the candles that she lit—that I meant to light myself, to make our wedding night romantic.
Her eyes are half shut, and her focus is entirely on me. It makes me feel like more of a man than I ever have in my life.
And it’s driving me crazy, trying to hold on to my restraint when a fundamental part of me wants to make her my wife in every sense of the word.
I need something. More, I need to give something to her.
“Matteo?” Riley props herself up on her elbows. The movement makes her breasts jiggle, and I close my eyes and count backward from ten.
When I open them again, I cast a deliberate, hungry stare down the length of her body. I’ve never seen a woman like her in the skin... never knew what I was missing. But now I know what wonder there is in full hips, in the sof
tness of a woman’s stomach... in the delicious movement of full, natural breasts, and in the softness of thighs that aren’t stick thin.
I’ll never be happy with anything else. And I don’t quite know how to resist sinking into all of that softness.
“I believe I told you not to move, Mrs. Benenati.” The challenging spark in Riley’s eyes tells me that she is bound and determined to see this through.
I can’t. But I can do... something.
“And if I do?” Those pale eyes of hers catch my own, hold, and I can feel my pulse stutter. Dio, but this woman is gorgeous. Like, seriously beautiful.
I place my hand flat on her chest, my palm in between her breasts. She gasps, a sexy little sound, as I push her back down so that her head is once again cushioned by the soft pillow.
“I mean it. Do not move, or I’ll tie you in place.”
Her lips fall open a bit in shock, but rather than repulsion, I watch her squirm a little bit.
Sweet little Riley Tremaine likes that idea. Heaven help me.
“Eyes closed.” I brush the rose over her lids to demonstrate. She sighs heavily, but does as I’ve told her.
“Not a word,” I warn her as I start to trail the rose down her face, brushing it over her cheekbones, the line of her jaw. Her lips part beneath the petals as I stroke her mouth, her tongue darting out to swipe over her lower lip, and I’m hard pressed to hold back my own groan.
In silence, I trace the shadows cast by the candlelight over her collarbones, her shoulders. She hugs out a small laugh when I reach the sensitive skin beneath her arms, but true to my command, she remains silent.
Her body tenses when I begin to stroke the flower over her right breast. With long strokes, I trace stripes from the plump base to the erect tip, over and over again, savoring the way her breathing quickens and grows shallow and rapid.
Her teeth sink into her lower lip, and her fists clench in the sheets. I smile grimly, my cock hardening even further, as I watch the flush of arousal turn her skin the most delicious shade of pink.
A sharp cry echoes from her throat when I love past her breasts, pleased to see the way the nipples have contracted tightly and darkened. My own throat goes dry as I continue to play the rose over the soft planes of her belly, enjoying the way she trembles when I reach her lower abdomen.
She moans with frustration when I skim just slightly over that space between her legs, instead moving to tease the sweet skin of her inner thighs with the soft petals.
“Matteo!” Her eyes fly open as I trace more lines, this time leading up those soft inner thighs, to the place that I know needs my attention. Her eyes are wide, glassy with need, and it humbles me that she’s nearly undone by something so simple.
I don’t chide her for speaking—I’m nearly at the end of my own control, as well. It’s harder for me to breathe as I watch the head of the rose glide into the space between Riley’s legs, gathering the moisture there.
That’s where I want to be. But I can’t... I can’t take that from her. I don’t deserve it.
“Matteo, please!” Propping herself up on her elbows again, Riley looks down the length of her body, eyes avidly taking in the sight of the stark white petals stroking over her creamy skin. Her pupils dilate, and knowing just how aroused she is drives me wild.
Still, I hold on to my last sliver of control—hold on to it until she falls back to the pillow, closes her eyes, and begs.
“Matteo, please... I... I need... more.”
I move without even thinking, throwing the rose aside carelessly. Shifting my weight on the bed, I spread her thighs with both hands, drop a kiss onto the softness of her belly, savoring the whimper.
Then slowly, so slowly, I slide my hand between her legs. Her eyes again fly open, and our gazes lock as I slide my fingers through the slickness.
“Is this okay?” I barely recognize the sound of my own voice, hoarse with need. She arches against me in response, and I chuckle darkly.
I wonder if she’s ever done anything like this before. I wonder if she’s ever been naked with a man. The thought that I might be the very first makes me want to thump my chest like a caveman, ridiculous as that sounds.
I have to make this good for her.
My focus narrows, until the only thing I’m aware of is Riley—the way she responds to my touch. I watch her face intently as I find the centre of her pleasure and circle overtop, greedily taking in the way her hips twist beneath my touch, the way she gets louder, making throaty, sexy little cries.
She’s close, I can tell. Hell, I am too, just from giving this to her. But this is about her, not me, so I push away my own rising need, concentrating on what brings her pleasure.
Slowly, so slowly, I slide a finger inside. Her wet heat closes around me, and for a fleeting moment I wonder if I’m about to lose control like a teenager. She’s hot, and tight, and I want more than anything to bury myself inside of her.
Think about someone other than yourself, Matteo.
My arms tremble with restraint as I push inside of her, pull out, push in again. On either side of where I kneel, her thighs start to tremble; her cries become faster, louder, until one keening cry rises about the rest, and her heat clenches down on my hand so tightly that I see stars.
I’m not quite sure what to do after that... I’ve never in my life been in this situation. So I lie down beside her, pull the duvet over her naked body, and pull her in close. I wonder if she’s going to want more once she’s thinking straight again—and after watching her come undone, I don’t know that I have the strength left to resist.
But instead she nuzzles in, falls asleep with her head on my chest. For the longest time I lie there, watching her innocent face as her chest rises and falls with the slow, deep breaths of sleep.
She deserves so much better than me. But I no longer know if I can resist.
RILEY
When I wake up, I’m alone. I sit straight up in bed as the events of last night come flooding back through my consciousness.
“Oh my God.”
Holding up my left hand, I study the diamond encrusted eternity band that has joined the massive engagement ring that I barely had a chance to get used to. They both flash in the early morning sunlight, reinforcing that this is not a dream. I’m married. To Matteo Benenati.
And despite our agreement, he won’t have sex with me.
I can feel my skin heating, partly with embarrassment, partly because, well, wow, when I shift on the bed, wincing at the slight pinch between my legs.
Last night wound up being some kind of magical. I fully believe Matteo now when he says he wants me.
If nothing else, I saw the evidence of that quite plainly last night, felt it pressed against the small of my back as I fell asleep.
I won’t take from you what I don’t deserve to have.
“Screw that.” I shove away the covers, stretching. Despite almost getting thrown in jail two days ago, and despite the stitches that have started to itch like crazy, I feel better than I have in... well, ever.
Though it makes my inner feminist wince, it’s amazing, not having to worry about money. People may sniff at that notion, but let me tell you, when you’ve never gone a single day in your life without counting pennies, that kind of freedom is mind blowing.
Add in the feelings that are growing towards Matteo... and I’m excited to get up and face the day.
An entire day in which to bring him around to my way of thinking.
Grinning, I rifle through my bag. I consider several options before snipping the tags off of a siren red scrap of a bathing suit and a white and red floral sundress. The bathing suit isn’t something that I would ever have even considered wearing before.
But Matteo has made it clear that he likes the way I look, and I’m going to use that to my advantage.
He’s going down.
Dressed in the skimpy bathing suit and the little sundress, skin slathered with sunscreen, I wander out of my room in bare feet. The hallway
is dim and empty, but I can hear voices, so I follow the sound up to the deck of the yacht.
I stop short the second I’m through the doorway. I remember thinking last night that the yacht was big... but with brilliant water in every shade of blue and green stretching out as far as I can see in every direction, the sensation that we are just a tiny speck in a massive world is nearly overwhelming.
It’s humbling and awe-inspiring in its beauty, and I find myself frozen in place, just enjoying the rhythmic beat of the waves slapping against the side of the boat.
The sound of utensils rattling brings me back to myself. I turn to find Matteo seated at a small table set for two, those dark eyes of his watching me intently.
“Good morning.” His face is expressionless. A hint of fear shoots through me—has he changed his mind about me yet again?
But I’m getting to know him well enough that I can just barely discern the fine lines of tension that bracket his mouth.
Well, isn’t that interesting.
“Did you sleep well?” I ask sweetly, pulling out a chair. A crew member rushes over to assist me but I’m seated before he can reach me.
He’s cute, with dark hair, olive skin, and bright green eyes. The name Dante is stitched onto the pocket of his crisp polo shirt. I smile brightly at him, and he winks back, pouring me a cup of steaming caffè e latte.
I’m not interested in him, or in anyone but Matteo, but his appreciative glance buoys my spirits a bit. Especially when I look over the rim of my cup to find Matteo scowling at the poor boy.
“Be nice,” I say mildly, eyeing the plate that he shoves my way, a frown still marring his face.
“Eat.” To demonstrate, he selects a cookie, bites into it with more force than is strictly necessary. I stifle a grin.
“I’ll never get used to eating cookies for breakfast.” Studying the plate, I choose a piece of fette biscottate, a cookie-like hard bread that I’ve learned from experience is slightly less sweet than the other traditional breakfast offerings in Italy.
When I bite into it and lick at my lips to catch the crumbs, Matteo’s eyes follow me, and unbidden, heat settles in the aching place between my legs.