by BETH KERY
Emma had a fleeting impression of a luxury suite with gleaming mahogany wood and a king-sized bed. Then Vanni was reaching behind her neck and tearing open the knot he’d just made up on the deck. He jerked the bikini top down over her breasts and pushed her toward the bed. Emma spilled backward, her knees at the edge of the mattress. He came down over her, his hands planted next to her shoulders, elbows bent, his lower body pressing her down into the bed. One second she’d been standing, and the next his mouth was enclosing her breast. She gasped at the impact of him, his hot suck on her sensitive flesh, his rigid, laving tongue on her nipple. Liquid heat flooded her, answering his fierce, wild demand. She felt his cock jump against her thigh. He flexed his hips, grinding himself against her, unapologetic in his need.
She understood this was the same fire that had raged in him on the dock. It leapt up even stronger now, more furious because it had been banked and forced to simmer under wraps. She was more than willing to be the focus of his distilled desire and chaotic emotions. She wasn’t afraid of him; her own need more than matched his.
He gathered both of her breasts in his hands and plumped them for his ravening mouth. He lifted his head after a moment and switched his target, latching on to her other nipple and drawing on it so precisely, so sweetly, that she clutched at his head in rising desperation and flexed her hips, pushing her sex into the bed to get an indirect pressure on it. As if he felt the give in her flesh, he ground against her, his cock feeling like a long, heavy poker throbbing beneath the thin layer of his trunks.
He lifted his head a moment later, still squeezing her breasts in his hands. She stared down at him, panting. He seemed transfixed as he stared at her, his thumbs rubbing her slick, erect nipples. Her clit pinched in arousal at the vision, and she whimpered. His avid stare transferred to her face.
“Why are you doing this to me?’ he asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, overwhelmed by the question for some reason. His nostrils flared, his mouth slanting as if he found her answer wanting. He shifted his weight to the side of her and reached for the bikini top, which was still fastened below her breasts. He whipped the material off her a second later and pushed himself off the bed.
“Come here,” he said, his mouth hard but his touch on her hand gentle enough as he pulled her into a sitting position. “Stand up. I’m going to tie your hands behind your back.
She stood, eying him warily. Nevertheless, she turned her back to him and let him bind her wrists at her lower back with the skimpy fabric and strings of her bikini top. He spun her back around with his hands on her shoulders. She opened her mouth to ask him what he planned, but suddenly his mouth was covering hers and she was enveloped in his angry, hot consumption.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked him a moment later when he abruptly ended their kiss.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” he snarled. “Yes. You’re making me feel so damn . . .”
“What?” she whispered when his deep voice caught.
“Alive,” he grated out, his eyes a little wild. “It . . . hurts.”
“Vanni—” she whispered, confused and concerned by his words, but he was having none of her compassion. He was single-minded in his desire to burn. He pushed lightly on her shoulders.
“Go down on your knees,” he said.
She blinked, considering denying him. But then she looked into his eyes and saw all the anguish and confusion and white-hot need exposed there. She’d done that, by insisting they talk about Cristina and her dying words. His feelings were natural. What’s more, they were as right as a storm letting loose after all that pressure built for so many years.
She let her weight go. He felt it and tightened his hold on her shoulders, guiding her to her knees. She stared at his crotch. Only his swim shorts covered his cock. It was tenting the fabric, trapped by it, straining to be released. Vanni liberated it with a vicious jerk of the shorts out over his cock and down to his thighs. His erection sprung free, heavy and tumescent. He stepped toward her, his hand cupping the back of her head. She looked up at him as he fisted the thick shaft and lifted it to her lips. What she saw in his blazing eyes made her want to cry. There was an apology shining through all that feral heat. He needn’t be sorry. She understood his exposed pain, maybe more than he did.
She opened her lips and he guided his cock between them. They stretched around his girth as he pushed the fat, turgid crown across her tongue. A rough groan rattled his throat when she polished the head with her tongue. He flexed his hips back, withdrawing, only to pierce her mouth again. She strained to bathe the shaft with her tongue, but he tightened his hold on her head, gripping at her hair.
“Stay still,” he rasped. She did as he asked while he plunged the first several inches of his cock in and out of her mouth rapidly. Heat spread in her cheeks. Her pussy tingled. She kept her lips a rigid ring around him, but otherwise, he wouldn’t let her do much . . . except be the target of his desire. For some reason, being forced not to move made her crave his cock more. Her tongue pressed hard up against that delicious, quarter-inch-thick ridge below the fat crown. He groaned and his fingers flexed tighter in her hair. She clamped his cock so hard her mouth hurt and sucked until her cheeks collapsed from the vacuum.
“Holy . . .” He said something else, but it was on a groan and she couldn’t make it out. Holding her head firmly, he flexed, sending his cock further into her mouth, filling her. Overfilling her. Her eyes opened wide, but then he was granting her a reprieve. He was back almost immediately, though. This time, she continued to suck hungrily, needing him. The tip touched her throat and she gagged reflexively. He withdrew, but she craned forward, not letting him escape so easily. He loosened his hold slightly on her hair, and she felt it. She ducked her head back and forth, taking him a fraction of an inch further each time, her craving overcoming her body’s instinct to reject him. She found it grew easier with each pass.
“Dammit, Emma,” he bit out above her, and then he was holding her still again, but his cock kept coming, driving into her mouth, wild and ruthless. She let herself be the center of the storm for a stretched moment, surrendering to his need.
A vicious curse ripped out of his throat, and his cock was sliding out of her mouth. It was jarring, to be so suddenly empty of him. She opened her eyes and stared up at him, confused. His mouth was slanted in a thin line. He reached down, lifting her with a hand beneath her elbows. His jutting, damp cockhead pushed against her belly when he leaned down over, untying her top and freeing her wrists.
“Why do you always have to test me?” he growled, jerking impatiently at the strings.
“I thought you said I always seemed out of your reach,” she said dazedly, her throat raspy from taking his cock so deep. “I was just trying to show you I’m not.”
He ripped the top over hands. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said. “Right now, take off the panties and go and lie on the bed.”
Panting softly, she did what he said, her anticipation and wary excitement building by the second. She lay on her back on the mattress, her head on the pillows.
“Move to the center of the bed,” he said. “And spread your thighs.”
He waited until she’d taken the position before he shoved his shorts off his legs. Cupping his jutting erection from below, he stalked toward the bed. He flicked his hand over the length, sending a hot stab of excitement through her, before he came onto the bed on his hands and knees, kneeling over her. He reached between her thighs and palmed her outer sex, almost immediately sending his middle finger into her slit. She gasped, staring up at him, helpless in her desire as he finger fucked her.
“You’re soaking wet,” he grated out, white teeth flashing.
“I told you I was no angel,” she choked wryly.
“But you are,” he snarled, withdrawing his finger and grasping his cock. “Sent here to test me. Now . . . spread your thighs farth
er.”
He placed one hand on her inner knee and pushed back firmly so that her thigh rose and her hips rolled back on the bed. He presented the head of his cock to her slit, flexing, forcing her to part for the swollen tip. His hand made a swiping motion, scattering the pillows next to her head off the bed before it settled next to her head. He held her stare, his gaze blazing, as he slowly thrust his cock into her. She clenched her teeth at the hard, relentless pressure. A muscle jumped in his cheek. His balls pressed tight against her outer sex and she bit off a scream.
“Put your hands above your head,” he said. “Hold on to your wrists. You’re not allowed to move them. I couldn’t take your hands on me right now.”
She did what he’d directed, feeling full and incendiary. She held her breath; there wasn’t room for air and Vanni’s furiously throbbing cock in her body.
“I’m going to fuck you hard. I cant’ help it, Emma,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.
“I know,” she whispered. “I want it.”
His face collapsed for a brief second, the vision making her heart squeeze in anguish. Then he was drawing his cock out of her to the tip and thrusting deep again, and then again, a wave pounding at the shore relentlessly. She bit her lip to stop from screaming. His intensity and arousal were such that it was slightly uncomfortable. But she lifted her hips for him nevertheless, wanting this. Needing it. She held her breath as the headboard began to rock against the wall as he drove into her, and she stared up at the wild, fierce expression on his face. Rabid lust had turned his already supertoned body into a rigid coil. Lean muscle bulged against smooth skin, only adding to her impression that he was about to explode. She bobbed her hips, matching his fast tempo. Slowly, the uncomfortable pressure morphed into a sizzling burn.
“Fuck,” he snarled, feeling her excitement. He switched his hands to her wrists, pushing her hands into the pillow. He extended his long legs on the mattress and reared up over her. Emma clenched her eyes shut, intuiting what was coming. He came up on his toes and the balls of his feet, driving his cock into her with the power of his whole body. He fucked her like that for several heart-stopping moments, the headboard clacking loudly against the wall, Emma keening uncontrollably. The friction he built in her sparked and flared. She shook in climax as he power-fucked her, seeking his own relief with blind desperation.
He roared as he came, the harsh sound blistering her ears and echoing in her skull. He caught his breath and thrust into her again, another shout tearing out of his throat. She’d never witnessed him more savage.
She’d never seen him so beautiful.
He collapsed down over her after a moment, gasping wildly for air. In his momentary weakness, she broke free of his hold on her hands. She put her arms around his neck, pulling him to her. Something swelled in her chest, something sweet and huge and agonizingly sharp.
“Shhh,” she soothed, rubbing his back muscles, feeling his ribs expand and contract as he fought for air. His head fell between her neck and shoulder. She could feel the puffs of his warm breath against her skin.
“I’m sorry,” he groaned.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, her fingers delving into his thick hair. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”
His panting ceased, his rib cage convulsing, before he exhaled again roughly. “I want more time.”
“What?” she asked, her hands freezing.
“Give me more time,” he bit out between clenched teeth.
“I . . . we can talk about it later,” she fumbled. He lifted his head and scored her with his stare. “Don’t, Vanni. Don’t make me decide right now.”
“Why?” he asked, still panting. She felt cornered by the single word and all its meanings.
“Because it’s already happening . . . what I didn’t want to happen,” spilled out of her throat. It was hard to withhold the truth after his fiery, honest lovemaking. He stilled.
“What? What’s happened?”
“I’m starting to fall in love with you,” she said desperately. “It may already be too late.”
His expression flattened.
“Emma,” he whispered fiercely. He shook his head incredulously. “How can you say that to me after what I just did to you?”
She shrugged helplessly. “I think that’s what popped it out of me.”
He stared at her, his face rigid with shock. Then his mouth twitched. His smile broke free at the same time hers did, a brilliant radiance after a storm. An unpleasant thought intruded, but it couldn’t entirely erase her grin.
“What your friends must think of me . . .” she whispered, trailing off as she mentally answered her own question.
“If anything, they’ll think I’m the rude caveman, hauling you off like I did. Rightfully so. You didn’t do anything wrong,” he added darkly under his breath. “And they really aren’t my friends, except for Niki. And he’ll only be glad something has broken me out of my funk.”
Emma thought of how stunned Niki had looked when Vanni charged down the stairwell just now, dragging Emma after him, then how pleased; how he’d called out “don’t be” when she’d apologized for their rude exit from the party.
“You know, I think you’re right,” she mused.
“Of course I’m right. Emma, the whole idea of you walking away at the tick of a clock is ridiculous.”
She opened her mouth to say he was supposed to be walking away, too . . . that he’d taken pains to warn her that he would, but then he was kissing her, deep and sweet, and her thoughts flew away like scattered moths.
She knew only one thing for certain. Despite her thoughts about feeling compelled to the truth just now, she’d lied.
She wasn’t starting to fall. She’d already landed.
Good and hard.
Chapter Thirty-five
The next morning Emma rose early when Vanni did. He would go down to the racing circuit to make sure everything was in order, take care of last minute-details, and do a last-minute check of the Montand racecar with Niki, then return to La Mer to pick up Emma for the race itself. She’d showered, thrown on a sundress, and gone downstairs before him. It was another perfect day on the French Riviera. Emma wondered if there were ever days that weren’t sun drenched and infused with the sweet breezes off the Mediterranean.
Mrs. Denis was in high spirits for raceday. She led Emma out onto the terrace and proudly displayed a breakfast table laid with china, silver, colorful flags, and what appeared to be a miniature version of the Montand racecar.
“They’re selling them in the village. I thought Vanni would like to see it,” Mrs. Denis said, laughing as Emma picked up the little black, red, and blue car with Montand and the number 14 painted on the side in white. She heard a sound behind her and turned to see Vanni walking onto the terrace. Her gaze dipped over him appreciatively. No one could wear a tuxedo with such masculine, careless grace as him, and then morph into a casual resort mode with equal comfort. He was clean-shaven this morning and his eyes looked cool and sharp and focused . . . until they landed on her, Emma realized with a rush of warmth. She held up the little car as he approached, smiling.
“Look what Mrs. Denis got you. Lucky boy, you get to play with the real thing.”
“And she better play nice for Niki today,” he said, his uncommon, brilliant smile warming her even farther.
“Happy Raceday. Bonne chance, Montand!” Mrs. Denis enthused, waving her hand with a little flourish. Emma laughed. She was adorable. Vanni must have thought the same thing, because he leaned down and kissed the housekeeper on both cheeks. Mrs. Denis looked extremely pleased, giving Emma a pointed glance.
“What have you done to my gloomy Vanni?”
“She’s beat him into the shadows, where he belongs,” Vanni said without pause, meeting Emma’s stare, a smile lingering on his lips. Emma felt herself color at the potent compliment.
Vanni chuckled and leaned down, kissing both of Emma’s warm cheeks and then her lips, where he lingered. Mrs. Denis cleared her throat. “I’ll get your breakfast.” Which seemed to be a signal for Vanni to pull her closer and kiss her in earnest.
“You smell delicious,” he said a moment later, nuzzling her neck. “Maybe I should skip breakfast and eat you instead.”
“You already did,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering closed as his lips brushed against her pulse.
“Two meals is a lucky tradition on raceday, especially when they’re as delicious as you.” He kissed a patch of skin just below her ear and then scraped it lightly with his teeth. She shivered in excitement. He transferred his mouth to the opening of her ear, and she felt herself melting.
“You just made that up,” she said.
“I’m entitled. It’s the first Montand grand prix. I have to start raceday traditions sometime.”
“You’re not really thinking of going back to bed, are you?” she asked weakly.
“Of course I’m thinking of it,” he said, straightening his head and pinning her with a lambent stare.
She smiled. She was thinking of it, too, and he knew it.
“We shouldn’t,” she said in a hushed tone. “I can still look Mrs. Denis in the eye without blushing, unlike Niki. And the rest of the people on the yacht.”
His mouth tilted in amusement. They both heard Mrs. Denis’s footsteps inside, bringing them their breakfast. Vanni’s dark brows went up in a silent message of resignation. He seated her at the table instead of leading her back to the bedroom. She knew he was thinking about what happened yesterday after he’d hauled her off to bed. She was thinking about it, too.
After they’d made love that first time so explosively, Vanni had made love to her again, the second time still heated, but soulful and poignant. Afterward, they’d talked quietly, touching each other, the afterglow so sweet that she’d forgotten where they were.