hardened and rose under her mouth and she smiled. She had power over him too. He groaned and pressed her head to his groin. “Oh, I want, I want,” he muttered. “But wait,
He scooped her into his arms and settled her against his warm, naked chest. She rubbed her cheek against him, feeling the soft hair against her skin, and twined one arm around his neck. Her other hand traced around his nipple, making it peak. When he moved, his erection brushed against the cheeks of her ass. He carried her through a doorway.
The deep porcelain tub with high sides sat in the center of its own small room. A window was open to the gardens and the branch of a sweet-smelling bush nodded outside. Soft tendrils of steam rose lazily into the air from the surface of the water. Candles stood ready on the windowsill, and a fresh bottle of wine stood uncorked beside two sparkling glasses.
Marco held her, wreathed in scented steam, and let her dip a toe into the water. The temperature was perfect. She kissed along the line of his jaw and stroked her fingers down his cheek, the strong column of his neck and to the lovely hollow of his throat.
He lowered her gently, until her arms could steady her and she slid into the perfumed depths. He quickly stepped into the water behind her, settling her on his lap. She leaned back against him to let the water lap her breasts. His erection was hard and firm under her bottom, nudging at the cheeks of her ass. She remembered last night when she had teased him in the same spot. Her clit began to throb.
Marco took the bottle of wine and poured a measure into each glass. Reaching over her shoulder he put a goblet to her mouth. She sipped at the fragrant liquid, letting it slip down her throat like molten gold, sending little rivulets of warmth to her nipples, to her lips, to her clit. A soft torpor invaded her whole body and she lay back, her eyes half closed. A bird began to trill outside the window.
Three baths in as many days, all so different. She would never step into a tub again without remembering Enrico’s hovel, the threat from Giovanni, or the sheer delight of luxuriating with Marco.
When she had drunk some wine, Marco replaced the glass and took a large sponge from the side of the bath. Dipping it in the water, he lathered it with a creamy bar of soap and began to skim it over her shoulders. He lightly traced up the side of her neck, over the pulsing artery in her throat and down to her collarbone. At the same time the fingers of his other hand crept between her legs and slid over her clit, seeking and stroking. She tried to turn to face him, but he held her in a vise. When she gasped and threw her head back against his shoulder he removed his hand and seized her leg, lifting it out of the water to wash. He massaged her foot and she groaned. No matter where he put his hands, it increased her arousal. His stiff cock slid between her legs and she rubbed against him, letting it nudge the soft opening of her vagina. If he didn’t give her release, she knew she would scream out in longing and frustration.
He kissed her temple. “I love the way you are always so ready for me.”
“Oh God,” she said. “I can’t believe I’m begging for it again.”
“Begging is good. I like it.”
“I can tell.”
She reached between her legs and took hold of him. “Two can play that game.” She slid her hand up and down the shaft, teasing the tip with her thumb. He dropped the sponge, put his arms round her and grasped her breasts. He groaned and she felt his body tense against her back.
“Who’s begging now?” she whispered.
“
“I can’t see you. Tell me.”
“I shall explode if you don’t let me inside you.”
“I’ll take pity on you.” The truth was that she was barely containing her own explosion. Still with her back to him, she slowly raised her hips and guided his cock into her. Moving with a deliberate lack of haste despite the growing urge in her belly, she eased him inside her and settled between his thighs. His hands squeezed and molded her breasts, his chest shielded her back, his muscled legs supported her ass, his spike-hard cock was deep inside her.
Every inch of her where he caressed sparked with fire.
He moved one hand from her breast and began again to finger her clit. She squeezed her inner muscles in response and felt him swell even more. The delicious warmth began as a buzz between her legs, creeping over her belly, sinking inside her until she saw nothing, heard nothing, her whole being focused on where their bodies joined. At last she stiffened against him and let the wave carry her.
“Now,” she cried. “Oh God, now!”
No more than a heartbeat later, he let out a guttural roar and she felt the hot spurt of his semen against her womb, his thrusts prolonging and enhancing her own orgasm.
They lay together, barely breathing, recovering from the onslaught until the water began to cool. Marco kissed the nape of her neck, wrapped her in a large towel and carried her back to the bedroom. On a side table someone had placed cheese and grapes, bread and wine. The bed had been remade with fresh linen.
He laid her down on the bed and she sat up, pulling the folds of the bath sheet around her shoulders. “Who did all this?” she asked. “It’s as if you have invisible retainers, like a fairy castle.”
Marco laughed and strode naked to the table. She admired the tautness of the muscles in his legs and his ass, the lovely taper of his back, the strength of his shoulders.
“There is a housekeeper and her husband,” he said, cutting a slice of the cheese. “They have been with my family since my father was a boy. They were also in hiding, but they returned. The rest of the house will not be like this room. It needs much work.”
He came back to her and began to feed her the moist, creamy cheese.
She took some between her teeth, savoring it on her tongue. “Delicious.”
“There’s a French painting,” she said, “called the
Marco nodded. “I’ve seen it. The women aren’t half as beautiful as you. Hair like jet, eyes with the promise of midnight, breasts that drive a man wild.” He bent his head to kiss each of them in turn.
She stroked his hair and ran her hand over his shoulder and down his back, feeling the ripple of the muscles under her fingers as he moved.
“Would you like more wine?” he murmured against the swell of her breast.
“No, thank you.” She sighed. “I could love this life after what happened in the last few days.”
“Whatever gives you pleasure is yours.”
“I know.” He had thought of her during all the events of the last few hours, making sure that he brought her somewhere clean and beautiful. The realization touched her deeply. He was stern when he had to be, and determined in pursuing what was right, but it was the underlying softness in him that left her without defenses. When she was with him and he treated her gently and lovingly, the needs she had suppressed for too long came to the surface and washed over her like a tidal wave. They destroyed her defenses, and left her confronted with the naked truth of her feelings for him.
“Tomorrow we could picnic outside,” he said. “There’s a beautiful grove-”
The word “tomorrow” hung like the sound of a bell in the air. He felt her stiffen and looked up at her. She swallowed the last of cheese.
“Tomorrow I’ll try to walk. I must telephone,” she said. “Marco-” She pushed the dark lock of hair back from his brow. “-you know I must let my father know I’m alive. I have already delayed too long.”
He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. He was silent for so long that she began to search for more words to explain why she couldn’t stay.
Before she could speak, he sighed, his eyes still on their joined hands. “Your father loves you very much.”
“Yes, he does.”
“You love him.”
“I do.”
“You have a home in England.”
“Yes.”
He looked her full in the eyes. “Go to him, but remember I love you too. I could make a home for you here.”
