Bedded by the Italian Playboy by Emma Shortt Page B

increasing.
    She
was perfect. Shy. Biddable. Innocent.
    “Innocent.”
He tasted the word on his tongue and felt himself harden. Which was ridiculous!
He’d fucked her twice already today and Dios she learned fast. He’d had her in every position he could think of and a few
more besides. He’d buried his head between her legs, watched her eyes widen as
she took him into her mouth. He’d sucked her breasts to the point where he’d
almost shot his load on the bed sheets and still it wasn’t enough.
    Nowhere
even close.
    He
replayed the moment he’d entered her for the very first time and felt himself
shudder, his cock lengthen. Knowing he was the first. Knowing no other man had
made her scream and sigh and drench herself…it was heady, irresistible. He
didn’t know if he would ever be satisfied, ever grow tired of watching her gasp
as he drove her to orgasm.
    “You
won’t,” he said aloud, the empty room echoing his words. “Not any time soon.”
    And
that was that because Dominic was a logical man and it seemed to him that it
was time and more to accept the conclusion that had formed who knew when, but
formed it had.
    She
was due to leave tomorrow. Unacceptable.
    He
was not letting her go. He had to keep her. On his arm. In his bed. Impaled on
his cock. Where she belonged. That was just a fact.
    With
a deep breath he picked up his drink and took a healthy swig. The rich liquid
caught the back of his throat but he needed it. Bottled courage, he thought and
laughed.
    If you want to keep a woman, there’s only
one way to do it.
    His
mother’s words. How many times had she drilled them into him and how many times
had he ignored them? He could ignore them now. There was absolutely no reason
why he shouldn’t simply keep her until he tired, until he was satisfied, and
then send her away like he had all the women over the years.
    Only
Rachel was different.
    Seemed
that his mother was right after all. Why was he even surprised? His mother
usually was.
    After
another swig of his drink and Dominic nodded, letting the inevitable wash over
him. Was he not of the age for a wife? Had he not been considering it in an
abstract sort of way for some months? Accepted the knowledge that at some point
held have to think about doing it? Why not Rachel? Why not the woman who turned
him on in a way no woman ever had.
    The
woman who had come to him untouched.
    It
was unlikely he would ever find anyone her physical equal, he thought. She
matched exactly his perfect woman. The hair, the eyes, the figure. It was
almost like she had been designed specifically for him. He would need to find
out more about her background. Check her family connections and such, something
he admitted he should already have done. He would ask Ryan to do so
immediately. But assuming all was well in that regard, Dominic could find no
single reason why Rachel was not perfect wife material.
    Fate , he thought.
    And
if he planned to marry her there was no reason he couldn’t ask her to stay with
him now. Not if his intentions were honorable. They could go together to see
her family, explain the situation, pick up her things, and then he could
continue to enjoy her. Even think about looking for a home.
    Why
not?
    Why
not?
    Because you’re thinking with your dick? He
frowned, the thought pushing him, refusing to allow him to duck it. He clenched
his fist around his glass, wondering if that was really the case. The lust was
certainly a factor, but the more he thought about it, the more Dominic knew it
was more than that. It made sense. It was logical. Right.
    Rachel
would be his wife. His shy, demure, biddable, innocent wife.
    He
would find no one else to match her, no one else her equal, and that was simply
that.
     
     

Chapter Seventeen
     
    Rachel
was clutching the headboard on either side of the carved middle, legs spread
wide, ass thrust out…with Dominic’s head between her legs. She wasn’t quite
sure how he’d talked her into this, how she’d even