Happy Mother's Day! by Sharon Kendrick

she had agreed to—and she had her own part to play. She couldn’t pretend to be some little untutored innocent—even if the dark look of promise in his eyes was making her feel a bit that way.
    So she walked down the corridor as unselfconsciously as possible.
    ‘Lentamente
… slowly,’ he commanded huskily as he ran his eyes over her small shoulders, the narrow curvature of her waist—swelling out to the slim bell of her hips. The dark hair fell down her back like a gleaming curtain as she walked with a certain natural grace—yet she did not strut, as a lot of women would if they were being watched by a man.
    But when she reached the bedroom, Aisling’s stomach began to knot with nerves. It was like something usually featured in one of those brick-sized glossy magazines you found lying around at the hairdressers’—with a bed the size of a soccer pitch and a disconcerting amount of mirrors.
    She sensed rather than heard him enter the room behindher and she forced herself to examine the room as if she were a prospective buyer—anything to buy her time to suppress the debilitating nerves which were suddenly making breathing very difficult.
    There was a giant TV screen and electronically controlled blinds, which Gianluca immediately clicked to float down, so that the room was bathed in some surreal, subterranean light.
    ‘Now.’ He walked up behind her and lifted the silken curtain of her hair to nuzzle at her neck. ‘Are you going to turn around and kiss me?’
    She was trembling uncontrollably as she did so, aware that she was almost naked and he was not. ‘There’s a slightly unfair distribution of clothes around here,’ she said.
    He laughed. ‘Then even it up a little, mmm?’
    Her fingers were shaking as she unknotted his silk tie, but he took it from her when she was done and tossed it aside, his black eyes alive with mockery. ‘I’ll send everything out to the laundry,’ he promised. ‘Because I don’t want to waste precious minutes while you press my suit with your need for neatness and order!’
    Was he making fun of her again? But somehow it didn’t matter. In fact, nothing mattered apart from what lay ahead. And suddenly Aisling wanted to kick all her usual values into touch—just for that one night. She began to tug at his silk shirt and when a button flew off he gave a low laugh of pleasure—so she tugged even harder and another bounced onto the polished floor.
    ‘Easy, tiger!’ he teased.
    ‘But
you’re
the tiger!’ she retorted, enjoying his instinctive moan as she began to unbuckle his belt.
‘Il Tigre.’
    ‘You’ve been reading too many press cuttings,’ he groaned. ‘That’s my job.’
    ‘Just shut up about your job for a minute, will you?’ he said fiercely.
    And now he was unclipping her bra—and his mouth was on her breast and she was bucking with pleasure. She was aware that she was making a mewing sound, like a cat, and that she was inciting him with broken little pleas in between kisses.
    And suddenly she could hear the rasping sound of his zip, could feel the formidable power of him springing against her bare skin, and she swayed as he began to push her down to the floor. Now was not the time to tell him that she had never done it on the floor of a luxury penthouse before.
    But if he noticed her lack of sophistication, it didn’t seem to matter—because he seemed so fired up with excitement that his body was quivering like a tight bow which was stretched to breaking point. He swore again.
    ‘What is it?’ she questioned, between kisses.
    ‘I’ll have to go and find a damned condom.’
    ‘There’s no need. I’m … I’m protected.’
    He raised his head. ‘But last time—’
    Stupid to be shy about the subject of contraception when they were only centimetres away from the ultimate intimacy. ‘What happened last time was what galvanised me into going on the pill.’ She took a deep breath. There was no need to tell him that she had been scared she