Gloria mia. ”
She jerked and moaned when he said her name the way he used to, Italianizing it, making it his. It inflamed her to hear it, maddened her. The way he moved against her, breathed her in, touched and kneaded and suckled her…it was all too much. And too little. She needed more. Everything. His mouth and hands and potency all over her, inside her.
“Vincenzo…”
The same desperation reverberating inside her emanated from his great body in shock waves. Then he heaved beneath her, swept her around, brought her under him on the couch, bore down on her with all of his greed and urgency. Spreading her thighs, he hooked them around his hips, pressed between them, his daunting hardness grinding against her entrance through their clothes. Her back arched deeply to accommodate him, a cry escaping from her very recesses, at the yearned-for feel of him, weight of him, sight of him as propped himself above her, his eyes molten steel with the vehemence of his passion.
“Gloriosa, divina, Gloria mia…”
Then he swooped down and his lips clamped on hers, moist, branding, his tongue thrusting deep, singeing her with pleasure, breaching her with need, draining her of moans and reason. Pressure built—behind her eyes, inside her chest, deep in her loins. Her hands convulsed on his arms, digging into his muscles, everything inside her surging, gushing, needing anything…anything he’d do to her. His fingers and tongue and teeth exploiting her every secret, his manhood filling the void at her core, thrusting her to oblivion….
“We’ll be taking off in five minutes, Principe. ”
The voice rang in a metallic echo, not registering in the delirium. It was only when he stopped his plundering kisses that it crashed into her awareness, that it made sense.
He froze over her for a long moment, his lips still fused to hers. He moved again, took her lips over and over in urgent, clinging kisses as if he couldn’t help himself, as if he was gulping what he could of her taste before he could have no more. Then muttering something savage under his breath, he severed their meld, groaning as if was scraping off his skin. It was how she felt, too, as his body separated from hers.
She lay back, stunned, unable to move. Dismay at the barely aborted insanity drenched her, even as need still hammered at her, demanding his assuagement. His heavy-lidded gaze regarded her in denuding intensity, as if savoring the sight of what he’d done to her. Then he reached for her, caressed and kneaded her as he helped her up on the couch.
He secured her seat belt before buckling his as the engines, which she realized had been on for a while now, revved higher and the jet started moving.
They were really taking off.
Everything was going out of control, too far, too fast.
And she had no idea where they were going. Figuratively and literally.
The latter had a definite answer. And in an existence that had no answers, past or future, she had to have at least that.
“Where are we going?”
At her unsteady question, he pulled her closer, his eyes blazing with unspent desire. “How about we keep it a surprise?”
“How about I go demand that your pilot drop me off?”
He tutted. “I see I have to surprise you with no warning next time.”
“Since you can’t take me somewhere without warning unless you develop teleportation, too…”
“Or kidnap you for real and keep you tied up and gagged on the way.”
“…then get a real surprise when you finally untie and ungag me. Something broken or bitten off or both.”
Looking even more aroused and elated, he gathered her tighter, put his lips to her ear, nipped her lobe and whispered, “We’re going to Castaldini.”
Six
G lory had one thought. That she wasn’t going to repeat his words. No matter how flabbergasted she was that he’d said…
“Castaldini.”
God. No. He was making her echo his declarations like a malfunctioning playback.
She pushed out of his arms, whacked him
She jerked and moaned when he said her name the way he used to, Italianizing it, making it his. It inflamed her to hear it, maddened her. The way he moved against her, breathed her in, touched and kneaded and suckled her…it was all too much. And too little. She needed more. Everything. His mouth and hands and potency all over her, inside her.
“Vincenzo…”
The same desperation reverberating inside her emanated from his great body in shock waves. Then he heaved beneath her, swept her around, brought her under him on the couch, bore down on her with all of his greed and urgency. Spreading her thighs, he hooked them around his hips, pressed between them, his daunting hardness grinding against her entrance through their clothes. Her back arched deeply to accommodate him, a cry escaping from her very recesses, at the yearned-for feel of him, weight of him, sight of him as propped himself above her, his eyes molten steel with the vehemence of his passion.
“Gloriosa, divina, Gloria mia…”
Then he swooped down and his lips clamped on hers, moist, branding, his tongue thrusting deep, singeing her with pleasure, breaching her with need, draining her of moans and reason. Pressure built—behind her eyes, inside her chest, deep in her loins. Her hands convulsed on his arms, digging into his muscles, everything inside her surging, gushing, needing anything…anything he’d do to her. His fingers and tongue and teeth exploiting her every secret, his manhood filling the void at her core, thrusting her to oblivion….
“We’ll be taking off in five minutes, Principe. ”
The voice rang in a metallic echo, not registering in the delirium. It was only when he stopped his plundering kisses that it crashed into her awareness, that it made sense.
He froze over her for a long moment, his lips still fused to hers. He moved again, took her lips over and over in urgent, clinging kisses as if he couldn’t help himself, as if he was gulping what he could of her taste before he could have no more. Then muttering something savage under his breath, he severed their meld, groaning as if was scraping off his skin. It was how she felt, too, as his body separated from hers.
She lay back, stunned, unable to move. Dismay at the barely aborted insanity drenched her, even as need still hammered at her, demanding his assuagement. His heavy-lidded gaze regarded her in denuding intensity, as if savoring the sight of what he’d done to her. Then he reached for her, caressed and kneaded her as he helped her up on the couch.
He secured her seat belt before buckling his as the engines, which she realized had been on for a while now, revved higher and the jet started moving.
They were really taking off.
Everything was going out of control, too far, too fast.
And she had no idea where they were going. Figuratively and literally.
The latter had a definite answer. And in an existence that had no answers, past or future, she had to have at least that.
“Where are we going?”
At her unsteady question, he pulled her closer, his eyes blazing with unspent desire. “How about we keep it a surprise?”
“How about I go demand that your pilot drop me off?”
He tutted. “I see I have to surprise you with no warning next time.”
“Since you can’t take me somewhere without warning unless you develop teleportation, too…”
“Or kidnap you for real and keep you tied up and gagged on the way.”
“…then get a real surprise when you finally untie and ungag me. Something broken or bitten off or both.”
Looking even more aroused and elated, he gathered her tighter, put his lips to her ear, nipped her lobe and whispered, “We’re going to Castaldini.”
Six
G lory had one thought. That she wasn’t going to repeat his words. No matter how flabbergasted she was that he’d said…
“Castaldini.”
God. No. He was making her echo his declarations like a malfunctioning playback.
She pushed out of his arms, whacked him
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