Bella was in the kitchen poking about in the fridge when Edoardo came in from outside.
‘Eating in tonight?’ he asked as he hung up his jacket on the hook behind the door.
She closed the fridge guiltily. ‘I can get something later,’ she said.
‘I can rustle up something for both of us,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to hide away in your room.’
‘I’m not hiding away in my room,’ she said. ‘I’ve been busy catching up with friends.’
He grunted and moved across to wash his hands at the sink. ‘Give me half an hour,’ he said. ‘I have to sort something out on my computer.’
‘Who taught you to cook?’ she asked.
He dried his hands on some paper towels and dropped them in the pedal bin. ‘No one in particular,’ he said. ‘I didn’t stay anywhere long enough to pick up more than the basics.’
‘What was the longest you stayed with a foster family?’
Edoardo felt the familiar tension crawl over his skin like a cockroach. He hated thinking about his past, let alone talking about it. He wanted to forget it had ever happened. He wanted it erased from his brain. He mostly had erased it from his mind. Every time Bella pushed him for more information, it made his head ache with the suppressed memories. They felt like they were busting out of the shackles he had bound them with all those years ago. ‘Can you quit it with the twenty questions?’ he said. ‘I’m not in the mood for it.’
‘You’re never in the mood,’ she said. ‘You’re like a closed book. Lots of people come from difficult backgrounds. I don’t see why you have to be so secretive about it.’
He stepped into her body space, watching as her big brown eyes rounded. ‘You’re playing with fire,’ he warned. ‘But I think you already know that, don’t you?’
A silence throbbed between them.
‘I’ve known you since I was a child, but I hardly know you at all,’ she said in a husky tone.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and watched as the tip of her tongue snaked out to sweep over her lips. He had never seen a more kissable mouth. Desire twisted and tightened in his groin. He felt his body surge and swell. He wanted her so badly it was like a drug his system craved. The trouble was, he knew one taste would never be enough. He wasn’t sure how long with her would be enough. For years he had thought of this moment, when she would come to him with that look of wanting in her eyes. He saw it: the need, the lust and the longing. It pulsed in the air in a hot, swirling current that was almost palpable.
Her eyes flickered to his mouth and back again to his. ‘I want to know who you are,’ she said. ‘Who you really are.’
‘This is who I really am,’ he said.
‘I want to know why you’re so closed off emotionally,’ she said. ‘You push everyone away. Why do you do that?’
Edoardo gripped her shoulders a little tighter. ‘I’m not pushing you away right now, am I? In fact, I’m about to bring you a whole lot closer.’
He felt her body brush against his. It engulfed his in a wave of hot longing that was like wildfire as he pulled her against him, male against female, need against need. His mouth came down slowly, giving her plenty of time to get away if she wanted to—but she didn’t move. Instead, she parted her lips as his came down. He brushed the point of his tongue against hers, a teasing taste of the eroticism to come. He felt her whole body respond. She pressed close and whimpered in the back of her throat as his tongue teased her again, in and out, barely touching, just hinting at the sensual delight in store.
Her tongue flickered against his, flirting, daring, increasingly provocative. Her hands snaked up around his neck, her fingers weaving through his hair, her pelvis jammed against his. His erection became painful as it moved against her urgently. She rubbed against him wantonly, her body pliant and soft against his.
Edoardo devoured her mouth like a starving man does a succulent meal. He fed off her hot, sweet moistness, tasting the nectar of her; relishing in the answering dart and dance of her tongue as it met and mated with his.
She was everything and more than he had dreamed of: sweet yet sultry, shy yet demanding. He couldn’t get enough of her softness. She yielded to his pressure, softly whimpering in delight as he drove deeper and deeper, demanding more and more of her with each thrust or flicker of his tongue against hers.
Her perfume danced around his nostrils, teasing him, tantalising him with the scent of hot summer nights. He was almost dizzy with it, intoxicated.
He moved his hands from her shoulders and splayed them roughly in her silky hair. Her slender hips moved against his, instinctively searching for him. Wanting him as a woman wants a man.
He ached to feel her surround him, to milk him of his essence with every tight contraction of her body. The need inside him built to fever pitch. Had he ever wanted someone as much as this? It was like a raging torrent in his blood. He could think of nothing but how much he wanted to possess her. His body was rigid with desire, hot and pulsing against her.
His right hand moved under her top to cup her breast through the lace of her bra, the softness and delicate shape of her thrilling him. That night in the library she had brazenly taunted him with her body. But it was her touch that had unravelled his control. The sexy little tiptoe of her fingers on his chest had been like throwing a match on a spill of gasoline. It had roared through his veins until he had finally snapped and grabbed her and shown her what a real man felt like instead of those pasty-faced adolescents she had surrounded herself with like a queen bee with drones.
He had wanted her then and he wanted her now.
He pushed her bra aside and bent his head to take her nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around and around until she was groaning in delight, her fingers digging into his waist for purchase.
He moved to her other breast, taking his time exploring it in intimate detail: the tightly budded nipple, the pink areola and the sensitive underside where thousands of nerves quivered and danced under his touch.
Her hands moved from his waist and danced over the front of him. His erection jutted proudly against her tentative touch, the blood thundering in him—the ache of need so intense he felt like a teenager at his first sexual encounter.
He reclaimed her mouth and backed her up until she was against the kitchen table. He lifted her onto it, and she opened her thighs and wrapped her legs around him, her arms tight around his neck as her greedy little mouth wreaked havoc on his.
The kiss went on and on, drawing him into a sensual whirlpool that was making it impossible to think of anything but possessing her totally. His erection was nudging her intimately, the damp barrier of her lacy knickers taunting him until he was fit to explode.
He blindly went in search of her slick wetness, pushing aside the cobweb of lace so he could slip one finger inside. He felt the tight grip of her body, heard her little gasp of pleasure. But then she jolted and pulled back from him, her cheeks fire-engine red, her eyes shocked and wide with horror. ‘Stop!’ she said.
He gave her a questioning look. ‘Stop?’
She
