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You’ve only got yourself to blame.
It was true. Sadly. She’d been the one who’d decided to bite him, to kiss him, to get naked and touch him. And now here she was, sitting on top of him, completely at the mercy of the desire inside her that had gripped her by the throat and wouldn’t let go.
That wasn’t supposed to happen. Sexual desire was supposed to be another of the weaknesses she’d cut out of her life. And yet his bronze skin beneath her palms was so smooth, the muscle under that so very, very hard, and all she wanted to do was press harder, test his strength, spread her fingers out and soak in all his heat.
But the hidden glints of gold in his dark eyes held her completely hypnotised and she couldn’t look away.
‘Poor kitten.’ His voice was rough and deep, the rich amusement in it like a caress against her skin. ‘You don’t understand, do you? I’m not at your mercy. You’re at mine.’
It seemed a ridiculously arrogant thing to say, when he was the one on his back and cuffed to the bed. Yet...
He was fluid and powerful underneath her, and hard, like granite carved direct from a mountain. She could see that power beneath her hands, feel it in the tight coil of his muscles and in the heat running through his body. It was there in his eyes too, an arrogant certainty of his power that made her want to tremble.
She felt that certainty within herself, in the desire that wound through her, exposing her. In the way her breath came short and fast, and in the relentless throb of heat between her thighs. In the tightness of her skin and the acute awareness of every part of her that touched him and every part of her that didn’t. In the delicious, warm scent of him that made her mouth water and her heart beat faster.
You’re weak. You’ve always been weak.
Stella shoved the thought from her head. There was only one answer to that and that was simply to be stronger. She had to be if she was to overcome the insidious dragging need to surrender to him and the relentless pressure of her desire.
Dante Cardinali had seemed to be a simple man. A man driven by the single-minded pursuit of pleasure, a slave to any pretty face that came his way.
But it wasn’t him who was the slave. It was her.
‘No,’ she whispered, both to him and to herself. ‘I’m not at anyone’s mercy.’
‘Prove it, then.’ Deep in the velvet darkness of his eyes, golden fire burned. ‘Get off me and walk away. Put on your dress and leave this room.’ His hips lifted as he said the words, the hard length behind the wool of his trousers brushing up against the soft, sensitive tissues of her sex.
Pleasure bolted like lightning straight through her and she couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped.
‘Do it.’ His voice was rough with heat. ‘If you think you can.’
She could. Of course she could.
Except he was moving subtly against her and the rhythmic pressure against that aching place between her thighs was making her shiver with delight. She’d denied herself many things in the quest to become better and stronger than the girl who’d betrayed her own brother into prison, and that included physical pleasure. She hadn’t thought she’d missed out on anything, but...
Get off him. Walk out. Deny him. That’s what you were going to do, wasn’t it?
Of course it was. And, yes, she would get off him. Right now.
Except...the heat of him, and the power of his body beneath her, and the gentle rocking of his hips were all mesmerizing and she didn’t want it to stop.
You have to do something.
He wasn’t expecting her to get off him. That was obvious. He was expecting her to stay, to be at his mercy, exactly as he’d said. And her body simply wasn’t going to let her leave. Which meant she was going to have to do something else to prove her strength.
She shifted back on him, shivering at the brush of the fabric of his trousers against her. Then, with shaking hands, she pulled at the buttons of his fly.
He stilled, his big, rangy body tensing beneath her. ‘Oh, kitten,’ he breathed. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
She ignored him, tugging down his zip and reaching inside his boxers. Her fingers closed around him and she blinked, her breath sticking in her throat at the feel of him in her hand. So long and hard and hot.
She pulled the fabric away from him, staring at the length she held in her hand, completely fascinated.
‘Stella.’ Her name this time, in a rough and hungry growl. ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’
But it was too late. Backing down was an impossibility. It would make this entire evening an even bigger disaster, not to mention reveal the depths of her weakness, and she’d already revealed more of that than she wanted to when she’d put down her gun.
She lifted her gaze to his, the molten heat in his dark eyes making lightning crackle in her blood. ‘What did you want me to prove again?’ It was another challenge and she didn’t wait for him to answer. Instead she lifted her hips and fitted that hard shaft of his against the entrance to her body. Then she lowered herself down on him.
The feel of him pushing inside her was exquisite. There was no pain, only a wonderful stretching sensation and a pressure that tore a groan from her throat.
His smile vanished, his mouth twisting into a snarl, a rough, masculine sound breaking from him as she slid down on him even further.
Then she had to move and she was helpless to stop herself, the urge overwhelming. Rising and falling on him, at first hesitant and uncertain, then finding a rhythm. He’d gone silent, his hips lifting with hers, the fierce hunger on his beautiful face holding her captive.
They stared at each other as pleasure began to unwind in a shining cord, wrapping around both of them and pulling tight. Getting tighter. Then tighter still.
Stella braced herself with her hands on his chest, the world narrowing down to the rock-hard body under hers and the astonishingly good push-pull of him inside her...to the coil of pleasure that was tightening and tightening and tightening.
Her skin felt raw and over-sensitive, the desperation inside her growing teeth. She hadn’t thought sex would be like this, that she’d be so feverish and hungry. That she’d be so desperate.
The room was cool and yet she’d broken out into a sweat, her palms damp on his chest. A moan escaped her, because somehow he was dictating the pace now, the movement of his hips faster, her body trying to catch up, chasing some kind of glory she didn’t understand and which agonisingly kept moving out of reach.
‘Touch yourself,’ he murmured, his rich voice rough with dark heat, no trace of the polished playboy in it now. ‘Do it now.’
And she found herself obeying him without hesitation, driven by her own hunger, moving her hand between her thighs and touching her own slick flesh. And as she did so he lifted his hips, thrusting up hard into her.
Pleasure suddenly
