by Joan Kilby
A quiet knock sounded. Layla entered and closed the door behind her. Her hair was damp and combed back. Her damp bikini top stuck in places to her white blouse, rendering it transparent to the curve of her breast and the shadow of her navel. “Hey.”
His groin tightened. Giorgio spun his chair away. He was too tense, not ready to be sociable. A moment later he felt her hands on his shoulders, lightly tracing the width and musculature.
“You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world.” Slowly she began to massage, digging her fingers deep into his muscles. He held himself stiffly, but she persisted and after a few minutes she found the magic spot at the base of his neck where all the tension gathered. He groaned softly.
Methodically, she worked out the knots. “You promised to swim with me and you worked instead. You’re a bad boy,” she said into his ear. “Do you know what happens to bad boys?”
He felt the vibrations of her voice carry to his breast bone like a tuning fork, triggering suppressed emotions of wanting and longing. He knew what he wanted to do to her. If that made him a bad boy then so be it. “Che cosa?” What?
“They get punished,” she said a husky voice.
He got a mental image of her standing over him in a black leather corset and high heels while he lay naked and at her mercy. His cock pushed against his too tight shorts.
She ran her hands around his front and slipped them beneath his shirt to smooth her palms across his skin and chest. He went very still as she unbuttoned the top button, then the next, until they were all undone. Spreading his shirt open, she dragged her nails lightly up his abs and pecs. His skin rippled in their wake. She pushed her thumbs down on his pebbled nipples.
“Is this your idea of punishment?” His voice was ragged. He wanted to pull her down on the floor and strip that scrap of cloth she called a bikini from her full breasts…
“No. I’m still considering what to do about that. This is what you could have if you were a good boy.”
“I’m not a boy, though. I’m a man.” Instinctively, he flexed his biceps. “Let’s cut to the chase.”
“You mean sex?” she said. “Tsk, tsk, you’re so impatient. First I want you to be putty in my hands.”
Forget putty. He was so hard he hurt. “I thought you wanted to swim.”
“Too late. I swam without you.” She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and tugged down the sleeves, running her hands back up his arms, her fingers gliding over the ridges of muscle and bone, lingering on the tattoo in flowing Italian script that circled his right bicep. He thought she was going to ask what it said but she set to work again, methodically kneading his shoulders, digging in around the spine and up the neck—so tense—then back down, across his shoulders and down his arms. The stresses of work flowed away only to be replaced by another kind of tension.
“How does that feel?” she asked.
“Bene.” Good. It was a guttural sound low in his throat.
She spun his chair around and straddled him, hiking her mini skirt up and planting her knees on either side of his hips. He opened his eyes. She’d removed her blouse and her breasts were inches from his face. Tiny salt crystals flecked her lightly freckled skin. He leaned forward, intending to lick the salt off.
“Ah, ah, ah.” She took his wrists in a firm grip and placed his hands on the arms of his chair.
“So this is your punishment,” he drawled. “You torture me by letting me look but not touch.”
“I’m so sorry. Am I bothering you?” She spoke sweetly but her smile was wicked.
“You know exactly what you’re doing.” She amused him with her challenges to his authority. He played along—for now—keeping his hands on the arms of the chair. The hard bulge in his shorts was inches away from her crotch. “We’ll see who ends up begging for mercy.”
“You don’t frighten me.” She began to massage his scalp, her breasts moving right at his eye level. “You have the softest, thickest hair.” She leaned in to smell it, pressing his nose into her cleavage. “It smells nice, too.” She placed both hands on Giorgio’s cheeks and lifted his face to look directly into his eyes. “We’re staying overnight on the boat, right? It’ll be late when the soccer game is over.”
He’d already decided that, but he pushed back anyway. “Not so late. I could have a car ready to pick us up straight after the game’s over.”
“If we stay, we could find out if all this heat between us will spark a fire.” She brushed her lips over his lightly then ran the tip of her tongue along the seam of his lips before withdrawing a little. He leaned toward her and she smiled. She had him bewitched. His knuckles were white where they gripped the chair. She moved to his jaw, pressing tiny kisses, nipping with her teeth. He could feel the pulse in his throat leap erratically below the light pressure of her thumbs.
“I can already predict what will happen.” Losing the battle to stay aloof, he put his hands around her waist and pulled her snugly against his hard cock. Now he could feel himself pulse between her legs.
Her breath came shallower. “I don’t think you can.”
“Never tell me what I can’t do.” He slid his hands up her back and held her head while he plundered her mouth. His tongue swept hers, mating and plunging in carnal exploration. She had teased him but there was nothing teasing about his kiss. He was showing her exactly what he wanted to do to, and with, her.
Abruptly he broke off. Despite her massage he was strung tighter than a high voltage wire, snapping and sparking, arcing between desire and anger. “Tell me the truth. Are you part of my family’s plot to get me to the yacht for my birthday?”
She licked her red, swollen lips. “Do you really want to talk about your family right now?”
His grip tightened. “Answer me.”
She gazed directly into his eyes. “I want to spend time with you, for your sake. And for mine. I swear that’s the truth.”
God help him, he wanted to believe her. But he couldn’t, not one hundred percent. Yet he still wanted to fuck her. If his sisters had commissioned her to seduce him, she was doing a damn fine job. She was sexy, smart, and completely irresistible. Capitulation was only a loss if he didn’t want to stay. He scraped a nail over her nipple and watched her pupils dilate. He did want. Very much. “We’ll sleep aboard tonight.”
Chapter Seven
Layla made a noise halfway between a sigh and a moan as a shiver rippled over her skin in the wake of Giorgio’s caress. She’d told him the truth just now. Yes, she wanted a contract but she wanted him, too, more than was wise or good for her. But she didn’t care if she was making a mistake. She had to have him. Tonight she was throwing caution to the wind. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.”
He rose, lifting her with him. “Your place or mine?”
“Mine.” She clung to his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist, as he carried her down the empty passage to her stateroom.
He closed the door behind them and let her slide slowly down his body. She pressed herself against his erection and felt his hard cock jump. It strained at the fabric of his shorts, signaling his urgent need.
Giorgio unhooked her bikini strap. “I understand this is a bandeau style. Very nice. Let’s get rid of it.” He tossed it aside.
“You’ve been doing your homework, big boy,” she purred, stroking his hard length. “When I say big boy, I mean that literally.”
His gaze burned into hers as he cupped her breasts in both hands, his thumbs grazing her beaded nipples. “I like to stay abreast of current trends.”
Layla’s chuckle turned to a gasp as he drew in a nipple to suckle. The tug of his mouth sent an electric current directly between her legs. Her cheeks and chest were hot and flushed. Liquid heat spread through her, pooling in her belly.
Giorgio slipped a hand under her skirt and down her panties, sliding his middle finger into her moist folds. “You feel good. Hot and wet.”
“I’ve been wet for you all day,” she breathed. She undid his b
uckle and zipper and pushed his shorts down. A long scar slashed across the top of his right thigh. Her gaze shot to his but his lids were half-lowered, and she didn’t ask the question on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she slid her hands back up over solid, rippling pecs and abs.
Only a small triangle of silk stood between her and his raging erection until he slid to his knees, tugging her bikini bottoms to her ankles, then nudging her legs apart. She stepped out of the tangle of fabric and, hands on his shoulders, opened herself to his fingers and mouth.
His tongue plunged into her with a strong thrusting motion, circling her clitoris on withdrawal. She pushed her fingers into his hair and gripped his head, holding him against her bucking hips. She climaxed quickly, eyes closed, fingers still laced through his hair.
He guided her over to the bed and laid her down, kneeling over her, legs astride her hips, while she pulsed with the afterglow of her orgasm. Giorgio’s body was hard and hot, his erection heavy between her legs, as he continued to pleasure her with his mouth and hands without entering her. Despite his own arousal, he was letting her rest. The man had iron control, not just over others in his sphere but also himself.
His lips touched hers lightly. His eyes were hot and dark, his lashes tangled at the corners. Another scar, tiny and white, curved at the outer edge of his cheekbone. She traced the flaw on his cheek with her tongue. “What happened there?”
“An accident. Long ago.” He kissed her cheeks while he continued to stroke her breasts, his eyes half-closed.
She ran a hand down his shoulder to his bicep, keenly aware of the hard shaft waiting impatiently for her to be ready for him again. She traced the elegant lines of the tattoo around his bicep. Ricordate sempre. “What does that mean?”
“’Remember always.’”
“What is it you need to remember?”
For a moment his gaze was raw, sober and sad. Then the shutters came down. He glanced at her naked body and his mouth curved up at one corner. “Not to leave it so long between making love to a beautiful woman.”
Okay, so he didn’t want to talk about it, whatever “it” was. She’d gotten him to agree to the football game. Best not to push his limits. Changing her mood to suit his, she teased, “How long has it been?”
“That’s not something a man tells a woman.” He sounded offended, as if she’d called his masculinity into question.
He was fun to prod. So tough yet so sensitive. She stroked a hand down his side and across to grip his erection, still rock hard despite the lull in action. “Are you going to wait another age before you get busy again?”
Heat flared in his eyes. He shifted position and his thick, hot cock nudged at her entrance. “Is that a challenge?”
“You can take it however you want.” Layla smiled. The Beast was back and he was pawing at the gate. “Hold on, just another second.” She twisted to one side to reach into the nightstand drawer for a condom. Waving it between two fingertips she smiled. “May I do the honors?”
He sat back on his haunches and she rose to her knees. Ripping open the package, she leaned forward. Instead of sheathing him, she lowered her head and took him in her mouth. He jerked involuntarily and she grabbed his thighs to steady herself. Slowly, she licked around the head, tasting the salt, breathing in his musky scent. She sucked, gently at first and then harder. He groaned and plunged his hands into her hair, his fingers cupping her skull. She’d barely gotten started, licking and sucking, when he pulled her up.
“Later.” He smoothed on the condom and then rocked her onto her back and thrust into her in one hard stroke, filling her and pushing her up the bed in an electrifying jolt of pleasure. She was left in no doubt who was in charge now. Layla gripped the covers and wrapped her legs around his waist, tilting her hips to take him deeper. He planted his hands on either side of her head and held her gaze with his as he stroked his massive cock in and out, firm and deep.
He hit her g spot with a sure, strong touch that made her eyes glaze over. His tanned muscles were sheened with sweat and a lock of dark hair fell over his forehead while the cords in his neck stood out. Sculpted muscle rippled with fluid movement and shone in the soft light filtering through the curtains over the porthole. She was boneless with pleasure, mindless with a primeval urge to draw him deeper, to thrust harder.
His face and chest were her field of vision. The soft-hard, slide-slap of his body against hers and the rasp of his harsh breath filled her ears as his cock filled her, stretching her. The push and pull of their hips sharpened the aching need coiling inside her. Her breath came faster and shallower, her hands roamed restlessly over his back and she squeezed her legs, searching for that sweet spot that would take her just that bit higher. And higher. His movements were more urgent now, and she responded with faster thrusts of her hips.
She moaned softly. He spoke in Italian, urgent, sexy low notes that spread like a drug through her, combining with smell and sight and touch to create a fog of sensual pleasure so heightened she was floating outside herself. Every thrust of his hips tightened the sexual knot until she was ready to scream with the need for release. Then his words came only haltingly as if every ounce of his concentration was focused on building to a climax. Building and building and building until she was within a hairsbreadth of being swept away—
Now. She didn’t know if she screamed it aloud or only in her mind. Her arms and legs tightened around him as her inner core convulsed with a pleasure so intense that time hung suspended. With one more thrust he came explosively, with a groan that sounded as if it had been rended from the deepest, most secret place within him. He lay atop her, his uneven breath harsh in her ear, his hips giving two or three more reflexive pumps before stilling. Her heart was beating in her ears, and she could feel his thudding against her chest. She clung to him. They’d both been tossed on a stormy sea, and now they’d washed up who knows where.
Gradually her heart rate slowed and her limbs loosened, weighed by lassitude and the solid male lying atop her. His head was twisted away from her, his black wavy hair soft against her cheek. Weakly she stroked his back, dragging her nails lightly over his damp, warm skin. Dimly she heard voices and movement up on deck. The creaking of ropes, the thrust of engines, and the bump and slide of the boat being moored.
Giorgio lifted his head, cocked an ear. “We’re docking in Naples.” He dropped his gaze to hers, his eyes softening to what seemed a miraculous degree. “Well?”
He really was too sexy and charming for his own good. Or hers. She grinned. “Apology accepted, bad boy.”
That wasn’t what he’d meant, and they both knew it. His low chuckle and crinkled eyes transformed his face from classically handsome to devilishly attractive. In fact, he looked more relaxed and congenial than she’d seen him so far. Savoring the pleasurable ache in her muscles and the last faint throb at her core, she wriggled her pelvis against him and an aftershock washed over her. It had been too long for her too. And never, ever, this spectacular.
“We should get up,” she said into his neck.
“In a moment.” He slid out of her and disposed of the condom with a tissue. Then lay sideways facing her, an arm and leg draped possessively across her.
Multiple pairs of feet were tramping on the deck overhead as the crew did whatever needed to be done when docking. Lazy and replete, she lay there with half-lidded eyes, not wanting to move. “I need a shower.”
“Not yet,” he replied. “You Americans are too industrious, always on the go.”
“Says Mr. Workaholic.” She drew lazy circles on his back, noting another scar high on his shoulder. “We’re going to miss the football match. They might run out of tickets.”
He kissed the corners of her eyes. “I have a corporate box and a season pass.”
“So we’re definitely staying overnight?”
His hand cupped her breast as he gently tweaked her nipple. “I already told you yes.”
“And another day?”
His dark eyes tur
ned assessing. “Is that what you want, or what my sister wants?”
“You don’t give up, do you? You’re like a terrier with a rat.” She’d satisfied her curiosity about sleeping with Giorgio, but she had the feeling he still had a few pleasant surprises in store for a willing bed partner. What they had just shared was only sex. And yet it was more. She felt closer to the man, intimate and…bonded. At least she thought they’d connected. She wasn’t at all certain about how he felt. And that made her uneasy.
She traced his brow with the tip of her forefinger, smoothing the ruffled hairs into a thick dark arc. “It’s what I want.” Beads of perspiration dotted his temple. She blew lightly to cool his skin. “I’ve heard so much about the Blue Grotto on the island of Capri. Oh, and the Amalfi Coast. Maybe we could rent a car.”
“I will decide in the morning whether or not we stay longer.” He shrugged.
Layla didn’t pursue it. She had tonight at least. A lot could happen before dawn. She moved pleasurably at the thought of what they would do when they returned to the boat after the football match.
She ran her hand down his side to his waist, his hip, his thigh. “What happened here? Was this from the same accident that gave you the scar on your eyebrow?”
He rolled off the bed and bent to pick up his boxers from the floor. “Get dressed. We’ll go up on deck.”
“Of course. Whatever you say.” Was the accident the same one that had killed his brother? He’d died in a car crash, but that’s all she knew. The incident had been hushed up at the time and no details were available. She wanted to learn more about Giorgio, find out what he was hiding, and if there was some way she could help him overcome the scars of his past. She wanted…
Forget it. She was only a pawn in this game. Her job was to get him to the yacht and keep him there until Tina and the others arrived to take over. She didn’t have to know him or find out his deep dark secrets, or fix him, for God’s sake. That was his family’s job. Not hers.
Now that she knew him better, though, she felt a little guilty about helping his sisters. But she hadn’t lied to him, except by omission. She was here because he intrigued her. And he was the sexiest man she’d ever met. So what if they had a little fun? They were adults.
