Shadow Rider

by Christine Feehan

  He kissed his way down her body, keeping that slow, unhurried pace, but it was more intense than she thought possible. It felt as if he was worshiping her. Showing her with his mouth and hands how much he loved her.

  Stefano took his time, savoring the taste and texture of Francesca. It was impossible to put into words what he felt for her. He'd had no idea he could feel for a woman what he did each time he touched her. Hell. That wasn't exactly the truth. It happened each time he thought of her, which was every minute of every day. She was fast becoming his obsession.

  He couldn't wait to be in her. Home. That was what she was to him. A woman who saw him. He kissed his way up the inside of her thigh, feeling her shiver. He loved her reaction every time he touched her. The silk of skin. The heat. He knew he shouldn't be happy for all the women he'd had before her. He couldn't remember them and they paled into insignificance, but he was grateful for the experience, to be able to give his woman so much pleasure.

  Her soft little moans sounded like music to him. He waited for the breathy hitch in her voice before he dipped his head again and nuzzled that sweet, sweet treasure between her legs. Her hips bucked and he pinned her down, forcing her thighs farther apart as he inhaled her scent.

  She was a siren calling to him. His gaze slid up her body, drinking her in, devouring her. Could a woman be any more beautiful, laid out for him, her body flushed, breasts swaying with every undulation and shift she made. Her hair was everywhere, just like he loved it, that cloud of dark silk felt like heaven against his skin. He dreamed of her hair sliding over him as he fucked her slowly. Fast. Any damn way he wanted.

  "Who do you belong to, bambina?" He licked at her, licked at the orange-and-cinnamon-scented drops of honey spilling out of her. All for him. Every single bit, just for him. She didn't know yet. She was still leery of the relationship, not trusting anything that happened so fast. Knowing his family was far more than he was telling her. Still, she was there. With him. Committing to him in spite of her fear.

  He needed her to commit all the way. To be so far into him, she couldn't walk away. He wanted their shadows merged--a dangerous thing to do if she wasn't fully his. It was a risk he knew could lose him everything. He'd end up a shadow himself, no longer a rider, something he was born to do. Every day they were together like this, so intimate, their shadows connected, beginning the seal between them.

  "Answer me, Francesca." He used his black velvet voice. The one no one ever dared disobey. The one commanding truth. "Who do you belong to?" He plunged his tongue deep, because he couldn't resist her scent one more moment. His hands shaped her hips, her thighs. Slid over the dark curls at the vee of her legs. Possessively. He knew exactly who she belonged to.

  "Stefano."

  She said his name on a gasp, her hands finding his hair, gripping, pulling. He loved the bite of pain. His cock loved it, too.

  "I belong to you."

  Four beautiful words. He added a finger to her tight sheath and her muscles contracted around it, bathed him in hot liquid. He marveled that she could take him. She always felt far too tight, yet she was perfect for him.

  "That's right, Francesca. You're mine." Because he couldn't live without her. He couldn't ever again come back to one of his houses without her in it.

  He moved up her body, keeping her thighs wide, bending one leg at the knee to curve it around his body, wanting her to lock him up tight. He did the same to the other leg so that her body cradled his and her legs circled his thighs, ankles crossed to hold him to her.

  He brushed at her hair, and took her mouth again. He'd never be able to resist her mouth. He loved everything about it. How soft. Like velvet. Full lips. Her smile took his breath every time. She had the cutest little dimple, barely there, that came and went when she smiled. Her taste was exquisite. Addicting. He kissed his way down her chin and took a small bite. Felt her body shudder beneath his in reaction.

  Her neck was next. He loved the way she arched, giving him access, even when he bit her that little bit too hard. It was impossible not to sink his teeth into her. She was just too--perfect. Just too his. Everything he could imagine he would want in a woman and so much more.

  Her hands stroked his back, fingernails bit deep into his shoulders. His cock jerked, his balls tightened. She was perfect. Fucking perfect. He worshiped her breasts, taking his time, even when she tried to impale herself on him. He loved that. Loved the way she needed him. Her eyes had that glazed look he was hungry to see. The look that said she was so far gone he could do anything to her and she'd let him, because she was every bit as wild for him as he was for her.

  He guided her legs higher, so that they wrapped around his waist, exposing that soft center of hers. A flower. He lodged the head of his cock there, feeling the burn. So slick with welcome. He loved that too. How wet she got for him. How responsive she was to him. She was everything. When a man had nothing for his entire damn life, there was no mistaking the real thing when she walked unexpectedly into his world.

  He pushed slowly into her. Inch by scorching-hot inch. Watching as she took him in. Watching as her body swallowed his. It was beautiful. Fucking perfection. His gaze on hers, he threaded his fingers through hers and pressed their joined hands into the mattress.

  He'd never felt anything so intense as he did right in that moment. The clasp of her sheath strangling his cock, a vise made of breathing silk, the tunnel so hot and tight it took his breath. He moved slowly. He didn't want to. He wanted to fuck her hard, but right then, he couldn't. He was helpless, caught in her spell. Mesmerized by her beauty--by the beauty of her body and what it could do to his. Mesmerized by her heart, the heart that belonged to him.

  He found himself hypnotized by the small noises Francesca made in her throat that always drove him wild. The way her eyes darkened as lust overtook her. He was acutely aware of every detail, every movement. The way she tilted her pelvis to take him deeper. The way she lifted to meet him, matching his rhythm exactly. Accepting whatever pace he set. Hard. Slow. Gentle. Fast. She gave herself completely into his keeping.

  "That's right, dolce cuore," he whispered, feeling it build in her, coiling and burning. She was close. The hitch in her breathing, the raw carnal need etched into her face. So beautiful. All his. "Give it to me now." He pushed command into his voice, wanting to feel the pulse of her body, that tight grip milking at him. The scorching friction and searing heat she surrounded him with. He wasn't yet ready to let her take him over the edge. He wanted more. Much, much more.

  She gasped as the climax took her, her gaze never wavering from his. Her eyes went wide with a kind of dazed shock and her body shuddered and rippled with a powerful orgasm. He kept moving in her, picking up the pace, pounding through her climax, prolonging it.

  He couldn't help himself. He drove deeper, lifting her hips to him, fingers digging into her perfect little heart-shaped bottom. Fucking her hard. Really hard. She belonged to him. Every inch of her. Her orgasms belonged to him. Her silken sheath, so tight he thought he might not live through every time she surrounded him--that belonged to him. He buried himself in her over and over. Taking her. Owning her. Savoring her. Her scent. The feel of her. Dio. Her taste, so exquisite he was addicted and woke every fucking morning with her on his tongue.

  He wrapped her hair around his fist, just because he fucking owned her hair, too. She let him, even when he jerked, pulling hard, turning her head to force her to keep watching his face. He reveled in the sight of her under him, pinned there, unable to move, her legs wrapped around his waist, locking them together while he rode her hard.

  He belonged there inside of her. She was . . . la sua casa--his home. Home wasn't a place with four walls. Home was a scorching-hot, tight sheath made of silk. Home was blue eyes he could drown in. Home was soft skin and an eager mouth, hands that stroked and caressed, nails that bit deep in passion. She was home. Francesca.

  He was close--so close to the end of his control. He felt the heat skittering down his spine. Up his
thighs. His balls tightening. She was beautiful, her entire body flushed, her mouth open, panting, singing a ragged chant, a breathy call of his name. "Mine." He nearly spat the word. Telling her. Wanting that word branded into her bones. Wanting his name carved deep in her soul. She. Was. His. His everything.

  Her muscles tightened, clamping down again, that scorching vise he would never get used to, the one that felt so fucking good. Paradise. Exquisite pain and pleasure coming together in perfect harmony. Forcing his explosion so that his entire body seemed to come apart. Milking him dry.

  "Francesca." He breathed her name in reverence. His woman. He hoped she felt what he was trying to show her with his body. Love wasn't the right word, not when it was everything. Not when it was so intense.

  She stroked his hair, her eyes drowsy. Sated. Staring into her eyes shook him because he found himself drowning in her blue gaze, experiencing the most powerful emotion he'd ever felt. She shook the foundations of his world.

  He allowed himself to collapse over her, burying his face against her neck. He nuzzled her there. Kissed her. Bit down as gently as he could, feeling her body shudder and quake around his as he glided into her over and over. Slow again. Bringing them both down from that exhilarating rush.

  When he finally found the strength to withdraw, he rolled her onto her side, back to him, curling his body around her.

  "I have to clean up."

  "No." He made it an order. "Tonight you sleep with me inside you." He had a primitive desire to own her body all night. He waited for her to protest. What woman wouldn't protest? His seed would run down her thighs. Make a sticky mess. She had every right to protest. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into the back of her head, into the luxurious mass of dark hair. Waiting.

  Francesca laughed softly, and the sound teased every one of his senses. Made him indescribably happy. He lifted his head because he had to see her. One hand moved the cloak of hair, exposing the tilt of her mouth. That sweet, sweet curve.

  "You're kind of a caveman, sometimes, Stefano. But it's sexy. Really, really sexy."

  The breathless quality to her voice brushed like fingers over his belly, making his cock grow semihard when he'd just been feeling sated. She could make him insatiable. She already had. He was used to having a strong sex drive, mostly when he came out of the shadow portals, the adrenaline rushing through his veins, but now, he thought about sex about every third second. Sex with his woman. Francesca.

  "Glad you think so, amore. You need to go back to sleep. You have work in the morning. Unless . . . " He paused hopefully. When she didn't take the bait, he sighed. "You could quit."

  "I'm not going to be a kept woman, Stefano."

  He was silent. He wanted to keep her. It was necessary to him. "You do know I'm filthy rich, right? My family has money. I have money. I would much rather spend it on you than on anything or anyone else." He spoke low, trying to keep his tone even. He knew money was going to be a sore subject with her. She'd been homeless. And she had a streak of pride a mile wide.

  "You bought me an entire wardrobe, honey," she said.

  Her voice was quiet. Almost gentle. He could tell she was trying to tiptoe around his pride. It wasn't that though. "It's about me needing to do things for you, Francesca. It makes me happy. You have no idea how happy. I've never had this before."

  It was difficult to make the admission, not with his emotions choking him. He was grateful he was behind her, his body locked around hers. He tightened his arm around her chest, and pushed his hips deeper into her. She was so soft. Incredibly soft. And warm. Her perfect little ass pushed back against him, and he closed his eyes against the streak of white lightning shooting through his cock to his belly.

  "I'll keep my job for the time being, Stefano. It helps me learn about all the people in the neighborhood. You grew up with them. I would like to get to know them. I can tell they matter to you--you help them out a lot. If I'm going to be your wife, then they should be able to come to me so I can take some of the burden off you."

  His heart jerked hard in his chest. The pressure was strong, an actual pain. She was going to be his wife. He would accept nothing less, but to have her want to get to know the people in his world just so she could help him reduced him to putty. She didn't know it--and thank God she didn't--but she had him in the palm of her hand. She had all the power in their relationship. She probably always would.

  "You're killing me, woman. Go to sleep." Because he couldn't take much more.

  "Not yet."

  "Bambina," he said softly, sweeping the hair from her neck to over her shoulder. He pressed his lips against her bare nape. "Go to sleep. If you don't, I'll know I didn't do my job, wearing you out." He murmured the words against her soft skin, his teeth scraping back and forth gently, the desire to take a bite out of her strong in him. "That will mean I'll start all over again, which I don't mind, but I'll get you sore. So close your beautiful eyes for me and go to sleep."

  She sighed. "I wish I could, but I keep thinking about the poor girl, Stefano. The one you told me about."

  He closed his eyes. He had no right blurting out details of his assignments no matter how disturbing or upsetting. "Francesca, I should never have told you about her. I don't know why I did. You don't need to hear things like that. Not ever." He stroked her hair. He loved touching her. He fucking needed to touch her.

  "Of course I do," Francesca protested, snuggling deeper into her pillow.

  He loved the way her bare skin slid over his. Like silk. Or satin. So sinful he wanted her all over again. His cock just kept throbbing. Demanding. He pressed deeper against her ass, finding the crease there. He used one hand to circle his shaft, closing his eyes against the pleasure sweeping through him.

  "Anything that upsets you, I want to share. I want you to be able to talk to me about your work. I might not be able to do anything but listen, but at least I can do that. The thing is, if you're reading reports on this girl, that means you're considering some way to help her."

  He met her statement with silence. She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. Dio. So fucking beautiful. Her eyes. The way she looked at him as if he were the only man in the world. He buried his face in her hair, escaping that wide blue gaze.

  "You're too damn smart for your own good, Francesca. We're getting into things I can't talk about until my ring is on your finger."

  She blinked at him and then turned back to lay her head on her pillow, her fingers curling into a fist beside her chin. "Your ring is on my finger," she pointed out, her voice low.

  He reached across her body to lift her left hand, his thumb sliding over the engagement ring. He loved seeing it on her finger. Feeling it there. "You have to have my wedding band here as well. That's how this works in my family, amore."

  Francesca was silent for a long time, and his heart pounded. She couldn't slip away. She just couldn't. Not now. He wouldn't allow it. He stayed quiet, afraid to say anything. Afraid not to.

  "Stefano, I know your business isn't legal. I suspected all along, but you told me your family doesn't sell drugs or run guns and I believe you. I can't imagine you involved in prostitution or, worse, human trafficking."

  His heart continued to pound. Blood thundered in his ears. Was she making a leap of faith or about to tell him to fuck off? He held himself very still, waiting for her to shatter him.

  "Your family isn't like the Saldi family, in the news suspected of all kinds of heinous crimes. Still, in spite of your banks, hotels, nightclubs and even the casinos, I'm fairly certain your family has an illegal side to some of the things you do."

  Not his entire family. Just the ones that would matter to her. He wanted to kiss her, cover her mouth with his. Stop her. In that moment he knew she could shatter him. Break him into a million pieces and he'd never recover. Not in this lifetime. He realized all the lore in his family was truth. Ferraro men, when they found the right woman, loved her with everything in them and they did it only once. Francesca wa
s his once.

  "To be with you, I can accept a lot of things, Stefano, but not silence. Not being kept in the dark. I know that there isn't always justice in the world. Believe me, I am living proof of that. It isn't like I'm ever going to go running to the police believing they'll help me. I did that too many times."

  She made a move, as if she might put distance between them. He wasn't having that. He refused. He tightened his arm under her breasts and tucked her into his side, pushing his cock into the cleft of her rounded cheeks, deep, claiming that part of her for his own as well. Making a statement. She subsided, but that didn't stop the tension from coiling tighter in his gut.

  "This girl. The one you read about. I don't know why people come to you for help, but if you can get her out of that situation, I'm behind you 100 percent."

  She turned her head again to look at him over her shoulder. Her blue eyes were dark. Beautiful. Filled with possession and pride. For him. Fuck. She was killing him, taking him over, one slice of his soul at a time. His cock hardened until he thought he might shatter. Or maybe his heart was going to fragment into a million pieces.

  "And, Stefano, I don't care how you have to do it, legal or otherwise. Just help her if you can." A soft dictate. An acceptance.

  His heart nearly exploded. He reached down and caught her hips, tugging her into position, one hand sliding between her legs. She was filled with him. Slick with him. Slick with the both of them. He lifted one of her legs and just slid home. Buried himself deep. Stayed planted as deep as humanly possible while he held her to him. While he buried his face in the ultimate luxury of her thick dark hair. He didn't move, just stayed locked to her. Buried in her, right where he wanted to live. Home.

  "Stefano?" Her voice caressed his skin. Melted into his bones. "Honey, you have to move. You can't tease me like this."

  He found himself smiling like an idiot. If his brothers saw him now they'd call him whipped, and he wouldn't care. She was exhausted, had to get up early and she had that little demand in her voice that was sexy as hell. So hot, his woman. So fucking hot. He complied and gave her exactly what she wanted. He'd give her the world every time.