by Caro LaFever
“Siete bei, Signora Casartelli,” the attendant gushed as Lara strutted out of the dressing room.
“Grazie.” Flashing a smile, she turned and took one last look. Yes. She was sex personified.
Her husband was in for a surprise.
* * *
He was tired.
Dante rubbed a hand across his jaw and then yanked his tie down. He’d been working non-stop for days on a business deal with an Australian firm that at long last was coming together. He should be ecstatic, elated. This deal would launch his company into a whole new stratosphere of success.
He couldn’t care less.
When his phone buzzed, he sighed and answered, issuing a series of commands to correct the situation presented. Dropping the phone, he leaned back in his leather chair and stared out the window at the Florence sunshine.
He’d barely been at home, barely slept. For days, he’d operated on automatic pilot, going through the motions, unwilling to confront reality.
Which was not like him.
All right.
He’d shied away from it for too long. The reality was, it was for the best. Lara pushed him too far, made him feel too much. This caused him unease; an unease he did not want in his personal life. Plus, she apparently wanted out of their marriage.
It would be better for both of them if he let her go.
A crushing agony flashed through him. Closing his eyes, he willed it away, even though he knew, he knew ultimately he would have to confront this as well, along with the reality the marriage did not suit either of them.
I needed some freedom.
Her words crashed inside him, churning his damned emotions. He immediately swept the memory out of his mind, flattened it with the brutal concentration he’d learned to use over the years.
Eventually, he would have to let her go.
However, not yet. He couldn’t accept reality yet. He needed only a few more mornings, watching her as she got ready for work. He needed only a few more nights watching her as she slept. He needed a few more times listening to her talk, watching her eyes turn from dark to light gold, looking at her as she walked towards him.
Was that too much to ask? Was it too much to ask that he have these few more stolen moments until the time came when he let her walk away for good?
The buzz of the intercom intruded into his torment.
“Si,” he muttered.
“Signora Casartelli is here to see you.” His PA’s voice was filled with curiosity. Which was not surprising, since his wife had never come to his office before.
He jerked up. Was something wrong? “Send her in.”
The double doors eased open and Lara stepped in.
The sight of her stopped his breath. She was dressed as a siren, a brilliantly colored, gold-edged invitation to every male who ever walked the earth. The skirt was shorter than any she’d ever had on before. The jacket was decent yet fit her like a glove, showing the dip of her waist, the lushness of her curves above and below.
What the hell was his Lara doing dressed like this in the middle of the day? She was far more comfortable in jeans and T-shirts when she went to the school, and frankly, he liked that. Why advertise what he had to every other male in the vicinity?
Today, however, she’d gone over to the other side, dressing like a mistress instead a wife. Her clothing destroyed his concentration, destroyed the command he had on himself.
Dannazione.
Behind her, his PA smiled brightly. “Would you like me to bring some refreshments in, Signore Casartelli?”
“No.” Lara swung around, looking behind her. “I need a moment of privacy with my husband.”
“Certamente.” His PA nodded as the door closed on her interested face.
His wife glanced over her shoulder at him and turned the lock.
The clicking sound shot across the room and straight to his groin.
No. No.
There had to be some explanation for her arrival other than the one his riotous libido brought to his all too eager imagination.
Trying to assert some command on his raging hormones and his unexpectedly purposeful wife, he rose. He was glad he still had his suit coat on. The clothing shielded his blatant interest from her stare. “Is something wrong?”
“Does something have to be wrong for me to come visit you at work?” Her long, elegant fingers started to unbutton the jacket. Since the jacket was the only part of her dress that was reasonably conservative, he desperately wanted her to keep it on. He had little self-control with her as it was. The last few nights had been a nightmare. Smelling her soft skin, even though he’d turned away from her. Hearing her soft breathing as she slept. Imagining her body, warm against his.
But he’d been adamant with himself. If he was going to have to let her go, he had to do it in stages. The first stage was to subdue this driving need to be inside her. Then he would be able to pull away further. One step at a time.
“Lara,” he rasped. “Wait.”
It was too late. The last button came undone and with a womanly gesture as old as time, she slipped it off, letting it fall to the floor.
The dress was outrageous. It was scarcely decent as lingerie, much less street clothes. The short skirt, rippling around her thighs, had been enough of a trial on his libido. The camisole was far worse—the lace hid nothing except her nipples. Even from the distance across his vast office, he saw her nipples were peaked, hard. Ready for his mouth.
Taking a deep breath, he sat back down in his leather chair, trying to ignore his rioting body. “I’m busy.”
Her provocative chuckle curled around his cock, just as surely as if her hand had slid into his pants. “I’m sure you are.”
“If there’s nothing wrong, I don’t have any time.” Staring at the computer was the only action he was capable of. At least it kept him from the temptation of looking at her. “What is it you want?”
“There’s a question.”
He felt her, felt her move across the room. He heard her, heard the swish of the silk on those impossibly long legs. He caught the whiff of her rose perfume that always, always stirred him. And the smell of her beneath. The subtle smell of woman, uniquely hers.
The scent always made him desperate to be inside her.
With grim determination, he put his numb fingers on the keyboard and began to type a response to an important email. The words were gibberish, of course. Yet she didn’t know that, and this was what counted.
The light touch of her finger on his neck nearly rocketed him from his seat.
Still, Dante Casartelli was not a man easily swayed from his purpose. Not by a woman, certainly. Not even if she was his wife, a woman he wanted with every cell in his body. A woman who currently was dressed in so little he could have her naked and on his desk in seconds.
The image of her spread across his large glass desk, all of her exposed to his gaze, his touch, was a blinding flash of torment. It made him want to howl. But she would know then. Know what she was doing to him. Clenching his hands in utter despair was not an option either. She would see it and know.
He kept typing.
The chaos of his thoughts blurred his reactions. Before he could process it, her warm, wet mouth moved across the line of his shirt, licking at his neck before, suddenly, nipping at his ear. Her hum lanced directly to his straining cock, nearly pushing him over the edge.
“Lara.” He managed to punch the word out with force. “I don’t have time for this.”
She ignored him.
Completely.
Her tongue slipped along the crevices of his ear, sending tingling spears of pure lust up his spine. She did even worse. Draping herself across the back of his chair, her soft hands smoothed over his shoulders and onto his chest. The thin silk of his shirt could not cover the hardness of his nipples, the flexing of his muscles. His siren of a wife laughed softly as she rubbed the tip of a finger across his aching nipple.
He had to get away.
Su
rging to his feet, he pushed his chair back, and her tempting arms and mouth left him. His libido screamed at him, what are you doing?
His last shred of determination yelled at him to leave, get away while he could. “I have to—”
“Brilliant,” she murmured, ignoring his words. With a swift move worthy of a star ballerina, she twirled before him and yanked his jacket off his shoulders and down his arms. “I was beginning to get frustrated with all the clothes you have on.”
Dante glared at her, not believing in the innocent look she gave him. Not for a moment. “I don’t know what you are doing, but stop it right now.”
His wife glanced at him, her eyes dancing with pure gold intent. “No.”
Before he could wrap his head around her frank rebuttal, he found his tie whipped over his head. With a firm push, she had him sitting in his chair. Standing in front of him, she smiled, a sultry blast that demolished any words he had floating through his thoughts. With elegant simplicity, she knelt between his legs and leaned, full-length, across his splayed body.
There was nothing he could say to her at this point to make her think he wasn’t interested. Her knowing smile was accompanied by a slither of her body against the aching hardness of his erection.
“I think you know what I’m doing,” she said in a husky voice.
Closing his eyes, he let himself feel her on him. Her touch was painfully pleasurable. He knew this was backsliding. He knew he would pay for this for nights to come as he held himself rigid in their marriage bed. He would have to start all over, the process of pulling away, letting go.
But he was too far gone. Too far in her spell.
Her hands floated across his chest, buttons opening, silk pushed away. He kept his eyes closed, letting her do whatever she wanted. The vague thought rippled through him that she’d never been so forward, never taken charge of their lovemaking so completely. Which was why he found himself unable to put two coherent thoughts or actions together. She’d overtaken and overwhelmed him with barely a lift of her shoulders, barely a touch of her magic hands.
She was Eve. She was Venus. She was Seduction.
“You are so beautiful,” she purred.
Her fingers played with his rigid nipples, skimmed through his chest hair. She followed this madness with even further torture. Her warm, wet mouth slithered along his torso, lighting a band of nipping kisses down, down.
A long groan ripped from his throat. All of him was only feeling now, no thoughts of office, business, his decision to draw away. No thought. Only feeling. The feel of his body as it tightened and flexed. The feel of her warm breasts pressed on the most sensitive part of his body. The wet trail of her tongue as it played along the top of his pants, tickling the line of hair disappearing beneath his remaining clothes.
“Lara,” he begged. “Per favore.”
At the sound of his pant’s zipper, he managed to pry his eyes open and glance down. The black silk of his underwear tented high as she pulled open his pants. His wife’s smile was languid as she glanced at him. With a final touch, she blew his remaining control to pieces. Her warm hand took him, rubbing the silk along the length of his cock.
“Dio.” His body bowed upward, pushing himself into her grasp with instinctive need.
“Do you like this?” Her voice was soft and sexy.
Gazing at her, knowing he must appear demented in his need, he croaked, “You know I do.”
A sultry smile was his answer. “I’m going to do more for you.”
More? He trembled, his body shaking with need. What more could she possibly do for him? If she did anymore he’d go crazy, lose himself in her hand.
With one look of pure purpose, she answered his unspoken questions. She dropped her lips to his silk-covered length and nuzzled.
His hands fisted on the arms of his chair as he forced himself to stop the impulsive urge to push her wide, lush mouth into his lap. She had never indicated she wanted to do this to him, and he’d never pushed. He’d been more than content with having her beneath him, hearing her moans as he brought her to climax, feeling her arms and legs come around him, welcoming him into her heat.
But now, now…
His siren wife tongued him through the silk and he couldn’t stop the helpless gasp he gave her as encouragement. His head dropped back, eyes shut tight, his entire focus on that sweet mouth moving over him.
“Lift your hips.”
A slave to her command, he moved, feeling the slip of silk across his thighs, feeling the cool air hit the hotness of his skin.
Then the exploding pleasure of her wet lips enveloping him took the last of his conscious thought.
Chapter 20
He tasted salty. And hot. And desperate.
Every one of the licks gave her satisfaction because of his instantaneous response.
She watched his face as he groaned again. His high cheekbones were stained with red passion. For a moment his eyes opened, staring at what she did to him. They were glazed with frantic desire, blind to anything except what she was doing.
The triumph was sweet. The love beneath her actions beat like a throbbing note of hope. Lara had never wanted to do this with any man. But Dante, oh with Dante…
“Son oil tuo schiavo,” he moaned.
She didn’t want him to be her slave, she wanted him to be her love. Would he understand the meaning beneath her actions? Would he realize she would only do this with a man she loved with everything she had inside herself?
The tip of her tongue circled the head of his cock and she felt the flexing of his thighs as he pushed himself forward. She was surrounded by him, his heat and strength and maleness. Yet she was the one who held all this male power in her grip.
“Madre di Dio,” he hissed as she gave him another lick.
Her hand slid down the length of his erection and lightly palmed his balls. A torrent of Italian curses was his response, and then his broad hands gripped her head.
“Stop,” he pleaded. “I need to be inside you.”
Looking into the deep, velvet darkness of his heated stare, she tried to find what she was looking for. Did he know what she was saying to him? Did he understand?
“Per favore, bella.”
She rose in front of him, standing between his legs. With a single push, she lost her skirt and thong, now clad only in the golden piece of fluff wrapped around her breasts. His desperate gaze followed her every movement, his body open and naked for her perusal.
“Take it off, Lara.”
Feeling as though she’d found her secret essence, she slipped the last item of clothing she wore over her head.
Naked. Standing before him naked in every way. Body and soul and heart all before him. Whether he knew it or not.
“Vene,” he husked, grabbing her hand and tugging her towards him.
Slipping her legs by his, she knelt over him, brushing her entire body against the length of his torso. His hands gripped her butt, kneading her muscles, pulling her closer to the center of his heat.
For the first time in days, she kissed him on the lips. Smoothing her palms along his cheeks and into his hair, she dove right in, taking his mouth, just as she’d taken his body.
He answered her passion with a driving need. His tongue clashed with hers, igniting her excitement exactly as she’d done to him.
“Put me inside you,” he whispered on her lips.
Coming to her knees, she held him in her hand and eased him into the place he wanted to be. His gaze was entirely black, a raging, burning cauldron of need and desire. She kept her focus on his face as she slid down, taking him into her body and heart and soul.
Did he know? Did he understand?
His hands tightened on her, pushing her into his heat and power. His breathing rasped harshly on her neck as he pulled her to lie on top of his sweat-slicked skin. “I will not last long, tesoro mio.”
She didn’t care. She wanted this to be about him, her gift to him. Lifting herself, she tightened her muscle
s around him, pushing him towards the edge.
With a hoarse cry, he arched into her, and then out, tight hips pumping. His fingers pressed into her skin painfully, yet she was blind to anything but her husband and his satisfaction. Kissing his lips, his chin, his neck, she clamped down hard on his manhood and pushed him over.
His eyes compressed shut, long dark lashes stark against the passion red skin of his cheeks. His mouth dropped open, an animalistic sound of pure pleasure erupting forth. His hips bowed into hers, lifting her up with the power of his taking. He jerked, jerked again, in the innermost part of her, and she knew the flood of him pulsing inside her, a heated streak of need.
Panting, he slumped, his fingers loosening their grip on her skin.
She tucked her head into the hot, sweaty notch of his neck and shoulder, listening to the slam of his heart inside his ribs. With a gentle touch, she smoothed her hands across his shoulders and chest, listening as his pulse slowed, his breathing recovered. Was it the time to tell him she loved him? The words trembled and surged in her mouth.
Her brain zinged into action.
First apologize.
Yes. First make things right. Then…
“Dante.”
One of his broad palms slipped along her spine and down to her butt, an almost absentminded touch. “Si?” His voice was quiet.
Pushing herself straight, she stared at him. The hook of his nose she used to think of as arrogant, yet now was so dear to her. The line of his jaw she used to believe showed his overbearing pride, now only seemed absolutely right for him. And his eyes, his beautiful dark eyes. She wanted to see love for her in those eyes.
But his eyes were still closed.
“Look at me.”
Thick lashes lifted, but shielded his thoughts.
“I’m sorry.” The pleasure of their sex started to slide away, replaced with bubbling anxiety.
The edges of his lips tightened, and his gaze took on a wary slant. “I don’t want—”
“You must listen to me.” She held his head in her grasp. “I felt smothered and confused. For a moment.”
