When he’d used a combination of saliva and spendings to coat his finger and insinuated it into her ass, her scream of release, the way her body thrashed so he could hardly hold it, was almost more than he could bear.
Every demand he made of her, Jane joyfully acceded to. He loved the way her eyes grew limpid as he sucked on her fingers and toes, darkened and became stormy as he teased her body back to passion. The contrast of his swarthy skin again her paleness drove him wild. Her raspberry-hued nipples drew him like a feast calls to a starving man. And, most of all, he loved the way she touched him, as though he were somehow precious, his body something she wanted to explore to the fullest. She had called him beautiful and she looked at him, caressed him, as though she meant it.
Yet, although the carnal pleasure he’d experienced was sublime, the moments he’d remember forever from this afternoon had nothing to do with physical enjoyment. Instead it was the instances of laughter and simple communion that thrummed through his heart, highlighting his assurance that they belonged together. Sharing the simple meal of bread, cheese and sausage he had brought, talk flowed so effortlessly between them it was as though they had known each other all their lives.
Reaching across the table, he’d gently lifted a lock of hair that was falling against her cheek and hooked it behind her ear. Looking up, she’d smiled at him so sweetly—almost shyly—that his heart stuttered with joy. And, later, he’d been reduced to helpless laughter as she critiqued Gustav’s more fanciful paintings in a voice he easily recognized as mimicking Grimond, the Lowells’ butler. For that he’d been moved to snatch her up and, humming the strains of a quadrille, dance her about the studio until she was breathless with laughter.
Those were moments to cherish, to hold dearer even than the sweetness of her surrender and the wildness of their lovemaking. When they grew old, and the fires of desire perhaps had dimmed to a glowing warmth, it was the ability to speak to each other and laugh together that would ensure their continued happiness.
Now lying on the bed, sated and exhausted, yet with a mind clearer than he could ever remember it being, Sergio watched for her to come out from behind the screen and wondered how to proceed.
Strange to think his entire life to this point—all the struggles to maintain his autonomy, the fights to make his own way—were in preparation for this moment. If he were a man of lesser mettle, used to giving in when others said it was for his own good, or afraid to go against convention, he would lie here and watch Jane walk away, perhaps forever.
Beyond the windows, darkness had fallen. He’d risen and lit lamps when twilight thickened the shadows and he could no longer see the rosy flush on Jane’s cheeks, the delicious lips parted for his. She’d be thinking of going back to the Lowells’ house, back to being Mrs. Rollins, dependable, unflappable housekeeper. He knew he had to let her go, but he wasn’t ready yet. Not until she admitted what they’d shared was important and the bond between them superseded whatever else there was in their lives.
Not until he’d gotten her to admit they belonged together.
Through the gloom behind the screen, Jane stared at herself in the tiny wall-mounted mirror, and wondered how she would force herself to leave. All she wanted to do was crawl back into the bed with Sergio, hold him, stay with him forever.
How could one day make such a difference in her life?
Before she’d left to come here, she’d been excited, knowing the carnal delights awaiting her would be beyond anything she’d ever experienced. And she’d been scared of discovery, frightened that indulging in the passion Sergio inspired may destroy everything she’d worked so hard to achieve.
Now… She shook her head, blinking against the sting of tears. Now she was terrified to know that, sometime during the afternoon, she’d lost herself completely in Sergio’s arms. Terrified to admit she would never be the same. Never be content with what, just days before, had seemed the culmination of all her dreams. How could she return to the sterile life she’d been living, having been so thoroughly, completely…ravished by Sergio?
Her mind tried to insist she’d been loved, but she couldn’t allow herself to think that way. Just because her lust and fascination had been transmuted to that most precious of emotions didn’t in any way mean Sergio felt the same. If ever there were a time to maintain her commonsense and be realistic, it was now. Heartbreak was assured. There was no need to add decimated pride and the worst kind of embarrassment to it.
She tugged the snarls from her hair with a small comb she found next to the basin. And she used the washcloth and towel, hopefully wiping away the scent of sexual congress and Sergio, although she would have preferred it remain on her skin as long as possible. It was time to dress and return to her old life, as difficult as that would be.
Taking a deep breath, she left the relative privacy of the screen and, without even a glance toward the bed, went in search of the pins to fix her hair. Silly to feel as though getting her tresses back in order would help give her the fortitude necessary to leave, yet she did. Once she had her bun in place, Mrs. Rollins would come back, she was sure.
The pins were on the drafting table, where Sergio had left them, and she scooped them into her hand as he spoke.
“Sweet Jane.”
A shiver rippled along her spine at the deep, commanding tone. He was calling her back to his side, and, despite her instinctive urge to give in, she resisted.
“I have to get dressed, Sergio. I cannot afford to be late getting back. Mrs. Lowell is very strict about such things.”
“Come here.”
Swallowing convulsively, damning the way her body immediately heated and tightened, she shook her head.
“No. I can’t. I must—”
“You must come here, cara mia.”
Implacable, demanding her obedience, forcing her to turn and look at him, even as she fought not to give in.
He lay back against the headboard, the sheet tangled over his hips, his torso and one long, muscular leg exposed—bronze against the whiteness of the covers. With one arm bent behind his head, the other resting by his side, he was the picture of calm sanguinity, a portrait of such incredible beauty Jane gasped, her breath caught in her chest.
With a slow, precise gesture, he pulled back the sheet, until he was completely bare.
“I made you a promise, Jane. When I stood over you in your little sitting room and fucked your mouth, I told you the next time I would let you do whatever you desired with me. That promise hasn’t been fulfilled, and I want it to be now.”
As he spoke his cock, which had been flaccid, began to stir anew and Jane watched it thicken and darken, begin to rise from its nest of black curls. Saliva spurt into her mouth. Heat burgeoned in her belly, dripping into her cunt, spreading to her breasts, throat and face, and her legs trembled.
“I have to go back.”
But the words came out weak, a thin shield against the might of his control, which came at her like a battering ram.
“Not yet, cara.” He spread his thighs, the taut muscles bunching and flexing. “Not until you have taken what you want from me, and I have what I need from you.”
What do you need, Sergio?
The words hovered on her lips, but she bit them back, not wanting to hear him say all he wanted was another release, another chance to feel pleasure. Instead she would pretend it was her he needed. All of her, not just her body. And she would fool herself, this once, into imagining they were just like any other couple, with no impediments to being together. That when he lay spent in her arms, he would tell her of his undying devotion, his love for her, his wish for them to be together always. And, when he did, she would say she felt the same for him and would be his forever.
In this dream world of hers, there was no signora coming from Italy to be wed to him. No father who threatened to disown him if he didn’t go through with the marriage. No family for him to hold on to with all his considerable strength.
There was just him and her, and th
is incredible, joyous emotion flowing through her veins.
“Come,” he said, lifting his hand in one of his habitually graceful gestures, calling her to him. “Come, sweet Jane. Sono tutto tuo.”
Unresisting now, she moved to the edge of the bed and took his hand. “Tell me what you just said.”
Lifting his hand to her face, she kissed his palm, circling it with the tip of her tongue, watching his eyelids become heavy.
“I am all yours. I belong to you.”
She smiled, allowing the dream to become her reality, just for a little while. “Exactly what I wanted to hear you say.”
Climbing onto the bed, she knelt between his knees, slid her hands up to his thighs. How hard he was again, as though he were indefatigable, his lust unable to be assuaged. Jane pretended it was only because of her he grew erect, that only the thought of her mouth in particular on his body, only the sight of her, and no one else, kneeling before him could have wrested another cock-stand from his body.
Pulling her still unbound hair over one shoulder, she trailed the ends across his skin, over his thighs, cock and belly.
“Dio,” he groaned, low in his throat. “How did you know I longed for you to do that, sweet Jane?”
She smiled, not replying, only continuing her teasing until his hips rose and rolled beneath the whisk and drag of her hair. It was then she twisted the long strands into a loose knot at her nape to get them out of her way, and bent to nuzzle the crease where one thigh met his groin. With a deep inhalation she drew his musky scent, mixed with that of her own sexual desire and pleasure, into her lungs. With a swipe of her tongue she tasted him, glorying in his growl of approbation. Without touching him with her hand, she rubbed her cheek against the hardness of his cock, enjoying the softness of his flesh against her skin.
Taking her time, she explored the length of him with her lips, sipping at him, fluttering her tongue as she went. Each of his testicles was licked and, after a moment of thought, pulled gently into her mouth. The hiss of his indrawn breath, the way his hips jerked, was her reward.
Aware of his promise to allow her free rein, and determined to relish the experience, make it last as long as possible, she slowed her movements even more. Holding his cock with one hand, she guided the damp tip to her mouth, but instead of engulfing it, she circled it around her lips, the wet slide infinitely erotic.
On and on she played, lost in him, in his enjoyment—signaled with groans and sweet words, the tightening of muscles and up-thrusting hips—until she felt unable to go one more second without taking him fully into her mouth.
With a soft moan of bliss, she fed his length a little at a time into her mouth, loving the sensation of the head against her palate, the salty shaft on her tongue. Deeper, until he was at the back of her throat, his body frozen, trembling with pleasure as she sucked and laved the base of his penis.
“La tua bocca mi fa impazzire.” From the corner of her eye, she saw his hand fisted in the sheet, and when she cupped his balls with one hand, they were tight, close to his body. “Your mouth drives me crazy, Jane. So prim and delicate in repose. So wanton and lascivious when you love me.”
Yes. When she loved him.
Perhaps to Sergio it was just a turn of phrase, a euphemism for what they were doing. But Jane held the words close to her heart, knowing they were true, pretending he knew it too.
As much as she wanted to prolong the delight, she knew Sergio was growing close to release. She redoubled her efforts, bobbing her head faster, flicking her tongue against the crown, rocking back and forth to increase his pleasure. Yet just as she was sure he was about to spend, Sergio rose up from his supine position and dragged her head away.
“Why—”
He gave her no time to complete her shocked question, for he had rolled her over and, with one sure, powerful motion, thrust into her cunt. It wasn’t his actions but the look in his eyes that stole the breath from her lungs and caused a hot wash of mingled need and fear to flow from her curled toes to the top of her head.
“I need to be in you again. To lose myself in your eyes and feel your heart beating under mine.” He shifted, rolling his hips slightly, letting her feel his strength and determination. “I can’t get enough of you, sweet Jane.”
It appeared to her he would say more but, so aroused was she by his words, her cunt clenched around his cock and he groaned, began to move. Yet he didn’t take his gaze from hers as he thrust, moving his hips from side-to-side as he did, making her body tremble and strain toward completion. Even when her eyes closed with bliss, she knew he watched her, and it only increased her excitement.
“Sergio,” she cried, on the edge, about to hurtle once more into the churning bliss he created. I love you. It was what she screamed inside, while on the outside all she did was writhe and thrash and hold him as tightly as she could.
When the first wave of release struck, arching her off the bed, she thought she heard him say, “Ti amo, sweet Jane. I love you.” And although she knew it was her imagination, she couldn’t stop her body’s reaction, for it shook, thrown into deeper bliss.
Sergio thrust once more, spilling his seed inside her. Every pulse of his cock added to her pleasure, until she thought she might incinerate from the heat between them.
For a moment, he rested on her, his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin, and she held him, stroking his back as though to soothe him. Then he rolled to the side, lying on his back, obviously trying to catch his breath. Despite the delicious lethargy weighing down her limbs, Jane knew this was the end and, just as he reached for her, she slipped off the bed.
“I must go.”
On trembling legs, suddenly devastated by the knowledge their stolen afternoon was over and she could never afford to risk another like it, she stumbled to the drafting table for her pins.
“Even though you haven’t given me what I need yet?”
Chapter Twelve
His words froze her in place, the pins digging into her palm with the strength of her grip. Taking a deep breath, not looking at him lest she lose her resolve, she forced her words to come out calmly, coolly.
“I have given you everything I have, Sergio. Even more than I should, for it is past time for me to be back at the Lowells’ house.”
“Indeed, you have given me much, cara.” He spoke softly, the words a caress. “Everything but your heart. Your promise to be mine.”
She didn’t reply, couldn’t reply. The pins fell from her nerveless fingers as his words struck her like a lash. Pain, exploding in her chest, galvanized her into motion. Grabbing her clothing, she began to pull each piece on, hardly caring whether they were straight or going on the correct way.
How could he be so cruel? So heartless as to open the door of paradise and let her see the landscape, knowing it could never be hers?
“Jane.” He was somehow beside her, although she hadn’t heard him move. “Jane. Cara mia. Why won’t you answer me?”
Furious, she flung his restraining hands away, reached once more for the ties of her drawers and carelessly knotting them in her haste. “Don’t!” she cried, twisting to the side when he would have touched her again. “Don’t touch me!”
He stepped back as though he’d been slapped, stood watching as she dragged on her chemise and reached for the padded waistcoat. She had it on and buttoned before he spoke again.
“I see you, Jane Rollins.” The words, redolent with more caring than she had ever heard in another person’s voice, drove through her like spikes. “I see you running away, and I know what you’re thinking, what you refuse to believe.”
“You know nothing,” she snapped, not wanting to hear another word, wanting only to get her clothes on and get away as quickly as she could. Allowing her pain-filled rage to flow, she snarled, “Just because you fucked me doesn’t mean you know me.”
“I know you’re afraid. You’re thinking I will be marrying Lucretia Bertuca because it is what my father wants, and therefor
e I am only toying with your affections. That it would be easier for us both to pretend what we feel, what we did here, is unimportant and transient.” He stepped closer, and she spun away, desperately trying to get her corset hooked, uncaring that it was fastened crooked. “You want to ignore my words of love so as to protect yourself and, perhaps more importantly, to protect me.”
She wouldn’t listen to him. Couldn’t allow herself the luxury of absorbing his words—believing them. No matter what he said, Jane knew the truth. Sergio Fontini may be looked down upon by everyone in the Lowell house as a foreigner, an outsider, nothing more than a dance master of questionable pedigree. But she knew. He was leagues above her. So far above she couldn’t even begin to comprehend how he could bring himself to say these things to her, much less mean them.
If she didn’t care, she’d offer him her half-days, her one day off a month. They’d roll together on the bed, fucking and sucking and screaming each other’s name in ecstasy. But that was impossible, because she loved him with all her heart, and to do that, week after week, month after month, would kill her as surely as a bullet to the head.
“You can try to convince yourself of all the reasons we cannot be together, sweet Jane. My cara mia.” Despite the endearments, his voice had dropped low, become rough. “But while you do, remind yourself of these words, for they are the truth. I will not bow to my father so as to maintain the relationship with my family. I will make peace with him, should he desire it, but it will be while I live life as I choose, not as he chooses for me.”
He came closer, and she tried to move away again, but he had her trapped against the drafting table. His hand came up to cup the side of her neck, and she shivered, wanting to push him away, wanting to turn into his arms. She did neither but instead stood trembling, her skin soaking in his heat, her racing heart begging her to believe what he was saying.
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