Page 37 of Italian Weddings

“ Cristo, Emilia,” he muttered, loosening his grip on her hair, to make sure each movement was her own.

For all he liked holding her there, this was her show; her ability to control herself paramount.

It was his last conscious thought, though—after that, he surrendered to an almost dream-like state, as with her mouth, her tongue, she brought him close to the tip of sanity and humanity, almost spiraling him over the edge.

He was so close. So close he could feel that heat building in his balls, feel it tingling all over his body, and he wasn’t about to finish this so fast. Then he used his grip on her pony tail to hold her head back, away from him.

She looked up at him straight away, something on her features that made his gut tighten.

“I want to feel you,” he said, as he brought his body down so he could kiss her, and push her further up the bed, skin to skin, naked to naked, every bit of him exalting in the euphoric, delirious joy of this moment.

He spread her legs with his knee, raised up onto his palms and looked down at her.

Wide, green eyes stared back at him. Cheeks flushed.

Lips dark red. He smudged his thumb over the lower, saw the way her pupils dilated and that heat in his balls was back.

“Who the hell are you?” he muttered, because surely she was in fact some kind of ancient goddess?

“Your worst enemy,” she reminded him, but laughed, and pulled on his shoulders so they were kissing once more, and it was the most natural thing to slide into her, all the way, hitching himself deep, so her muscles squeezed his length and before he could stop the thought from forming, he felt as though he’d come home.

“Oh my God,” Emilia, still out of breath from the hotter than flame sex they’d just shared, tilted her head to face him and then, sat bolt upright. “You didn’t use a condom.”

She saw the moment realization hit Salvatore, too. The moment his features went from relaxed, cat-that-got-the-cream, manly-man, to ‘holy shit, what have I done?’.

He cursed, the sound filling the small hotel room, but she reached out and put a hand on his chest. Half seeking reassurance, half giving it.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, staring at him, while her insides slicked with something like panic and surprise. “I’m on the pill. I have been for years. And I’m clean, obviously. I mean, I’ve never done that before,” she gestured in the general vicinity of his cock.

Salvatore’s expression assumed something more like what she was used to as he nodded once. “Then we’re fine. I’m clean, too.”

“You’re sure?”

He pulled a face. “Yes, cara.”

“It’s just—you’re waaaay more active in this department than I am.”

“Yes, and I always use a condom. Besides which, I have to do a physical each year, for life insurance purposes. Mine was two weeks ago and included a full blood screen.”

She expelled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Okay.”

“So,” he murmured, reaching out and catching her wrist, tugging on it so she fell back onto the mattress, her head landing with a soft thud against the pillows. “You’re not that active, huh?”

She closed her eyes on a wave of irritation at what she’d just admitted, before admonishing herself for that reaction. After all, why should she be ashamed of her lack of experience? Being selective wasn’t a bad thing. Just because that wasn’t a lifestyle choice they shared.

“I wasn’t a virgin,” she said, a hint defiantly though.

“That’s true.”

And then, with a small shrug, “But I don’t make a habit of falling into bed with every guy I’m attracted to.”

“Even when it’s so fun?” he asked, eyes roaming her face with undisguised interest.

“There are other ways to have fun.”

He pulled a face. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“So the rumours about you are true?”

“What rumours would those be?”

She watched as he stepped out of bed then, moving towards the mini bar and removing a bottle of champagne.

Mid-range, she suspected it was well below his usual standard.

But as she watched, he unfurled the foil and popped the top, grabbing two glasses from the counter and pouring their drinks.

He climbed onto the bed, holding them, straddling her, kneeling over her as he passed one to Emilia. She took it, without having a sip.

“The fact you’re constantly with a different woman.”

“And where are you reading these rumours about me?”

She rolled her eyes. “You come up in my newsfeed.”

“Ah, interesting.”

“Not really,” she assured him. “Up until Moricosia, it just made me doubly glad I’d never met you before.”

“Not your type?” he asked with an arrogantly smug grin.

“Definitely not.”

“All appearances to the contrary?”

“Appearances can be deceiving.” She drank half of her champagne in one go then placed it on the bedside table.

“Then how do you explain this?” he asked, gesturing from her, towards his chest.

She opened her mouth to say something then realized she didn’t really have an adequate answer.

How could she explain what was happening between them?

He was the last man on earth she would ever like, and yet the more she saw him, the more she wanted to see of him.

Which made her think she should leave. No, know she should leave.

But then, he drank some of his champagne before bringing his mouth to hers, kissing it into her, so she drank and tasted and wanted all the more. Of him, of everything. Her legs wrapped around him, holding him close.

“I can’t,” she said against his lips. “But it really is a mistake.”

“You’ve said that already, yet here we are.”

Her eyes widened at the reality of that. At the implications. “It can’t keep happening.”

He pulled away from her, looking down intently. “I agree.”

She ignored the tightening of disappointment. “You do?”

His smile was etched with a hint of mockery. “Did you think I’d fight you? Insist we have to keep seeing each other?”

Heat flooded her face. “Of course not. Neither of us wants that.”

“No. But we do want this,” he said, shifting his hips a little, so she became aware of his erection, his renewed need for her.

“Which is stupid of us. If anyone found out?—,”

“Perhaps that’s part of the appeal,” he said, taking another drink of the champagne.

This time, he dropped his mouth to one of her breasts, and took a nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue over it, so ice cold champagne trickled over her skin at the same time his warm mouth and tongue flicked her into a state of near-oblivion.

“I—don’t—understand—,” she moaned, barely able to speak.

“You’re the perfect daughter, the perfect sister, the perfect woman,” he said, spearing her with something that didn’t feel quite right.

Something that actually hurt. Because his words had a hint of disdain, a lick of judgement, that couldn’t help but make Emilia feel seen—and discounted.

Like she didn’t matter. She glanced sideways, her hatred for him and the whole stupid Santoro family renewed.

“This is probably the first bad thing you’ve ever done in your life.

Most people go through a rebellious phase in their teens; you saved it up for me. ”

More champagne, and now, the other breast. She tilted her head back, surrendering to the feeling, the bliss, the building need.

Surrendering to the certainty that at this point, she would do whatever he wanted, go wherever he said, be anything, anyone, for him.

It terrified her but, yes, it was also utterly exhilarating.

“That—explains—me—,” she managed to breathe out, when she could make her mouth cooperate. “But—what—about?—,”

“I’m sorry, are you trying to say something there, bella ?”

She glared at him, even then, as he moved his mouth lower, the hint of a grin visible just before he connected with her stomach and flicked her with his tongue.

“This is—normal—for you?—,”

“No, it’s not,” he responded swiftly. “You are the first person I’ve ever slept with that I’ve been raised to hate everything about.”

She flinched, even when the same could be said of her.

“But I do like the need for secrecy. I do like the risks here.”

“You do?”

He tilted his face then, resting his chin against her belly. “Yes. It’s…exciting.”

“Exciting.” She bit into her lower lip, trying—and failing—to ignore the implication that this had less to do with her and more to do with the fact that they had to be careful to keep this off anyone’s radar.

“So it’s not me you want, but the drama?”

“Actually, I don’t like drama,” he drawled, taking another sip of champagne, which he swallowed. “Excitement is not the same thing.”

“And the sex on its own isn’t exciting enough?”

He grinned then, moving his mouth lower, until his head was between her legs. “I wouldn’t say that, either.” He took another drink of champagne and this time, it was her most intimate skin that felt the thrilling contradiction of ice cold liquid and warm, desperate mouth.