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He nods and pats the space where I slept. “Come back to bed.”
When I crawl onto the mattress, he takes hold of me and settles me against his side.
“I didn’t want anyone to see your virgin blood. It’s for my eyes only,” he explains.
Damn, the man is possessive as hell.
Still, my heart melts.
My body relaxes, and I hesitate before I place my hand on his chest.
My eyes drift over his golden skin, the muscles that look like they’ve been carved into him, and his sheer size.
Everything about him is intimidating and too much.
He’s too aggressive. Too domineering. Too impatient. Too attractive. Too powerful.
The list is endless, but when all is said and done, he’s mine.
“Take off the shirt,” he orders, drawing me out of my thoughts.
I sit up, and even though I feel a little self-conscious, I do as I’m told.
He shifts into a more comfortable position, adding a pillow behind him.
When I drop the shirt onto the covers, his hands grip my hips, and he pulls me over him. I’m forced to straddle Damiano, and the position puts me face-to-face with him.
I feel his hard length near the sensitive valley between my legs.
“Let me look at you,” he murmurs.
His eyes lower to my breasts, and when I feel his cock harden even more beneath me, there’s one hell of a tightening sensation in my abdomen.
Damiano’s hands lift to my chest, and when his palms cover my breasts, a tremble moves through my body.
His eyes flick to my face before he focuses on where his fingers massage my breasts and nipples.
It makes the tightening sensation in my abdomen so much more intense, and needing to touch him, too, I flatten my hand against his abs.
My lips part as my fingertips brush over the hard ridges, and when he leans forward and sucks one of my nipples into his mouth, a moan drifts past my lips.
I never knew being intimate with a man would feel so good. I always feared it or, at the very least, worried about having to have sex with the man I was forced to marry.
As Damiano sucks and bites my nipples, alternating between my breasts, I wrap one of my hands behind his neck while my other one grips his bicep.
Before I know what I’m doing, my hips roll, and the needy spot between my legs searches for his cock.
Damiano frees my nipple, and his eyes lock on my face before he asks, “How do you feel?”
Tender, but in desperate need of the pleasure he gave me last night.
Not wanting to lie, I avoid answering his question and say, “I want you.”
His eyes narrow on me. “How do you feel, Gabriella?”
“Just tender,” I mutter, my tone unhappy because the intimate moment is fading at the speed of light.
Frustration pours into my chest.
