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She sat up, thankfully still having the presence of mind to want to remove her own jacket and shirt. The way he’d been kissing her a second ago, she suspected Marco might rip off the buttons if she let him take care of it. Besides, there was something ultra-empowered about being the one to strip for him. She moved with business-like efficiency, but when she reached her bra, he stilled her hands. “Stop.”
Eyes huge, she looked at him.
“Let me.”
He reached behind her, finding the clasp, but as he unhooked it, his lips dropped to the curve of her neck, and he kissed her there, his stubble dragging across her sensitive skin as his fingers trailed lightly across her back, removing the bra, guiding it down her arms, discarding it on the table top as he lifted his mouth to hers, kissed her, his hands seeking her breasts, fondling them gently at first and then with more insistence, so she arched her back and cried out, white hot fever spreading through her as pleasure threatened to burst like a wave over her entire body.
She couldn’t think or speak or do anything but feel as a wave of so much desire exploded through her she felt the heat between her legs intensifying, moist need making her groan her desire for him.
He swore again as he unfastened her trousers, his mouth shifting to one of her breasts as he cupped her bottom, lifting her so he could remove the pants from her, taking her underwear with it, leaving her naked and exposed on the edge of the table, and far too turned on to care.
“Not at all prim,” he muttered when he returned his mouth to her other breast, taking her nipple between his teeth and pressing down on it just hard enough to make her cry his name, to wriggle her hips. It was an invitation he didn’t need to hear twice; his hand separated her thighs, his fingers brushing her sex lightly at first so she jumped, because it had been a long time since she’d been with a guy, and even with Jack, he hadn’t touched her like this. It had always been a perfunctory, practiced coming together.
This was so different. Everything was different.
Marco kissed her hard, pressing her back against the table, before dragging his mouth down her body, between her breasts, over her flat stomach, to the apex of hair at the top of her legs, his tongue flicking her sex before sucking on the most sensitive cluster of nerves, making her whimper and cry out, making her groan, making her almost half-dead.
“Marco!”
“Come for me,cara,” he commanded, the invitation rolling through her, so she twisted from one side to the other as a passion fever tormented her, drove her totally wild, and his tongue lashed her, his fingers moved inside of her, his other reached up, twisted her nipple and then she was coming in a way she’d never experienced, so hard, fast, so completely, it was like drowning and being burned alive all at once, it was euphoric and excruciating.
She barely had time to catch her breath. He disappeared but she was still coming down off the high, the waves crashing around her as he left the room, and then returned with a strip of metallic squares, tearing one off and rolling the condom over his length.
“You want this to happen? You’re sure?” He asked, eyes holding hers, his own cheeks slashed a deep purple.
She nodded, but somehow, out of somewhere, sanity asserted itself just for a moment. “No one can know,” she said, pressing a hand to his chest. “My job…means everything to me.”It’s all I have left.“This never happened.”
His eyes flicked across her face. “I’m not planning to sing it from the rooftops. My brother would kill me.”
“Yeah. He would.” When Jack had cheated, Dante was the only person outside her family she’d told. And despite having employed her most matter-of-fact tone of voice, Dante had seen past it, had understood her grief. He was protective of her, and Marco was most definitely the kind of big bad wolf he’d tell her to avoid like the plague.
“So it’s our secret,” he grinned.
If anything, that only made this hotter. She nodded quickly, parting her legs; his eyes dipped to her sex, clung there, so her whole body seemed to burn up, but then his hands were holding her where she was, his fingers digging into her hips as he drove into her, and she sobbed, because it was so perfect, so utterly masterful, so completely unlike anything she’d ever known. Sex had always been kind of basic for Portia. One thing led to another and another, and it was nice, and pleasant, and she knew it was somehow, supposedly, important, so it had made her feelcloserto Jack, except it was nothing like this wild, animalistic sense of total abandon. This was overwhelming, a total grand slam of emotion and feeling all turning her brain into psychedelic mush so she couldn’t think or speak or do anything but ride the wave of sensation and feeling and admit absolute defeat in the face of its brilliance. And she didn’t even care. Portia Mason, who’d always been a bit of a control freak, was sublimely content to surrender all control to Marco, for just as long as he kept making her feel like this.
Marco didn’t stopto think. Hell, he was pretty sure he was more than half-drunk, having only gone to bed thirty minutes or so before Portia’s arrival, but nothing sobered him up quicker than the prospect of sex, and sex with his brother’s tantalizingly uptight, off-limits assistant was definitely something he’d fantasized about enough times to make the reality impossible to say no to.
Still, even in his wildest fantasies, he hadn’t conjured up anything like this.
She blew his mind.
She was so responsive, so beautiful, so loud, so passionate, so shocked by what she was feeling, so genuinely delighted in the pleasure he was giving her that Marco was addicted to just watching her face as she fell apart, studying her features as she cried out his name, wanting to hear more and more of her, wanting her to never stop.
Her muscles tightened around him almost painfully, spasming, her release sharp and swift, so he stilled, watched her, waited for her to ride the wave and come slowly back to the shoreline of normality before he moved again, this time allowing himself to be caught on the wave with her, his hands roaming her body, feeling every inch, flicking her, squeezing, committing to memory as his movements grew more frantic and her legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him deeper and he plunged as far into her as he could, stayed there, holding her hips, releasing a guttural cry of his own as her muscles tightened again; and this time, they came together, loudly, a combination of breaths, cries, the sound of skin meeting, slapping, the air heavy with their passion and release, the world spinning so fast, gravity seemed to take on a different quality.
And then it slowed down.
Right down.
Things gradually shifted back to normal.
Portia’s breathing slowed.
Marco watched her, waiting for the moment of panic. Of regret.
Because surely shewouldregret this.
Portia Mason was not someone Marco knew well. She was his brother’s sentinel, the guard to his business sanctuary, stationed outside his office, she let only those she deemed acceptable past. An appointment was absolutely necessary. She sat in on meetings to take any notes Dante needed, but never revealed a hint of feeling, a shadow of her own opinion. She was immaculate, always.
