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He moved lower to rain tiny kisses on her flat stomach, knowing from her groans and the lifting of her hips what it was doing to her. Then he moved lower still, burying his face in the curls between her legs. He heard the sharp intake of her breath as he tongued the soft flesh. She grasped his head between her palms and held him close to her.
“More,” she begged.
He lifted his mouth from nuzzling her.
“How wet are you?”
“Find out. Put your hand there.”
His fingers found the warm wetness between her legs and she whispered, “Yes,” as he explored her delicate folds. He thrust one finger inside her, then two. His thumb massaged the sensitive bud of her clitoris, making her cry out again.
“Please,” she begged.
At last he rose above her and guided his cock toward the softness between her legs, anticipating the tightness of her sheath as he slid inside. The tip of his penis nudged the opening to her cunt and with a long, low groan he filled her at last.
With a sense of fulfillment Emma took him into her body, allowing him to seek her lips, joining their bodies in every possible way. She clutched his hips, pressing him as far inside her as his tongue was deep in her mouth, shuddering and sighing as his engorged cock stretched her and thrust harder. He felt so good inside her, so hard, so right.
The calluses on his palms continued to rub her sensitive areolas, sending shards of sweet agony down into her abdomen, setting her vulva on fire. The ache, relieved for a moment by the feel of him inside her, began to grow again as he drove against her swollen clit. The surge between her legs swelled and churned its way up through her belly until her whole body convulsed, and in desperation she clung to him as hard as she had clung to the piece of driftwood in the sea barely two days before. His own climax broke a mere fraction of time after hers, and she heard his triumphant shout as the hot spurt of his semen caressed the mouth of her womb.
Her body trembled and quivered still after the waves of the storm had washed through her. He held her until she sagged in his arms.
When she stilled, he slid from her and pulled the blanket over them both. He cradled her and kissed her gently, brushing back wisps of her hair with one hand.
After a moment he reached into the pile of clothing for the leather gourd that had hung from a clasp at his waist and undid the top. “Here,” he said, holding it to her lips. “Drink.”
In the gray light of predawn, she let the water run into her open mouth and over her lips. It fell in a gentle cascade down her dry throat. Some drops dribbled down her chin, and fell on the valley above her breasts. He bent his head to catch them with his tongue.
With her fingertips she touched a tiny cut on his lower lip where her teeth had pressed into him, drawing blood. He propped himself on one elbow and looked at her.
“I would like to be naked with you forever,” he said. “But we must dress, bella do
“I know.”
Quickly they scrambled into their clothes. Her skin felt chilled after the heat of passion and she was glad to cover herself. If they were in one of the vast feather beds at home, they would not bother with clothes and would never leave the room. They would be warm and comfortable, pleasuring each other until they both were exhausted. They would sleep in each other’s arms and then start all over again…
His hair had broken loose from the thong that tied it back, framing his face.
Stretching out her hand to touch it she smiled. “Your hair is longer than mine now.”
She saw him flinch and shiver as she touched his shoulder and then his lips. He turned his head to kiss her fingers and desire flamed in her again. His greedy gaze slid over her breasts, down to her hips, to her legs. She could feel the heat in his devouring scrutiny, right through her clothing. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes.
Marco had caught her. His prisoner.
She winced at the foolishness of ever considering bartering her body for freedom. She burned with desire for this man as he did for her, and their bodies had come together at last to assuage the fire. They would do so again because she knew instinctively that the bond between would strengthen with every hour they spent together. The question was how and when.
Facing him, she trailed her hand down his chest, then farther, until it met the bulge in his trousers. She stroked the protrusion.
He closed his eyes and sucked in his breath, biting his lower lip.
A clatter of small stones tumbling down the slope halted Emma’s hand, poised above his thighs. Marco spun around and looked up.
Giova
Marco and Giova
At last Giova
“Basta!” Marco shouted. Then, in English, “Emma, please come here.”
On shaky legs she stepped closer to him. He took her hand and spoke more calmly to Giova
Marco let out his breath and turned to Emma. “Escaping from our stronghold is very serious,” he said. “Giova
Giova
Emma stared at him. This imperious man with the somber expression bore little resemblance to the man who had just brought her to orgasm.
“I’m no threat to you.”
He took a rope from Giova
Good God, not again! How many times had they tied her up for one reason or another? She lifted her hand, signaling him to stop. He paused, rope in hand.
“I’ll go with you,” she said. “There’s no need to truss me up again.”
Before Marco could reply, Giova
Marco followed. “Can you ride?” he asked. She looked up at him from the dirt where she’d landed.
“Of course I can bloody well ride.” She struggled to sit amid the tangle of her skirt.
“I thought that would be the case.” He reached down and hauled her to her feet, while Giova
“He doesn’t agree with me,” he added in a low voice, “so please do not try to run.”
“Aren’t you the one in charge? I won’t have him manhandle me again.”
Marco’s chin lifted. His cheekbones flushed, but with anger or embarrassment she could not tell. “Of course I am in charge, but Giova
Again, the mysterious reference to some special circumstances. “Well, if you told me what’s going on, I might be more willing to cooperate.”