She said stiltedly, ‘He was very—kind about it. But, naturally, he was terribly upset that he’d hurt me. So he suggested it might be better—to wait—before trying again. So we—have…’
‘Such amazing self-control.’ The cool drawl held a sudden bite. ‘I am filled with admiration.’
‘He was thinking of me,’ Flora defended swiftly.
He shrugged a negligent shoulder. ‘Did I suggest otherwise?’
‘And it was my problem—my failure,’ she went on with determination.
‘With lovers, there is no question of failure,’ he said softly. ‘Some times are better than others—that is all.’ He paused. ‘As for this problem you believe you have—we shall solve it together.’
Her voice shook. ‘I don’t think—I can…’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘But you will. And that is a promise, Flora mia. So, do you believe me? Say, “Yes, Marco.”’
A tiny shaken laugh escaped her. ‘Yes, Marco.’
‘Then why are you still trembling?’
She thought, Because no matter how scared I might be, you make me tremble—and burn—and shiver—and ache. And even if I had all the experience in the world you would still possess the power to do this to me. Because—with you—I cannot help myself.
She said, with a catch in her voice, ‘I think you know…’
He said quietly, ‘Perhaps.’
He framed her face in his hands and began to kiss her again, lightly and sensuously, making no further demands until her taut body began gradually to relax and her lips parted for him on a little sigh of acceptance. His kiss deepened, showing her a glimpse of hunger held well in check. Leaving her almost disappointed when he took his mouth from hers.
He held her for a long time, murmuring to her in his own language, his long fingers stroking her tumbled hair, her cheek, the line of her throat, his gentleness a reassurance. And a seduction.
When his lips next touched hers Flora responded like a flower turning to the sun, offering her mouth’s inner sweetness without restraint.
As they kissed Marco began to caress her, the experienced hands slowly rediscovering the curves and planes of her body, revealing them to her anew through his touch.
She had never known there could be such excitement in the brush of skin on skin. She was warming deliciously, her body tinglingly alive to the subtle caress of his fingers, so intent on every new sensation he was offering that she hardly knew the moment when he slipped off her final covering and she was naked in his arms at last.
When his hand parted her thighs, her little gasp was lost under the answering pressure of his lips, as he kissed her deeply and with mounting sensuality. And any sense of shock or shyness was drowned in the flood of sensation which instantly assailed her.
His fingers stroked and tantalised, demanding her quivering body to yield up its most intimate secrets to him. Turning her slowly and deliberately to liquid fire.
She began to move in response to his caress, her body arching tautly towards him as his lips returned to her breasts, suckling the rosy peaks with voluptuous delight. At the same time his exploring hand discovered, then focused on another tiny hidden mound, moving gently and rhythmically on its moist, silken pinnacle.
She was making small helpless sounds in her throat, her head twisting involuntarily on the pillow. She was dissolving in pleasure, her attention absorbed, blindly concentrated on the delicate arousing play of his fingertips with an intensity that bordered on pain. Nothing existed but this man and what he was doing to her, she thought, as her breathing changed and even this last contact with reality slid away.
Even so, the final dark waves of ecstasy caught her unawares, lifting her to a sphere she had never known existed and holding her there, suspended in some rapturous vacuum, while she called out in a voice she didn’t recognise and her body shattered into the uncontrollable spasms of her first climax.
She descended slowly, every inch of her body throbbing with a new languor yet feeling alive as never before.
She lifted heavy eyelids and looked up at her lover, and her hand went up to touch his face, feeling the taut jaw muscles clench under her fingers. He captured her questioning fingers and carried them to his lips, biting the tips gently.
She said softly, huskily, ‘Is it appropriate to say thank you?’
‘If you wish.’ There was a smile in his voice, and his mouth was curving in disturbingly sensual appreciation.
Flora realised suddenly that he was moving—positioning himself over her without haste but with definite purpose. ‘But I would prefer a more—tangible demonstration, mia cara,’ he added softly, easing his way into her newly slackened and totally receptive body.
She looked up at him, her eyes wide and startled as she felt herself filled—possessed utterly.
‘Hold me,’ he instructed tautly, and she obeyed, her hands clinging to the smooth brown shoulders as he began to thrust into her, gently at first, his eyes watching hers for any sign of fear or reluctance, and then more powerfully—more urgently.
She had thought that he had taken her to the extremes of sensation, and beyond. That she was sated—content to be passive while he took his own satisfaction.
But, as she soon discovered with astonishment, she was wrong. Because her body was answering him—mirroring the strong, controlled rhythm of his lovemaking.
She lifted her legs, wrapping them round his sweat-dampened body, and he slid his hands beneath her, raising her towards him as he found her mouth with his.
His kiss was raw and passionate, and her surrender was total, dominated by the renewed demands of her own fevered flesh.
The rasp of his breathing was echoed by her own. She felt as if she was poised on the edge of some abyss, and he must have felt it too, because he spoke to her, his voice hoarse and urgent. ‘Come for me, mia bella—mia cara. Come now.’
And, deep within her, as if answering his cue, Flora felt the first sharp pulsation of rapture. She moaned aloud, burying her face against him, biting his shoulder, as the moment took her and sent her spinning out of control into some limbo where pleasure bordered on pain.
Marco flung his head back, his eyes closed, his face taut with the same kind of agony, and she felt his entire body shudder like a tree caught in a giant wind as he came in his turn.
When it was over, they lay together quietly. Flora tried to steady her breathing, to make sense of what had happened to her.
‘I didn’t know.’ Her voice was a thread. He didn’t answer, and she turned her head to look at him. He was lying, staring up at the ceiling, his profile as proud and remote as a Renaissance carving.
She felt her throat tighten. ‘Marco—is something wrong?’
He turned his head slowly, and smiled at her. ‘What could possibly be wrong, Flora mia?’
‘You looked a thousand miles away.’
He shrugged a shoulder. ‘I was thinking how ironic it is that I should have come all this way to find my perfect woman.’
‘Truly?’
‘You doubt me?’
‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘It’s just—that was a happy thought, and you didn’t look very happy.’
‘And you, mia bella, look as if you need to stop imagining things and sleep.’ He gathered her closer, so that her head was pillowed on his chest. She could feel the beat of his heart, still slightly uneven, under her cheek.
He