He took her mouth, cutting her off. His hands slid down her back, following the curve of her spine to her butt, his hands drifting lower to grip and pull her in tightly so that his cock was pressed hard against her. “Are you wet for me, dolce cuore?”

“I am,” she whispered. “Of course I am. How could I be anything else when you touch me, Stefano?”

“That’s what you bring to me, Francesca. That’s what you give to me. You. Your trust. Your body. I want to do all sorts of things to you. Things that scare the hell out of you, things you’re still a little too innocent for, but you trust me and let me do them anyway. You give me that, and it’s the greatest gift a man can get. When you go down on me, you enjoy it. You think about giving me pleasure, not what you’re getting out of it. You think a man doesn’t love that? Need it? To know that you love giving me that is everything. I have it all with you.”

“Stefano, I hesitate to tell you this, because you might be just a teensy bit arrogant, but any woman would do that with you. How could they not?”

He shook his head. “I’ve had more women than I ever want to admit to you, but I didn’t want to do jack to them. Just get off. That was it. I wanted to fuck their brains out and get them the hell away from me. I didn’t feel anything but that rush, dolce cuore, that release. With you . . .” He broke off, shaking his head. “I think about you every minute of the fucking day. I wake up in a sweat, wanting you, my body so fucking hard it’s painful. I jacked off thinking about you wearing my coat a hundred times. It’s pathetic how obsessed I am with you.”

Her heart pounded. So did her clit. Deep inside she felt a desperate spasm. Her hand dropped to his cock. “I think now would be a good time to lift me up and let me wrap my legs around your waist. I don’t care if I’m a little late for work. Pietro won’t fire me, will he?” She leaned into him, her teeth closing over his earlobe. “And just for the record, you said ‘fuck’ three times just now.”

There was pure seduction in her sultry voice and in her stroking fingers. She was getting darned good at learning what he liked. She paid attention because he was right; his pleasure did matter to her. She wanted to see that pleasure on his face, feel it in his body, in the spill of his seed when he took her. She loved the expression he got when he was inside her, when her body gripped and milked his. Just that could get her off. That was how much she liked it.

“I’ll get you off with my fingers, Francesca, but not my cock. You’re sore and I’m not going to make it worse.”

She blinked up at him, shocked. “You’re turning me down?” She had never considered that he would, not for one moment. It hurt, even though intellectually, she knew how protective he was. He was as hard as a rock, but still, he’d turned her down the first time she’d initiated sex with him. That felt . . . horrible.

He swept her up into his arms, in that way he had, fast and irrevocably, decisively. Before she could protest, he dropped her on the bed, and was down on top of her, blanketing her body, his face buried between her legs, his cock poised over her mouth, an offering. Already his tongue and fingers were in play, working at her, driving her up so fast she couldn’t quite catch her breath so she stroked his cock and then began to lick him as if he were an ice-cream cone.

Her mind had gone instantly into chaos, the roaring in her ears driving out everything but him. His body, so hot and hard, pinning her down. The way the head of his cock teased along the seam of her lips, so that she could taste the addicting little drops that made her hungry for more. His mouth bringing fire, his tongue stabbing deep, flattening against her clit while he stroked and made her burn.

She all but swallowed him down. She loved the shudder that ran through his body, the way his hips jerked involuntarily. She did that. Francesca Capello. The power was incredible. Knowing she pleased him, that she could bring him to the very edge of control, was a heady, wonderful feeling. It added to the pleasure his mouth and teeth and fingers brought her.

The more his cock swelled and surged, the more his tongue plunged and the fire leapt and burned. She drew him down, trying to take all of him—an impossible task, but one she worked on diligently, happily. She used her tongue and hollowed her cheeks, suckling strongly. Her hand slid over him easily, pumping, because she’d gotten him so wet with her mouth.

He lifted his head and growled. Growled. She loved that. “Harder, Francesca.” It was a demand, nothing less.

She complied, clamping her mouth tight around him, gripping him with her fist tighter than she thought possible. He was like iron. Hot. Velvet soft. Perfect steel. She was close. So close. She wanted him with her because she knew when she exploded, she would have to stop and that would leave him frustrated.