Shadow Rider (29 page)

She'd never felt so alive, every nerve ending in her body on fire. Her breasts ached, her nipples hard little peaks, rubbing against him as they moved in perfect synchronization. Her body coiled tighter and tighter until she wanted to weep with a need for release. A fire built, roaring now, between her legs. Her panties were damp and all she could think about was his fingers so close to where her clit throbbed and burned for his touch.

She heard a small, strangled moan escape. She needed relief desperately. She needed his mouth on hers. His hands on her. Fingers in her. And his cock, so hot, so thick and demanding—she needed that most of all.

“Stefano.” She whispered his name, knowing she was pleading, but she didn't care.

“Me, too,
amore
. We'll get out of here as soon as possible.”

She loved that she wasn't the only one. That he felt the
same desperation. She tilted her face upward to look at him, needing to see the raw desire stamped there. Needing to know his need was as great as her own. What she saw there made her breath catch in her throat. His hard features were stamped with absolute possession, with an urgency and passion she knew she couldn't yet compete with. That only brought on a fresh flood of liquid heat.

He took her mouth. Abruptly. Almost savagely. His tongue was demanding, not giving her a chance to catch up; he just swept her away on that tidal wave of sheer feeling. She couldn't think and didn't want to. There was only her body and his. Moving together with the music flowing through them, binding them together with fire, need and the symphony of sound.

He kissed her again and again until she thought she might faint with absolute hunger. She didn't know a man's mouth could be so ravenous. She didn't know his cock could be so hard or his arms so strong, his body like steel. She didn't know his taste would be so addicting or that he could wipe out every sane thought and replace it with sheer, absolute need.

Her blood thundered in her ears, the beat matching the drum in the song. The beat pulsed in her clit, the clenching in her sex following the persistent clenching of her inner muscles and the spasm that accompanied every touch of Stefano's fingers.

“I've got to have you, Francesca. Be inside you. Right. Fucking. Now.” He breathed the words into her mouth. Darkly sensual. His eyes hooded. Hungry.

The terrible tension coiled tighter. “Let's leave. Just go,” she whispered back. Embarrassed that her need of him was so strong she would have let him have her right there in that club, somewhere dark, against the wall, on the floor; it didn't matter as long as he was filling her, taking away the ache that had built into a terrible conflagration.

“We'll go,
dolce cuore
, in another minute. I've got to get myself under control.”

She wasn't certain she wanted him under control, but she
liked that he needed to get himself that way. That meant he was every bit as affected as she was. They moved together on the dance floor, Stefano using the music to guide her closer to an exit.

She suddenly felt uneasy, coming out of the cocoon Stefano had woven around her. She blinked, keeping her cheek pressed to his chest, right over his heart, but she looked around the darkened room. Stefano's hand stroked the back of her thigh, high, under her dress, and she was acutely aware of the pads of his fingers against her bare skin. He traced letters, his name, there as well. This time his fingertips slid along the seam of her cheeks and thigh, right where they met, rubbing caresses, continuing to build that terrible,
needy
ache.

She moistened her lips, her gaze moving around the other dancers, aware suddenly that they weren't alone. She'd been so deep into the sexual web Stefano drew over her that she'd forgotten where they were—that they were surrounded. Those dancing close were his family members, keeping their backs to Stefano, but very close so that no one else could penetrate that circle.

Valentino Saldi had disappeared and Emmanuelle was dancing with a man she didn't know. Joanna and Mario were all over each other, Joanna looking flushed and happy some distance away. The strange uneasiness grew stronger in Francesca, in spite of the fact that no one seemed to be paying the least bit of attention to Stefano or her. She was grateful, because she was letting him touch her very inappropriately for their surroundings. She should have stopped him, but she felt as if she needed his touch on her bare skin just to survive.

She looked carefully around the crowd again, and her gaze met a man dancing very close to the exit Stefano guided her toward. A shiver went down her spine. He was dressed in very nice clothes, his hair falling around his face. He held a woman in his arms, but she could tell he barely noticed her. It was the same man she'd seen in Petrov's Pizzeria. It was the same man who had stood outside Masci's Deli and had drawn a
finger across his throat in a gesture meant to frighten her. He was a distance away, but she felt his malevolence toward her. Suddenly she wasn't so certain Barry Anthon had sent him.

“What's wrong?” Stefano stopped on the dance floor, his hand going under her chin to lift her face so he could look at her.

Her gaze slid to his and then she turned her head to look back toward the man. The crowd of dancers had come between them and when they moved to the music, providing gaps, he wasn't there. She shivered again. If she told Stefano he'd turn the place upside down looking for the man.

Francesca pressed herself tighter against Stefano. “Take me out of here. I want to be alone with you.” It was the truth. The stark honesty would be impossible to miss. The need and rising hunger in her was just as plain as the honesty but she didn't care if she was blatantly throwing herself at him. She needed Stefano Ferraro, even if she could only have him for a short time—before everything bad in her life caught up with her—and it would. She wanted as much time with Stefano as possible before that happened.

S
tefano kept Francesca's body very close to his as they rode the elevator up to his apartment, so close she could feel the heat of his body scorching her right through her clothes. The pads of his fingers continued to trace his name along the back of her thigh, up close to the cheeks of her butt, his fingertips brushing along her bottom as well. She'd worn a thong and he had a lot of skin to explore. He did so almost absently, while she was a bundle of nerves, her heart beating wildly out of control.

His arm was a steel band just under her breasts, locking her in front of him. His erection was long and thick and jerked hard against her back as the elevator ascended. He didn't speak, but the hand tracing his name into her skin suddenly cupped her bottom, fingers pressing deep, almost to the point of pain, but it was an exquisite pain, sending darts of fire straight to her sex.

The elevator jerked to a stop and the doors opened. He caught her up without preamble, just swung her into his arms as if he couldn't take another moment without her. He strode into the apartment straight to the nearest surface, the long, narrow, gleaming sideboard that jutted out from the decorative post to serve as a partial room divider. Sweeping the sideboard clean of the books, he laid her down, his body coming over hers to pin her there.

Stefano's mouth found hers, and the kiss was unlike
anything she'd ever known. Devastatingly sweet turned instantly hot, hard and demanding. The kiss continued to evolve, going rough and insistent before his mouth left hers and began to trail a path of kisses, nips and licks down to her chin. Francesca's hands clutched either side of his skull, holding on in an effort to stay anchored and sane as he continued kissing his way down her throat.

He sucked gently at her skin and then laved the spot with his tongue before proceeding to the next spot as though he planned to cover every inch of her with teeth, lips and tongue. His hand slid up her inner thigh, the pads of his fingers like hot brands, tracing his name into her sensitive skin there. She squirmed, bucking her hips, needing more contact, feeling as though a fire burned out of control between her legs.

He caught at the front of her dress—the beautiful, exquisite designer dress he'd bought her—and ripped the thin material right down the front, so that her generous breasts spilled out. Instantly his mouth covered her right breast, pulling her nipple deep. The nearly painful pleasure had her arching her back, trying to come up off the narrow sideboard, a little cry of pure need escaping.

The hand at her thigh caught at her damp panties, tugged hard and tossed them away, onto the elegant floor of his apartment. Francesca could feel the hard, cool surface of the marble sideboard against her bare butt. His fingers went straight, unerringly, to her clit, and another strangled sound escaped, this one nearly a sob.

“Stefano.” His name came out low, needy, more of a whispered pant than anything else. “That feels . . . extraordinary.”

His mouth moved over the curve of her breast, suckling gently, and then he lifted his head, his fingers still working between her legs. His gaze was fierce, possessive, the blue so dark with hunger her womb spasmed.

“How many men have fucked you?”

Shocked, she let her eyes fly open and both hands went to his wrist, the one between her legs. She tried to pull his hand
away, but he was far too strong. She couldn't sit up, couldn't move; he had her pinned there like a butterfly stretched out on a mat.

“Stefano.”

“Answer me. How many?”

She blushed. An entire body blush. Her body had melted until she felt boneless, incapable of fighting the flood of need his fingers produced. He didn't look away from her, his blue eyes boring into her, mesmerizing, demanding her response.

“That's none of your business.” Her voice was low, shaky even. He was scaring her just a little bit. She was alone with him and her body had long since betrayed her. She knew she would never get over wanting him. His mouth. His touch. She felt empty, and she needed him to fill her.

“Fucking answer me now, Francesca.”

Even his voice was scary. She couldn't imagine anyone disobeying him. He didn't raise his voice; in fact, if anything he lowered it. She lay there, totally exposed, naked, his fingers inside of her, moving in a hard, stroking rhythm that sent her brain into total chaos.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and capitulated. “One. I've had one man. Once.”

He stilled. Even his fingers. She writhed. Bucked her hips. Needing those strokes. She'd been close. So close and now it was all fading away. He was still in his suit, even his jacket, and she was naked, her bare butt on a marble sideboard. Her hips moved involuntarily, but he didn't take the hint.

“
One? Once?
Did the fucker even get you off?” He sounded angry. As if her admission had enraged him.

Now even the fact that his finger was still pressed over her clit and another one had worked its way inside her, stretching her, causing a slow burn, couldn't keep that feeling of terrible need going. She pulled desperately at his wrist, trying to remove his hand so she could sit up.

“Stefano, let me up.”

“Not a fucking chance in hell, Francesca. Now answer
me. Did he make you come? Was it at least good for you? Did he take his time?”

“Why are you asking me?” This was so humiliating. He was pure stone, with the exception of his eyes. She hadn't known blue could turn into a flame. That desire could be so intense it was stamped into every line of his face.

“Bambina.”
He made an effort to gentle his voice. “My cock is as hard as a fucking steel spike. In case you haven't noticed, I'm on the very edge of my control. I don't want to hurt you and I need to know just how much you can take. I'm feeling rough, brutal even. I want to fuck you so hard you feel my cock all the way in your belly. In your throat. So please answer me,
dolce cuore
.”

One possessive hand swept down her body, from her neck to the vee at the junction of her legs. The finger pressing down on her clit moved. Circled. Sent waves of lightning streaking through her. Just like that she couldn't see straight. Couldn't move. She belonged to him. Would always belong to him.

Francesca shook her head. “No, it wasn't good.” The admission came out a whisper. “You've made me feel more just now than I ever felt with him.”

There was a silence as his blue gaze moved over her body. “You're mine, Francesca.” He made the statement quietly.

Her heart pounded. It was the way he said it. The way his blue gaze branded her, every inch of her.

“Your body is mine. No one touches you. No one else ever puts their hands or their mouth on you. I'm not easy,
dolce cuore
, but I'm yours. I swear that to you. I'm yours, and I'm going to make you feel so good.” He didn't wait for a reply, bending to take her mouth.

Her heart stuttered as his declaration and kiss swept every bit of sanity out of her head. He kissed his way to the swell of her breast, sucking and nipping with his teeth until the little stings and soothing caresses had her gasping for breath and moaning low in her throat. His mouth and teeth trailed
fire right down the center of her body, to her belly button, where he paused to swirl and dip his tongue, and then his mouth continued the journey, to claim every inch of her body. He sucked hard in spots, bit down until she jumped or cried out with the shocking bite of pain and then the soothing caress of his tongue. Just like that, he took her back to that place, surrounded by him, willing to be his, needing him.

He dragged her body closer to the edge, forcing her legs over his shoulders as he continued the assault on her senses, his tongue sweeping across her clit so that she nearly jumped right out of her skin. She heard her low, keening cry filling the room as his tongue began a dance over her most sensitive spot, flicking hard and then softly stroking until she thought she'd go insane with need. He began to suckle, a strong, hard pull, while his tongue continued to flick and tease until she was thrashing wildly.

Nothing had prepared her for his assault on her nerve endings. Not that first fumbling boy who had come too fast and left her hurting and embarrassed, vowing never to try sex again. Not her own fingers when she was desperate for something she didn't understand, chasing a feeling that would never come.

Stefano was relentless, not giving her time to think or breathe. He just took over her body, his finger sliding into her wet tightness, curving, finding that perfect spot deep inside she hadn't even known existed. The gathering tension coiled so tightly she knew a tsunami was coming.

“Touch your nipples, Francesca,” he ordered. “Pinch and pull, hard. Like I did. Don't be afraid of being rough. You like that. Every time I bit down, I could feel how wet you got for me. So hot. So slick. I want to watch you.”

She'd never done anything like that, but she didn't think to disobey him. Her hands slid up her body to cup the weight of her breasts in her palms and then she flicked her nipples experimentally. She wanted his mouth back. He was poised, right there. She could feel his breath on her clit, his lips so close. His eyes, those twin blue flames, burned into her,
watching her, waiting for her to do as he told her. She knew if she didn't, he wouldn't give her what she wanted.

Her fingers pinched her nipples. Tugged. Rolled.

“Harder,
bella
.” His lips, when he spoke, teased her clit.

A moan escaped. His demands only made her body climb higher with need. She did as he said, tugging harder. Pinching and pulling. Streaks of fire raced straight to her center so that her inner muscles spasmed, contracted, so close, the terrible pressure building even more. His shoulders held her legs spread wide, while his mouth worked at her and his finger continued to push that need to the breaking point.

She writhed and tried to push against him. She needed a moment. Just one moment to catch her breath, to get back her sanity, to try to still her wild mind enough to think, but he pressed one hand flat on her belly, fingers splayed wide, easily controlling her, holding her in place so that she had no choice but to plead for release. She begged him as he took her close several times, but stopped or slowed before she could tip over the edge.

He plunged a second finger into her without any warning, simultaneously giving her an order. “Now, baby, come for me now.” She did, screaming, as her body shattered, fragmented, her back arching, her hips bucking, a sob welling up as the tsunami roared through her.

Stefano's blue eyes were dark with satisfaction, arrogance stamped into every sensual line. He slowly straightened, taking her legs with him as he did so. He ran his hands over her body, from her breasts, down her narrow rib cage to her belly and then along her thighs. Francesca couldn't move, her body so boneless she thought she might have melted into the marble she lay on.

He reached down and caught both her wrists in one hand, pulling his tie from around his neck with the other. He wrapped the soft tie quickly around her wrists and then pulled her arms above her head, securing the loop he'd made into a hook built into the wall at the end of the sideboard. He accomplished the entire thing with dizzying speed. She actually
didn't comprehend what he'd done until he stepped back from the table, slowly shrugging out of his jacket, his eyes never leaving her face. He smiled, a feral, predatory smile as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt while the fact dawned on her that she was his captive.

Francesca tugged at her hands, still dazed, watching him as his hand slowly undid his belt buckle and unzipped the fly of his trousers. “Stefano?” Her voice was weak with excitement and trembling with fear.

“You're all mine,
amore
, and you're going to have no doubts about that by the end of this night.”

She had no doubts already and watching him remove his trousers to reveal his heavy erection only added to the scorching heat building so fast inside her. He was impressive and beautiful to her. She'd never thought a man could look so hot as he stepped in close again.

“You on birth control, Francesca?” he asked. His hand slid down her belly to the junction of her legs. His hands stayed right there, waiting for her answer.

She couldn't find her voice, so she just nodded.

“I'm clean,
dolce cuore.
I've never fucked a woman without being gloved. Not ever.” He had her spread wide still, his body forcing her legs apart while his hand circled the girth of his cock. “You come when I tell you, Francesca. You understand me,
bambina
. When
I
say. I'm going to make this good for you, but you listen to me and do what I say.”

She shivered at the sheer arrogance, at the intense hunger in his hooded gaze. He bent to flick her nipple with his tongue and then he used his teeth, biting down while he rubbed the head of his cock over her clit, back and forth. She nearly exploded again, the bite of pain adding to the pleasure storming through her.

Francesca hadn't thought it would be possible to be so needy again so fast, but within moments she was squirming, trying to impale herself on that teasing spike that rubbed so seductively over her very sensitive bud.

“Look at me, Francesca. Keep your eyes open and keep looking at me while I take you.”

The hard authority in his voice sent more liquid heat to bathe her entrance. He mesmerized her, captured her with his sheer personality. She couldn't have looked away even if the room filled with people. She was well and truly his.

Stefano slid his cock inch by inch, as slowly as he possibly could, into Francesca's scorching sheath, drawing out the moment as long as possible, savoring the feeling of her oh so fucking tight channel reluctantly giving way for him. He could feel every heartbeat right through his cock. He'd never been so hard in his life. So near the loss of control when control was everything to him.