The arrogance should be frustrating, but I don’t feel anything but pleasure when he teases my clit. Don’t feel anything but desire when he uses his fingers in that timeless rhythm. I want more of him, all of him, and the words are on the tip of my tongue. His naked body against mine. Something other than his tongue and fingers inside me.
Imagining him, hard and thick, pushes me over the edge. He laves my clit with rough, brutal strokes while I shudder and cry out in his arms. He makes me come over and over again, until I’m crying, wordless, incoherent—until I’m sliding down the wall of ivy.
He catches me with gentle arms, using his jacket to create a dry nest for me, laying me down in the cradle of his arm. I think it must be over then, and part of me is sad for that, even though I have nothing left to give. He could do anything to me like this and I would be helpless to stop him, unable to speak.
His fingers toy gently with my folds, exploring the wet skin.
I let him touch me because I can’t do anything else. The darkness covers us like a cocoon, keeping me safe even though my legs are spread open, one hooked over his legs. Then his fingers find my clit, drawing circles, faster, faster.
Weakly I push at his hand.
I couldn’t possibly move him like this, but he stops anyway. “No?”
I swallow, struggling to find my voice. “Can’t.”
My body can’t possibly come again, whether I’ve given him tonight or not. I’m wrung out. Finished.
His expression is stark with tension. “I didn’t get to see your face.”
My breath hitches in my chest. But it doesn’t matter that he didn’t see my face, doesn’t matter how sweet it sounds that he wants to see me come that way. I’m used up, the sparks of pleasure almost painful now.
Except then he begins to whisper to me in Italian. I never learned, so I don’t know what he’s saying. The words blend together, a harmony of sex and love, the tenor of his voice shifting somehow. My hips rise up to meet his hand, drawing the strength from him, from the words I can’t understand but somehow do.
His fingers play with me, knowing, inexorable, working my body until I’m rocking, needing. The orgasm comes in deep, rhythmic pulses, shutting down every part of my body except there, making the world dark except for the blinding pleasure, stealing my breath except for his name. Gio, Gio, Gio.
It will never be enough. The thought comes to me in a flash of terrifying clarity. As much pleasure as he’s given me, more than I knew I could take, I want even more than this. I want forever.
A scuffing sound comes from the pathway.
In a flash Giovanni has covered me with my dress. He stands and blocks me with his body.
Someone appears in the center pathway just as I stand up, wrapping Giovanni’s coat around me.
Romero’s expression is grim in the faint light. “I’m sorry to disturb you. We found someone coming through the fence. We took him—”
In a matter of seconds, Giovanni is back to being a statue. Gone is the man who licked me with passion. He feels cold and distant. Violent. “Take Clara back to her room first. Meet me in the pool house after.”
“What’s happening?” I hate that I sound so scared in the face of his stoic confidence.
He turns to me, expression hard. “Business.”
Fear rises up, sharp and sudden. This is why I wanted to escape the life, this wrenching ache. The knowledge that he might be hurt. Or the more likely scenario that he’s going to hurt someone else. The tongue that licked me tonight might give the order to have a man killed. The hands that touched me so tenderly might pull the trigger.
I lower my voice so that Romero can’t hear me. “Why don’t you want a fountain there?”
He glances at the wide-open space and then back at me. His eyes are soulless, empty. The eyes of a killer. “I don’t like the sound of running water.” His voice is just as hollow. “Go, Clara. This isn’t for you to see.”
Then he’s gone, leaving me with Romero, barefoot in the dirt.
Chapter Sixteen
Romero seems distracted by whatever happened. That means I can’t flirt to get close to him again, but I couldn’t have anyway. Not with my sex still ringing from Giovanni’s touch. My body isn’t the only thing affected. It feels like I’m floating more than walking. I don’t even feel any pain from the heels I put on outside the conservatory.
Except something sharp keeps trying to pierce through the orgasmic haze.
Something urgent.
Then I realize. Romero is distracted, hardly looking at me. Giovanni is definitely busy with whatever intruder they found. The party will make it easier for me to blend in. This is exactly how Honor and I escaped the first time.
Of course then she had money saved for us.
And we took Giovanni’s car.
I don’t have money or a car right now, but I have my determination and a deeper knowledge of this mansion than Romero. This is my best chance, now, before I get locked back in that room with the reinforced window. And if I can get to a phone once I’m out, I can contact Honor for help.