Page 84 of Forced Vows

My Aphrodite, you are so beautiful. Your name does not do you justice, it should be Helen.

The beauty that launched a thousand ships.

"It was the makeup and wig." This isn't false modesty.

The makeup artist has an amazing career ahead of her.

"No," he growls, the hand on the back of my neck tightening. "It was you."

When he says stuff like that and when my brain squints just right, I can forget he's Cosa Nostra.

Commence with the squinting, brain. My vajayjay wants some action.

My lips part without a command from my squinting brain and his eyes darken with instant lust.

I'm reaching up as his head comes down and our mouths come together like waves crashing against the rocks. He eats at my lips and I slide my tongue against his.

Jayzuz, Mary and Joseph.

That taste. Tingling lips. Electric sparks igniting a path to my clit by way of my nipples.

Clasping my hands behind his neck, I jump up. He grabs my bum and lifts so I can get my legs around him and hold on.

I tear my lips from his. "The boathouse."

We're only steps from it and privacy. Did my subconscious bring us here?

Maybe. Because the sexual feelings he woke in me back in February are a buzzing undercurrent along my nerve endings now. My cooch is contracting, wanting to be filled up by that big dick of his.

I've never had the chance to be sexually liberated and that night in Portland didn't change that. I ended up craving the one man I believed I would never see again, much less have.

Deprived of my mouth, Miceli trails his down my neck, latching on to a spot that turns those sparks into explosions.

"Privacy." My head drops back, giving him better access. "Naked."

That word does it.

We're moving like the starter pistol just went off at the Belmont.

He stops at the door to the boathouse and I gasp out the code for the electronic door lock.

Fumbling movement behind me. A muttered cazzo and then damn.

"Hurry up." I'm not helping, but I want this before the part of my brain that's not squinting starts throwing up roadblocks.

The door opens and we're inside the boathouse.

"Over there." I point to the area beyond the boat slips.

He bypasses the sofa, chairs and hammock that is perfect for reading in the summer with the bay doors open.

My back slams against the wall bringing back memories from our night together.

"You've got a thing for walls."

He lifts his head, eyes hazy with sexual need. "I've got a thing for you."

"This outfit isn't easy access," I point out.

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